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aetherarf · 3 years

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Hi hello i saw your requests are open!! And i dont know if this is allowed but can you do genshin boys caught cheating and they played it off and later on they started to regret what they did and when they found the reader, the reader is now happy or disappeared or idk ITS UP TO YOU TO DEICIDE HEHEHEHE IM SORRY I LOVE READING ANGST SM SO ITS OKAY IF YOU WONT TAKE IT !! YOUR WORKS ARE REALLY GREAT BTW!!! (more than great i mean *chefs kiss*)

Yes I've finally gotten to this one! I hope it's angsty enough for you 😘

[[ WARNING: CHEATING, NON-LETHAL INJURY, ALCOHOL ]]

[[ Summary: Kaeya, Childe, and Diluc end up cheating on their partner... They get caught, not by their partner, but someone else. As the days pass, they begin to regret it... only for their little secret to get back to their lover...

Note, Kaeya's is longest/wordiest cuz I didn't realize I should probably be a bit more brief... Kaeya favouritism lol.

Overall Word Count: 3'602 [rip me]

Kaeya Word Count: 1'841

Childe Word Count: 950

Diluc Word Count: 811 ]]

Kaeya

Distantly, he remembers an old saying from Crepus, in response to his question-- "Why do people drink so much?"

"Well... Alcohol doesn't solve anything, but it can make you forget questions you'd rather not think about."

He understood that as he got older. Why stress, and think about things he could not control? ... Well, maybe he should deal with them, but that's easier said than done when his entire life was on the line. Every night, in the tavern, he drank to forget. Not that he'd admit that to anyone.

And, somehow, he had forgotten more than he'd like to admit. On his lap, a beautiful woman, and he was tugged to a back closet of the Angel's Share. She tasted sweet, like wine and sugar. If it wasn't for an intruder, ( despite the fact that he was the one intruding into staff-only area ) he likely would have had a far better time, to completely lose himself in his inebriation.

"K-Kaeya!" Uh oh, as his vision focused, he could see Diluc's unmistakable silhouette, with that fluffy red hair and broad shoulders. "You," he pointed to the woman, "Out." The woman, not wanting to envoke the wrath of Sir Ragnvindr, running out immediately. But, Diluc didn't let Kaeya out, not that he was fighting to get out. Instead, he walked closer.

"What have you done?" he asked, voice low and full of rage. However, Kaeya could only smile,

"What do you mean, Master Ragnvindr?" He asked, all sly.

"You cheater," he snapped, "You do know that wasn't your partner? The one you swore yourself to? They were just looking for you, you know." He was nearly yelling, forcing his voice low...

And that, that idea, the realization of everything hit him harder than even the biggest bomb's that Klee had ever made. He... did.

"Look," The world was no longer warm an fuzzy, just a little shift away from his normal reality, everything crashing down. The thoughts that haunted him when you slept so peacefully in his arms, when he would see the knights laughing and smiling together, the ever-haunting knowledge that he was alone amongst them...

The way only you did not have that odd look in your eye, of wonder upon seeing something unique, or of something alien that terrified... You only looked at him as what he wished to be seen-a person.

And here he went, fucking it all up.

"Look," he said again, tears in his eye, "You, you can't tell anyone," He all but snapped at Diluc, who's eyes widened in shock, "I-I wouldn't tell if you did it, you have to do the same for me," he promised, desperately trying to think of what to do...

"Kaeya, this isn't about me, this is about you and-and them," Diluc didn't even need to say the name, "You're better than this, I won't tell, but only if you do."

Kaeya's brows furrowed, he wasn't used to feeling so... betrayed. Normally, it was expected, but this... but this was different! Wasn't it...?

"It has nothing to do with you, I... I can deal with it on my own, 'Luc." He insisted, straightening out his back. He was only a tiny bit taller than Diluc, but he wanted to hold it over him, to prove he wasn't going to let him use him over his... his mistake.

"Kaeya," his voice was... softer. Kaeya didn't want to hear this voice, this consoling voice. Not after everything, not... not like this!

"Fuck off, Diluc," he snapped, pushing him to the wall as he stormed out, "You made it clear you want nothing to do with me, don't try now. Not like this," he demanded, seeing Diluc look at him, eyes wide... shocked.

"Fine. Get out and don't come back." Diluc hissed, voice much lower, his eyes glazed over. Kaeya almost wanted to yell at him, to keep fighting... But, no, no, he didn't. He couldn't do that here, not when he was too desperate to figure out what to do, leaving through the front of Angel's Share, slamming the door behind him.

And he ran. He didn't know why, he wasn't headed home, but he just... he felt like he was running from his mistakes, the wind biting at his face, until he finally skidded into an alleyway, his back against the wall, his hand put up to his mouth, biting at the base of his thumb to stifle the sobs that wanted to burst from his chest. It hurt, oh, it hurt, but it felt... right, it felt like he should hurt, his teeth clasping harder onto his hand, tears rolling from his eye as he roughly breathed through his nostrils, his brain desperately trying to figure out what to do, what to say, what to think... But it all only ended up in a jumbled mess, of black and red and tears and crying.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but by the time he stopped biting his hand, it felt... hot, for some reason, and as he looked at his hand...

Red. Bite marks. His teeth had sunk in so deep, his skin was broken and reddened and bloody. He couldn't even feel the pain, like when the burning fire had turned to grey, dead embers... he felt nothing, his own bodily sensations distant in an odd way.

He doesn't even know why, but upon seeing his blood ooze from his flesh, he swing his fist towards the brick, hearing it clatter against it. He stared at his hand, pulling off his glove to stare, dazed, at his busted knuckles.

Holding his fist close to his chest, he finally walked home.

If I don't tell them, he thought, I can live with it. I've lived with worse. I live with worse.

He didn't want to.

But he did that-he cheated. He cheated on the one person that could make everything feel okay, like he never hurt anyone, like he wasn't from a distant corrupt land, like he wasn't the monster he was told to be.

Should he say it? Tell directly?

...

It wouldn't matter if he told immediately or in a week. He-he trusted you'd understand, he could... He could figure it out. He just, his brain was both sinking and floating, drunk yet sober, he wasn't in his own body right about now. He was somewhere gone, and he couldn't be making any decisions.

Shambling his way home, he opened the front door... And hesitated, listening. Looking. You weren't in eyeshot or earshot, so... He could wrap up his hand before he gave everything away, or at least, his temper tantrum of sorts. He rummaged around before finding that small first aide kit, cleaning the wounds of his own cause, and bandaged up his hand... for a second, he tensed, hearing your footsteps, but he opted to finish wrapping it before you could see.

"Kaeyaaa..." You whined, "You didn't come to bed..." You walked over, hugging him from the side, resting your head on him. How sweet you were, how cuddly... As though nothing happened.

"I'll come to bed in a minute," he said, "I just need to finish this real quick."

You peeked over to look at whatever he was messing with, and woke up in an instant, reaching over to his hand as he was tucking the end of the bandage away, so it wouldn't unravel so easily. "What happened?" You asked, tenderly holding his injured hand with both of yours.

"Nothing to be worried about," he reassured, trying to hide how his voice shook, "Just wanted to patch it up."

With one hand, you gently stroked his, and then lifted it to your mouth to give a loving kiss atop it. "Are you okay to come to bed?" You asked, still tired from the late hour.

"Of course," he wanted to kiss you, badly, but he refrained. You shouldn't, Kaeya, your mouth is dirty.

The two of you walked to bed, he undressing just enough to comfortably lie down...

Feeling how you snuggled up to him, sighing in such comfort now that he was home, and how you soon became a weight upon him as you sunk back into sleep...

However, he did not sleep that night. Or the next, or the next... Or the next.

Days, truly, passed. He did not sleep, he was not sleeping, Jean even scolded him for blacking out more than once, stunned when one second he was standing, and the next he was on the ground, no memory of having fallen, with the knights consoling him.

He started staying later, he had not gone back to the Angel's Share. Many mornings, he was not there when you woke. You knew he was busy, but... this was horrific.

Eventually, two weeks have passed. He steeled his nerves, and he was going to talk to you about it. He didn't want to live like this, with this guilt and agony upon the things he could not fix--but he could fix this. He could-he could make this better.

But, as he walked into your shared home... an eerie silence. As he looked around, it felt like... a lot was missing.

Everything that was missing, from simple objects placed about to pictures on the walls, were all yours. Of you.

Save for a single picture frame, with shattered glass, and a picture of him and you, smiling. It was one of the more coherent pictures the two of you had made.

Beside it, a note.

Dear Kaeya,

A woman came to me recently, telling me of you. Of how you kissed her, and nearly slept with her at the Angel's Share. She was unaware of the fact that you had a partner, and had finally found and confided in me about this.

I don't know what made you cheat on me like this, but worse still you've been avoiding me, and you wouldn't even tell me. If I knew... then we could have talked about it, we could have gotten counseling. We could have fixed this--fixed us. But you were gone.

I don't want to hear you say it, say that you don't love me or you don't want to be with me, so I left. I'm not in Mondstadt, I've gone to live with someone I can actually trust. Please don't look for me, I need time. Your lack of communication was enough to tell me you don't care enough to fix this.

Sincerely, Your former beloved.

Tears truckled down onto the paper, and he nearly crushed it in a single fist... But, no, he couldn't, he couldn't destroy the last connection he had to you, no matter how badly he wanted to rip out his eye, so he never had to look at it ever again. He collapsed the floor, the letter, and the framed picture falling to the ground, a broken, loud laughter rung through the house as tears fells down his face, maniacal in nature...

He wanted to be alone, and gone, for a long... long time.

Childe

Childe didn't understand the meaning of 'exclusive' as well. He loved you, dearly, but to him, love was a thing to be given more freely. Maybe it was just a lack of communication, or maybe he completely misunderstood your words, but with an old friend he slept with time and time again...

When Scaramouche saw him sending off his friend with a goodbye kiss, it being a casual commoditiy in his mind, only then did he get utterly chewed out for this.

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Scaramouche snarled at him, "You're not even shameful about this, you cheater." He snapped, as though he was truly angry for you, instead of just a generally very angry person. Childe shrugged.

"I wouldn't mind if they slept with someone else," he said casually, "Doesn't mean they love me any less, you know?"

Scaramouche tried to response, but he was simply flabberghasted. "Most people don't think that way, you airheaded moron."

Childe just laughed, brushing off the shorter harbinger, before walking off without a care.

But... in the end, the words got to him.

Maybe you didn't think that way? You two had spoken of marriage, a very possible reality that he was looking forward to... But, maybe there was a... culture clash, maybe? A clash of upbringings?

He found himself wondering these things at night, when you were snuggled up to him, unaware of the whirlwind of fear in his mind.

Silently, he resolved to simply stop--It would keep you happy, a little secret he didn't mind keeping. Maybe in many, many years, he'd mention it, but... he thought that was okay. That could be the last time he'd ever do something like that...

But, as he came home... You were sitting, waiting for him.

"Please, come sit down, Ajax," that morose tone, it made his heart ache... so he obeyed without question. You looked at him, face puffy and eyes red... "Tell me the truth," you asked, his heart sinking, "Did you cheat on me?"

He froze, but... "Y-yes, but-"

"I don't need an explanation," you admitted, a small, broken smile on your face, "I knew I wasn't loveable enough."

"Wait, no, no, that's not it at all-"

"No," you interrupted, "I don't need an explanation. I'll be out by tonight," you looked down at your lap, his heart shattering into even smaller pieces,

"Babe... please, please, let me explain, I'll never do it again-"

You stood,

"If you'd do it once, you'd do it again. Don't talk to me," you hesitated, "If you want me to be happy, don't look for me ever again."

He was trying to reach for you... but, he couldn't make himself grab you, not when you so delicately shied away...

Eventually, he gave up. No amount of fighting would stop you, and... and he... he couldn't keep seeing your pain as you cried for him to just leave you alone.

Was this love? The pain of another, the terror not of considering spending the rest of your life with them, but the terror of not spending the rest of your life with them?

Before he knew it, he was staring at a mirror, shards of glass in his fist, more than a few holes in the wall and a broken door, the shattered mirror distorting his expression...

Upon walking through the house, he saw that there was... it felt so empty, without your delicate touch and presence making it a place he lovingly called home.

"No," he whispered, hoping... were you here? Did you see... whatever he blacked out and did, the tantrum he did not remember? Did he, oh gods above, oh gods, he didn't hurt you, did he?

...

But he never got an opportunity to find out.

By the time he had sobered up from his tantrum... you were gone. Only a note, left behind, Don't look for me.

Because, you both knew, if he really wanted to find you, he could. He could capture you, trap you... hurt you.

But he didn't want any of that, as much as it hurt to have you away... to make you hate him anymore than you already did was enough to drive a man to near insanity.

Even after you had been gone, he would sit, whenever he was not forced to work, to fulfil his duties to the Tsaritsa... he would wait. He would cook your favourite dishes, read the books you liked, go to the places you enjoyed...

Only after weeks of this, did it hit him that you truly were never coming home. He knew that, but... but, somehow, his heart, his emotions hadn't caught up.

For a second time, he had destroyed your shared, no... his home.

It just wasn't home without you.

Unable to endure the idea of still being here, of a place where he had held you so many times, kissed you, loved you, and suddenly you were all but gone... He tried to do anything to avoid it, to avoid that demon that desperately tried to crawl out of him, threatening to burst from his chest.

Even the other Harbingers had noticed this, how... awful he had been, how he had lost himself. Even Scaramouche, the one most openly said to be the easiest to hate amongst them all, with an uncanny talent to bring even the most pacificistic souls to pure rage, had done well to stay his tongue, never kind, never sweet, but he would give him the isolation he craved, only speaking as much was necessary.

He didn't know what to do with himself, but whenever that happened... he'd just throw himself to the maws of death and, unluckily, crawl his way back out.

Diluc

Everything felt hot and fuzzy and...

Red.

Was red a feeling? His face was red, his body burned, and he could scarcely breathe, he definitely had accidentally drunk some alcohol, but for once, the effects of inebriation hit him. However, while he couldn't understand why people would devote their lives to this sensation, he could appreciate reality being distant, when he knew if he wasn't drunk, he would have spit up the wine and some extra blood, making it an even richer red color.

A warm feeling around his dick, he saw a pretty, if not distorted, face. It didn't take long for him to explode with sensation, his eyes shot wide... and a kiss pressed to his lips.

He almost chased that pretty face, only to see it disappear, he falling to his knees, rasping for air. Moments later, he felt hands on his shoulder's, shaking him. He shot his head up, seeing Kaeya looking at him in fear, and distantly, he heard his name...

"Diluc. Diluc. Diluc! Say something!"

Diluc stared at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but he only ended up jerking his head down, coughing into his elbow, seeing blood on his black coat... Kaeya noticed, too, frozen in shock.

"What happened?" he asked, his eye wide in shock.

"I..." Diluc rasped out, and his eyes widened in shock.

He realized what he had done.

He. He slept with someone who was most definitely not the one he had sworn himself to. Some-some random woman who was likely enchanted by the prospect of a rich man.

"Diluc!" Kaeya shouted, afraid, "What happened?"

Diluc shoved himself up, his hand on Kaeya's shoulder, already rushing to run out and all the way back to the Winery-but not before Kaeya grabbed him, stopping him, strength near equally matched.

"'Luc, I'm not letting you go anywhere until you-"

"I did," Diluc was still gasping for air, "I did something terrible." He admitted, with no small amount of pain.

"What did you do?" Kaeya asked, "Don't run, don't run, you're going to choke on your own blood-"

"No!" Diluc shouted, throwing Kaeya off his arm, running on pure adrenaline, even as his face was beet red, and his vision blurred.

But he needed to confess his sins, immediately, he needed to... now, now, now!

He heard Kaeya shout, but in the end, as he had to stop just to rasp for air again, the burn of alcohol still in his throat, he heard no shouting, nothing but the sound of his thundering heartbeats in his own ears.

Finally, he got to the Winery. You saw him, shocked, seeing his red face and how distressed he was, his hair nothing short of a fluffy mess.

"Diluc," you run over, he leaning on you, just to not collapse from the lack of air, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." He shuttered out, sucking in a breath, "I cheated on you."

You were reeling, "You-What?"

"I-I accidentally drank wine. I was drunk, I can't..." He was still heaving, "I can't breathe... I don't... I don't know what happened, but... She... a woman, she..."

He couldn't finish, but he didn't need to.

"You cheated on me and the first thing you did was come home and brag about it?" You asked, equal parts anguish and anger,

"No," he rasped, his knees buckling as the world tried to disappear on him, "I can't..." his hand went to his throat, "Wait..."

He didn't know what happened, but he only saw flashes after that--Your tears, his bloodied hands, you leaving.

And he was alone, on the ground, barely able to breathe, to think... to do anything.

You left him.

You were gone.

And, somehow, he wasn't mad at all. Having breathed long enough to move again, he stood... and he found the half-empty bottle of wine left on the table, the wine you adored so.

He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, feeling his throat and tongue swell, it crashing to the ground as he fell, unable to rasp even the slightest breaths,

I deserve this, he thought, I deserve this. This is all I deserve.

...

...?

For some reason, despite his better wishes, he woke up. He lay in bed, a cool, wet cloth over his forehead... his flesh burned, and his tongue was still swollen, he unable to wiggle it in his mouth. His breathing, still, was labored, but it seemed that he was still breathing, despite everything.

He watched as Adelinde cautiously walked over, looking down at his face, "... Master Diluc, are you alright?"

No, he wasn't, but he could not even sob and cry, for he could not breathe enough to do so.

A cruel twist of fate, but he was not deserving to cry, he was the one who hurt you. You did nothing but love him.

He didn't deserve anything right now.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #diluc #childe #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin childe #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #bark writes #// also dw anon i've written way more messed up stuff than this #// :)#// also idk why ppl cheat beyond the thrill of it and i wanted to make it more interesting than that #// chlide was the closest to that idea #// i got some shitty news + people who didnt stop bringing it up so this took way more time than i'd like to admit

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

Headcanon - When you’re angry and say “Don’t touch me”

Original title: 当你生气地说 “你别碰我”

Original writer: 池离子 (chi li zi)

[ VICTOR ]

You’re seated on the sofa, staring at the hour hand of the clock as it points to “1″, trembling with anger.

Victor! He promised that no matter how busy he was, he’d return by 11pm. Yet, even now, he hasn’t even called to give you an explanation. His phone is turned off, you couldn’t find him at the office, and all the employees had already knocked off.

Feeling upset, you think about heading to bed, but your immense worry causes your hands and feet to turn cold, and the blanket is unable to keep you warm. As such, you have no choice but to send message after message to Victor.

Since you once made a promise with him not to head out at night, you wait for him to return home obediently. With this thought in mind, you climb into bed, covering yourself up before breaking into tears.

Click.

Although separated by the bedroom door, you can still hear the sound of the main door opening gently, followed by the soft sound of leather shoes stepping on the wooden floor. You know that he has finally returned, but you have no intention of forgiving him for breaking his promise and not returning your calls.

You hear the rustling of clothes being removed, followed closely after by the sound of the bedroom door opening gently, the familiar footsteps nearing you quietly. The space beside you on the bed dips slightly, and you can feel Victor pulling the blanket from your face.

"Dummy... why are you covering yourself up? It’s so stuffy.”

He speaks softly.

When Victor's hand is about to touch your face, you suddenly grab the blanket and turn over, your back facing him. He’s clearly stunned, and then realises that you weren't asleep, and are even a little angry with him. So he shakes your shoulder and says a soft “I'm sorry”.

"Don't touch me!" You shrug his hand away roughly. Curling yourself up, you begin to sob again.

Victor wants to pull you up, but you avoid him with equal determination, before dropping a cold “don't touch me.”

Victor sighs, then explains himself in a fatigued voice. “Sorry. I returned very late, and it’s my fault. When I drove past the park after work, I saw someone selling the taiyaki that you like, so I bought one. I didn’t have a firm grip on my phone and it fell into the water, so I couldn't turn it on.”

"I was going to buy a new phone along the way, but Goldman suddenly rushed over, saying that E Company requested to terminate our partnership due to contractual issues. Because we were pressed for time, I drove to E City with Goldman to hold a meeting, and only managed to rush back at this time... I’m sorry."

After listening to these simple words, you can’t help but feel an ache in your heart. You sit up with guilt. Despite how tired Victor was, he still had to deal with you being angry when he returned home. This... is really sad.

You turn over to look at him. Realising that your eyes are red, he reaches forward to hug you gently, leaning against your ear to say another “sorry”.

There’s a paper bag sitting at the corner of the bed, and you’re able to see half of a cold taiyaki.

"I'm so tired... let me hug you for a while..."

He embraces you tightly, and you reach out to pat his hair, as if touching a helpless child.

[ GAVIN ]

"Sis-in-law, he really doesn’t take advice. I already told him not to rush ahead, but he did it anyway. Now, he doesn’t even dare to step into the house, and it’s really difficult for us...”

You’re listening to the voice message sent by Eli. Gavin was injured during a mission, and was caught red-handed by you. Eli is the spy you’ve arranged to be by Gavin’s side.

“Eli, tell Gavin that I’ve fallen sick, and that I haven’t told him about it because I don’t know what illness it is yet.”

"Sis-in-law... is this... a good idea?"

"Trust me. I can give your team a brilliant tomorrow.”

"Thank you, Sis-in-law!”

Turning your phone off, you lie down quietly. Thirty minutes later, you hear Gavin opening the door while shouting your name. You listen as his footsteps draw nearer, finally pausing at your bedside.

“Wake up, are you okay? What happened? Are you okay?” Gavin reaches out, wanting to pull you over to himself. Enraged, you slap his hands away and yell at him. “Don't touch me!”

Sure enough, he stops, and you hear him sitting down. What follows after is a protracted silence.

Your thoughts: I’m doomed. Does he find me annoying?

Gavin’s thoughts: Something’s wrong. I definitely did something wrong. What did I do wrong? Anyway, I should admit my mistake first.

"Sorry... I was wrong..."

You hear him saying this softly.

"Why were you in the wrong?”

Gavin is dumbfounded.

"I don’t know...”

Despite your anger, your heart aches. As you sit upright, you hear him asking with concern, “Are you sick? How are you feeling now?”

"I'm not sick. I asked Eli to call you home. He said that you were badly hurt and was afraid to see me. Am I that fierce?"

Gavin shakes his head.

"I'm not afraid of you being fierce. You can scold me however you like, but I'm afraid that you’d get tired after scolding me, and feel sad when you see my injuries, so I didn’t dare to return."

Pearl-like droplets of tears fall again, and he hurries forward urgently, wiping them away.

"Don't cry..."

"Where did you get hurt this time... don't be afraid to let me see. What I’m most afraid of is not knowing anything. Don’t refuse to come home..." You’re held in his arms, sobbing as you finish your sentence in bits and pieces.

He coaxes you while rubbing circles on your back.

“Okay, okay... next time, I’ll come straight home. I promise."

[ A few days later ]

"Sis-in-law, didn’t you say there wouldn’t be a problem? Us poor kids had to carry weights on our backs while climbing up a mountain...”

[ LUCIEN ]

You dislike that bunch of female students! You! Really! Dislike! Them!

Under the pretext of the lecture, they’d look for Lucien. Once Lucien finishes his class, they would surround him, and Lucien would be in the middle, explaining the questions to them patiently.

It annoys you to death!

You’re nestled in the sofa watching a show. Having finished his shower, Lucien steps out of the bathroom, wiping his hair dry while walking towards you.

“MC, the bathroom is already warm and I've filled the tub with water. You can take a bath now.”

As if you couldn’t get angrier, you notice that the tone of voice he uses with you and the female students is obviously the same! So you purse your lips, ignoring him.

Thinking that your lack of response was because you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the TV, he sits beside you on the sofa, leaning in closer.

"Little Butterfly?”

You turn your head away, unwilling to give him any attention.

Assuming that you’re feeling shy, he reaches out to hug you, but is pushed away. He even hears this:

"Don't touch me!"

Lucien's hand stops in the air. For a long time, neither of you speak.

Just when you decide that you’re causing unnecessary trouble and turn to glance back at him, it’s as though you see the ears of a large canine drooping, its tail swinging slightly.

Why does he look wronged? Also, he's a fox, not a dog!

"MC... do you no longer like me?”

You watch as his handsome brows furrow. His movement of leaning over causes his bathrobe to reveal his neckline, and you’re cornered by him on the sofa.

"Don't touch..."

Before you manage to finish speaking, Lucien buries his face into the crook of your neck, his damp hair rubbing against your shoulder and earlobe gently. His hand reaches out to hug you tightly, and you can hear his muffled voice from the side.

"Are you leaving me? Don't leave me..."

Huh? You heart aches instantly, and you pat his back.

“Okay, okay... I’m not leaving you. I was just angry because those female students like you so much! I’m sorry for just now...”

"Next time... I’ll pay more attention... So MC, shall we take a bath together?”

"?"

Today has once again been part of Lucien’s plan.

[ KIRO ]

As you stare at the black circles underneath Kiro’s eyes, a certain thought drifts to your mind.

He must have accepted too many job offers, then failed to get proper rest!

You’ve already told him several times to reject work if he’s able to. After all, he should give himself a break. The last time, he was so tired that he fell asleep on the sofa in the makeup room and was caught red-handed by you. Now, the situation is not only worse, but he spends his free time accompanying you.

This is outrageous!

"Miss Chips! Let's watch a movie tonight! I starred in it! You’ve seen the trailer and poster, right?" Kiro picks up the cap which he uses as a disguise, then hops around you excitedly. But you just can’t ignore the blackish hue underneath his eyes.

Seeing that you’re ignoring him, he grins and steps forward, tugging on your hand. Fuming, you slap his hand away.

"Don’t touch me!”

Kiro’s hand pauses in mid-air. In just a few seconds, you hear the sound of sobbing.

"Miss Chips..."

Turning your head to look at him, you see that tears are flowing down his cheeks. His eyes are red, and he’s wiping his teardrops with the back of his hand.

Is this the prowess of an actor? Being able to summon tears at will?

His sobbing turn even more aggrieved, and he carefully reaches out to tug on your hand again. Your heart aches, and you don’t fling it away this time.

"Miss Chips... do you hate me? Don't hate me... I work hard because I want you to lead a life which is worry-free, at least in terms of money... I love you so much..."

Ah! Stop talking! I’m a sinner!

You quickly give him a hug, patting him on the back.

“That will never happen! I like Kiro the most, but I’m very worried about your health. You’re still so young, but you’re this tired every day, so of course I’m distressed and angry. I don't hate you...”

He nods, planting his chin on your shoulder.

"I’m already very happy! I haven’t had to worry about money at all. You’ve worked so hard that I’ve got a surplus of wealth now! I want you to turn down a few projects and stay at home with me for a while, okay?”

You feel some movements on your shoulder. He’s nodding.

"Miss Chips... I like you so much..."

"I like you too!"

"Then you should kiss me now!"

He says with a grin.

(Did he follow Lucien’s study plan?)

[ SHAW ]

“Spring Thunder! Spring Thunder! You! Spit it out right now! Give it back to me!”

[Regarding the nickname] The CN version of MC’s “Mary Sue” alias is 刘春梅 - Liu Chun Mei (“Spring Plum”). Meanwhile, the CN community likes calling Shaw 刘春雷 - Liu Chun Lei (“Spring Thunder”)

Amid your blood-curdling screeches, Shaw dolidges your flailing hands and successfully chomps down your final strawberry cake.

...

With no intention of speaking to him anymore, you stagger a few steps, collapsing onto the sofa.

Shaw opens a bottle of Cola and a bottle of Pepsi in the kitchen, mixing his favourite, unique drink happily.

When Shaw returns with a large cup of mixed Cola and sees your current condition, he calls out to you twice. However, you have no intention of paying any attention to him considering your enraged and depressed state.

He sits beside you, patting your head.

Your eyes are sharp, and you slap his hand away, saying the cruel words:

"Don’t touch me!”

In Shaw’s heart, he knows that something bad is about to happen. You didn’t call him “Stinky Brother” this time, which meant that you’re genuinely angry.

“No way, what’s up with you? You have such a reaction just because I ate your cake?”

You’re in no mood to argue with him. Your favourite strawberry cake no longer exists. Without it, you will crumble.

"Spring Plum?”

"..."

He sets down the Cola, attempting to wrap an arm around your waist. But he’s slapped away once again.

"Don’t touch me!”

"..."

You watch as Shaw retracts his hand, gets up, grabs the keys, opens the door, then leaves. All in one swift movement.

Stinky Brother! He was obviously in the wrong, so why is he the one throwing a tantrum!

You close your eyes, missing that sweet and wonderful strawberry cake. Your mind has no room to think about Shaw.

After some time, you hear the sound of the door opening, followed by Shaw’s footsteps, then something being placed on the table. He sits beside you quietly.

Opening your eyes, you see that Shaw is seated, giving you a piteous look.

The scene before you resembles a world famous painting.

"Sister... I'm sorry... I went to buy a new cake..."

On the surface, you seem engrossed in your thoughts. However, your heart has long since been doing flips.

"Forgive me, okay...? Don’t give up on me just because of the cake...”

As though you’ve just survived a huge bloodbath, you sit up with a “hmph”, then pull the cake box over. Sure enough, there’s an entire cake, decorated with strawberries.

Placated, you wrap Shaw in a hug and give him a kiss.

"What are you talking about, my beloved Shaw? Why would I not want you! I want you more than cake!”

Shaw's eyes darken.

"In that case... let me see just how much you want me..."

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

池离子: OK! Just state that the source is LOFTER池离子. Also, if you’ve posted it, could you also take a screenshot for me? No need for the whole thing - just a little will do!

#mlqc #cheri shortcake

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maybanksbitch · 4 years

Text

Protector || JJ Maybank

* this is not my gif; all credit goes to the owner.

pairing: jj x reader

prompt: jj promised you he’d stop getting into pointless fights, but a night when you’re not there, he breaks it. he can’t hide how he feels about you anymore.

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, violence, blood

a/n: do i kinda hate how i wrote this? yes. am i going to delete it? nah.

Your phone had been blowing up all night. You had eleven missed calls from John B, 7 from Pope and 3 from Kiara. You had over a hundred unread texts from the three of them combined. You had to turn your phone off at some point after your boss threatened to fire you if he heard one more chime.

By the time you’d finally clocked out, it was two hours later. You turned your phone back on and stood there for a good two minutes as the notifications rolled in. You glanced over texts and felt your blood boil when you got the gist of them.

There had been a party at the Boneyard that night, one you had to miss. Money was tight and your parents needed you to start pulling some weight. JJ had been in another fight. He promised you he would try to control himself better after the gun incident, but clearly he was incapable of that.

You let out a sigh as you slung your bag over your shoulder and hopped on your bike. You pedaled the familiar way to the Chateau, thinking of all the ways you were going to rip your blonde friend a new asshole.

You pulled up outside the house and dropped your bike in the front yard. You burst through the front door, startling Pope and Kiara who stood at the wooden kitchen table. John B was leaning against the wall, a tired look on his face and a PBR in his hand.

“Finally,” Kiara sighed and walked over to give you a welcoming hug.

“We’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” Pope exclaimed in an accusing manor.

You gave the dark skinned boy a look and painted a sarcastic smile across your lips. “Yeah, I know. Greg nearly fired me because y’all wouldn’t shut up,” you retorted.

John B just stared at you from across the room. He had a fresh bruise on the right side of his jaw near his chin as well as dried blood near his left eyebrow. You walked over, reaching up to brush his hair away and inspect the split skin on his forehead. He pulled back and met your eye, shaking his head slightly.

“Where is he?” you asked as you dropped your bag on the kitchen table and went for the spare room.

“He’s outside,” John B grumbled, taking a long drink from his beer.

You turned with your eyebrows creased in confusion. Kiara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke, “We told him he couldn’t come back in until he had a level head.”

It clicked in your brain in that moment. John B’s injuries weren’t from fighting Kooks. They were from fighting JJ. That infuriated you even more. What could have possibly happened for the blonde to want to fight his own best friend?

You turned without another word and pushed the screen door open forcefully. You stepped out onto the back patio and looked around. You saw a mess of blonde hair on the hammock not far away. JJ knew it was you and didn’t dare turn his head to acknowledge you. He could practically feel the anger radiating off of you.

“What in the hell did we talk about?” you sneered as you stormed over to your best friend. He stayed in the same position, head turned towards the water, arms crossed over his chest. “JJ, look at me.”

“I really don’t want to do this right now,” was the response you got.

A sarcastic laugh left your lips as you walked around to the other side of the hammock, forcing the blonde to look at you. “Well that’s too damn bad. Have you seen John B’s face? What’s gotten into you?!” you questioned, voice desperate as you tried to get the boy to talk to you.

JJ simply sniffed once and shrugged his shoulders a bit. You felt your hands start shaking. He was trying to brush you off and hope you would just let it go, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“JJ, you can’t just start swinging every time someone looks at you the wrong way! I thought we had an understanding. If you keep getting assault charges, one day they won’t just let you walk! I know the Kooks are absolute pains in the ass, but sometimes you just have to let it go!” you tried to reason with him.

The opposite happened. A switch flipped in JJ because you had no idea what happened. He leapt off he hammock faster than you could blink, voice like thunder as he shouted, “You don’t know what they said about you!”

You were shocked, taking a step back as one of your hands came up defensively to your chest. You blinked slowly as you stared at the enraged blonde. He was breathing heavily through his nose, hands clenched so hard at his sides his knuckles were white and you were sure his nails were drawing blood.

“What?”

“Rafe, Topper, Kelce.. All those pieces of shit!” JJ threw his arm, knuckles cracking against the tree. He was trying to divert his anger away from you. “The things they said about you. About your body. About using you!”

His arm went to swing again but you grabbing his bicep before his fist connected with the tree again. You were afraid he was going to break his hand at this point. The sob you heard JJ let out nearly ripped you in two. You went in there, guns blazing, when you didn’t know what happened. He was trying to defend you; protect you.

“Oh, J,” you whispered, placing your hand on the side of his face. You pulled him down and forced his head against your chest then wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders.

“I blacked out, (Y/N). They wouldn’t stop saying those things and I lost it. I just kept picturing them hurting you,” JJ cried into your chest, tears soaking through your shirt but you didn’t care.

“It’s okay, JJ, it’s okay,” you mumbled, reaching one hand up to thread through his hair. You could feel grains of sand against his scalp, surly from being thrown around by heartless Kooks.

JJ sniffles and lifted his head, teary blue eyes meet your e/c’d ones. His bottom lip quivered and he closed his eyes to try and will himself to stop crying. His voice cracked as he tried to talk again, “I didn’t mean to hurt John B either, promise. I was just still so angry when we got back here. He didn’t help me. He didn’t help me defend you.”

You smiled sadly and placed both of your hands on JJ’s face, wiping his tears away with your thumbs. He slowly opened his eyes to look at you again. The amount of love and adoration you saw in them damn near took your breath away.

“It’s not John B’s job to defend me, babe. It’s not yours either. No one has to defend me,” you whispered, fingers threading together on the back of JJ’s neck.

The blonde boy leant forward until his forehead was resting against yours. Soft breaths left his parted lips and spread across your face like a blanket. He smelled like cigarettes, marijuana and beer mixed with sunscreen and saltwater; your favorite scent. His scent.

JJ moved to his own accord, ignoring his brain screaming at him not to do it. You’ll make things weird. You’ll ruin everything. She won’t love you back. He ignored it all and nudged his head forward until your lips connected. You could have sworn you saw fireworks go off behind your eyelids. Every nerve ending your body flared up and tingled. Your lips fit together like pieces of a missing puzzle.

No wonder neither of you could figure out why it felt so weird hooking up with Tourons this whole time.

When you pulled away, breathless and dizzy, you opened your eyes to find JJ’s already on you. The widest smile he’d ever seen spread across your face, a giggle slipping past your teeth. A simple ‘wow’ was whispered between you both. An equally large grin enveloped JJ’s face as well. He pecked your lips roughly five more times before pulling back completely and rubbing his hands over his wet face.

You wrapped your arms around the skinny yet muscular boy’s waist and rested your head on his chest now, listening to the steadying beat of his heart. You felt at home in his arms.

“I think you should apologize to John B, or we’ll be sleeping out here tonight,” you mumbled into the soft fabric of his long sleeve shirt.

“As long as I’m sleeping with you, I don’t care,” he retorted, slender arms encasing you. You tilted your head up and gave him a look that said ‘I will not be sleeping out here with the mosquitoes’ and he let out a small laugh. “Okay, yeah, I should apologize.”

The two of you walked hand in hand back into the Chateau, JJ’s head hung sheepishly as he met John B’s eye. Moral of the story, you ended up in the spare room, tucked under a tan blonde’s arm; where you belonged.

masterlist

#outer banks #obx netflix #jj maybank #outer banks imagine #jj x reader #jj imagine #obx jj #jj maybank imagine #jj fanfiction #jj fluff #jj maybank fluff #jj angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader #obx imagine

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

quédate un segundo más (1/8)

@911lonestarangstweek day 8 - t is for...tumour, terminal, treatment

title from voy a quedarme by blas cantó, translates roughly to 'stay a second more'

thanks to @halsteadmarchs and @tarlos-spain for the beta!

as shown above, this will be eight chapters if all goes to plan, and i hope to finish it before season 3 begins. much of what is written both in this chapter and in future ones is ripped directly from life and i am only writing from my own perspective and experiences of losing a loved one to cancer.

ao3 | 1.6k | angst, hurt tk, cancer, terminal illness, more warnings to come in future chapters

A rare genetic mutation.

That’s what the doctors tell him when the results come back.

A rare genetic mutation that has rendered his cancer practically undetectable until its latest stages, until all that’s left to do is wait to die.

TK’s hands shake as various leaflets on Managing Your Diagnosis and What To Expect and Looking After Someone With Cancer are placed in them. He feels two steps to the side of himself, his entire world halting in its tracks the moment those words had left the doctor’s lips.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he’d said, eyes wide and empathetic. “Your scans and blood results have come back showing evidence of a tumour on your pancreas. There are treatment options which we can and will—with your consent—pursue, however I have to inform you that your cancer is entering stage IV. It has begun to spread to your bladder and liver. I’m sorry to say that, at this point, treatment is more focused on managing your pain and making you as comfortable as possible; we do not anticipate recovery.”

It’s just… TK’s fine. He feels fine. Like, sure, he’s been a little more tired recently and he’s been getting these weird pains, but they always fade after a while, and he’s fine.

But he couldn’t deny the blood spotting his pee, the last straw which had finally sent him to the doctor’s office.

Too late, apparently.

A touch on his knee brings him back to reality with a start. TK looks up to meet the doctor’s kind gaze, and he wants to cry.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he’s saying. “If you have any questions, please ask.”

“I…” TK shakes his head, swallowing a couple of times before dropping his eyes to his knees, the words on the pamphlets blurred through his tears. “How long?”

The doctor hesitates a moment, then sighs regretfully. “I can’t say for certain. People frequently outlive their projected timeframes; equally, it could be less. However, given the way your tumour looks and the rate it appears to be spreading at, I would estimate around six months.”

Six months.

Six—six months.

“Oh,” TK says, and it feels wildly insufficient but it’s all he has. What even is there to say? He’s dying, and that’s...that’s that.

“Do you have a support system in place?” the doctor asks. “This is going to be a difficult process, and you are going to need other people to help you through it.”

TK nods slowly, not looking up. “M-My husband. Carlos. He was supposed to come with me today but he was called into work last minute. He’s a detective, so he couldn’t exactly refuse—not that that stopped him from trying.” He laughs wetly, remembering how he’d insisted that everything would be fine when Carlos had stalled leaving this morning. “And there’s my dad, and my team—my family. I’m a paramedic and I work in a fire station, so we’re all pretty close. I… Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t need to know all this.”

“It’s okay.” The doctor is still smiling, still so understanding, and TK wonders—just how many times has he had to do this? “I’m glad to hear you have solid support behind you; that’s going to be incredibly important for the coming months. I’ve also given you a few leaflets about support groups you can access, that your family can access, and, of course, your treatment team will be there every step of the way.

“Now,” he continues, returning to a semi-professional aspect, “I want to see you later this week to iron out how we’re going to proceed. For now, why don’t you go home and rest, allow yourself to process this? Does Friday at 10.30 work for your next appointment?”

TK nods absently, clutching the pamphlets tight enough to crease them. “That’s fine,” he whispers.

“Okay,” the doctor says, just as quiet. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”

“Yeah.”

But he doesn’t move. He can’t. In this room, he’s separated from the rest of the world—TK doesn’t want to go back into it, where he’ll have to tell everyone he loves that he’s… That he…

“TK.”

TK’s head snaps up at the doctor’s voice and he flushes a little at seeing his pointed look. “Sorry,” he mutters, scrambling to stand up.

The doctor stands too, much more gracefully than TK, and gets the door for him. “It’s okay. I’ll see you on Friday, TK, alright?”

He mumbles an affirmative then steps out of the office, taken aback for a moment by the bustle and noise in the corridor. It’s strange to witness it now, to see all these people who don’t know him from Adam going about their lives, while his has, in the span of thirty minutes, completely crumbled.

TK takes a deep breath (and how many of those does he have left?) and joins the flow.

He’s home.

That’s… He doesn’t remember it. He must have unlocked the front door because the keys are in his hand and he’s standing in the entryway, but TK has no idea how he managed to get from the doctor’s office to here.

He made good time though, judging by the clock on the wall.

Small victories.

With heavy steps, TK walks to the sofa, easing himself down and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. It still doesn’t feel real that there's this—this thing inside him, growing and mutating and killing him. He’s not sure when it finally will.

Maybe in a few months, when his skin is sagging off his bones and his hair is gone and even the very act of breathing is a challenge.

Or maybe in a few hours, when Carlos comes home and TK has to break the news. TK can picture his face now, the way his ever-present smile will crack and break, the shock and hurt and grief that will take its place.

He thinks he understands his dad now.

TK closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, just for a moment, of everything that’s happened today.

Which, as it turns out, is a mistake, because that’s when he remembers the letter that came for them yesterday and the phone call they’re going to make after dinner.

The phone call they were going to make after dinner.

TK wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. They’ve been waiting for that moment for so long, the moment in which they found out they were finally cleared to adopt a kid. And now…

Gone.

Carlos is going to be crushed.

As if the universe is reacting to that last thought, the door suddenly swings open, marking Carlos’s return from his impromptu shift. For a moment, TK panics. He’s not ready, dammit, he needs more time to plan and to figure it all out, how he feels and what he’s going to say, but—

But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. He could have had the most detailed and well-thought out plan in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Because all it takes is one look at Carlos’s smile for TK to fall apart.

Carlos is by his side in an instant, gathering him in his arms and sliding to the floor with him when TK can no longer support himself on the couch. TK fists his hands in his husband’s shirt and cries into his neck, all the emotion that’s been slowly building all day exploding from him all at once.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carlos shushes, which only makes TK cry harder, because how is he supposed to tell him that it’s not?

He shakes his head and clings onto him tighter, feeling Carlos do the same to him in return. TK’s always felt safe in his arms and it’s no different now; he thinks that, if he can just stay here forever, maybe things will turn out okay after all.

But the moment ends, as they tend to do. When TK’s sobs have run dry, Carlos carefully pulls back from him, his hands rising to cup his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, so much worry in those damn eyes that it hurts. “Is it… Did the doctor say something? Are you okay?”

TK opens his mouth, but the words refuse to come out. All he manages is a wordless shake of the head, and even that turns Carlos’s expression into the picture of devastation. He can’t bear to look at it, so he wraps his arms around Carlos’s waist and leans into him again, resting his head on his chest.

Carlos holds him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll get through it,” he promises. “Whatever it takes.”

And it turns out that he does have a few more tears left in him; TK squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out shakily as a couple of lone drops fall down his cheeks. “We can’t,” he whispers hoarsely. Carlos stiffens and shifts as if to look TK in the eyes, but TK doesn’t let him. If he has to look at Carlos, he doesn’t think he’ll have the courage to say it. He hesitates a moment longer, a huge lump forming in his throat, but eventually he manages it.

“It’s cancer,” he chokes out. “Stage IV. Incurable. They think… I’ve got six months.”

It’s like time stops.

They’re both motionless on the floor of their front room, neither saying anything, barely breathing as the weight of it settles between them.

TK doesn’t know how long it lasts for, but suddenly Carlos sobs and grips onto him with a bruising strength. Carlos’s body heaves and shakes with the force of his cries, and it’s TK’s turn to hold him as tears drip down Carlos’s cheeks into his hair.

And, in that moment, it becomes real.

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fan-art-ic · 3 years

Text

Don't Stop Here

She's back. Anne is really back on Earth. She can hardly believe it.

(Picks up immediately after the episode ends) (ao3 link in reblog)

Anne can hardly believe it. Cars honked around her and every breath is heavy with unnatural smog. She meets eyes with a human stranger, who lifts a phone very quickly and stares bug-eyed at her. Not at her, no, at her family. She turns to Hop-pop, Sprig, and Polly, all scratched, bruised, tired, afraid, and looking at her with trust in their eyes. Hop-pop croaks and coughs and Anne notices her frog family's skin is graying. She has to get them out of here. Off the hood of the car, over five lanes of traffic, hopped over the guardrail, down the hill, through a sparse copse of trees, to the sidewalk under the bridge and-

"Anne?" A pink hand tugs on her wrist. "Anne, stop. Please." Her feet stumble to a stop and her socked foot lands on something sharp and cutting and she gasps.

"Anne!"

Two sets of hands catch her torso, and she faintly feels a wet touch pulling at her ankle. Her family carefully let her down, so she lands heavily on her butt instead of her nose. Anne's next breath is a punch of air and her lungs brighten with pain as she loses control of her inhales and exhales. Her eyes hurt and burn. When she wipes a dirty hand across her face, she winces as hot tears and snot sting her injuries. A light weight settles onto her back and rubs in a circular motion. Anne clings to the sensation. Between sputtering breaths, she begins to hear. "-in...and out...in...and out," Hop-pop's soothing, raspy voice repeats and then she can hear Sprig humming. It's a song Wally wrote about a silly snail getting lost and he had sung it at her Frog of the Year party. A laugh bubbles up into a sob and Anne reaches out her arms to pull all three of them close.

"I love you guys," she chokes out, and Polly pats her cheek.

"We love you too, Anne," says the polliwog, normally so energetic now wrung out and too bright-eyed. She needs to pull herself together. Anne releases her grip and her family takes a step back. She runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head, dust and dirt and surprisingly long twigs falling to the broken concrete.

"Alright, froggy fam," she begins, "I'm going to take you to meet my human fam." Sprig whoops, but he's clearly flagging.

"Yay!..."

Anne grimaces and looks at Hop-pop. The old, orange frog meets her gaze steadily, but she can tell how much he is missing his cane. "Hop-pop, you got Polly, I got Sprig?" He nods. "Alright. Let's make our way to the highway, follow along till we hit an exit, follow that till we hit town, figure out where we are, call my parents. Sound good?" No one protests and Anne helps Sprig up to her shoulder as Hop-pop collects Polly.

They're maybe ten minutes into their walk, and every step is a jolt to her nervous system. Her skin feels prickly, her jaw too tight, her muscles ache like never before. The pressure of her Newtopian breastplate, once reassuring, weighs her every step like a lodestone. The heron-leather straps pinch at the underside of her arms. Sprig's cool, damp skin is refreshing against the back of her neck, but it's not slimy enough and it concerns Anne. She bites her lip and tries to time her steps so that her sneaker hits the rocks and roots, while her socked-foot hits bare earth. She isn't always successful, and everything is starting to throb. Her temples pulse loudly in her head and her knees are weak and her mouth is parched.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Polly..." Hop-pop murmurs behind her. She can't see him, but she hears the dragging footsteps crunch the dry grass and the low comfortings of the grandfather to the polliwog. A stabbing pain shoots through her chest, and Anne forces her legs into a march. Focuses on the act of raising her thigh, swinging her calf forward, shifting her weight, repeat ad infinitum.

In seventh grade health class, there had been only one day dedicated to 'mental health issues' and something mentioned was meditative breathing. In multiple P.E. classes, Anne heard the teachers talk about making sure to breath while exercising. One, two, three. In. One, two, three. Out. Anne can do this.

The clouds parted a bit as they walked and the sun is nearly blinding Anne, as she squints at the sign. DALY STREET EXIT, it read in giant white text on green. Okay, so now they can get out of the weird in-between highway area they've been hiking. She points at it. "This way."

Something is mumbled behind her back.

"Huh?" She stops to turn and looks at Hop-pop. "What's up?" The elderly frog's face is twisted in a very non-confidence inspiring way.

"Well...Anne, I can't help but notice you don't have your backpack. Or...or your phone. So-" All Anne could hear was a piercing, ringing sound. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

"Right," says Anne, interrupting whatever the old frog had been saying. "Right. I don't have my backpack or phone." She blinks rapidly and Hop-pop's brow furrows deeper grooves. Her fingernails dig grooves of equal depth into her palms. "Okay, so," she claps her hands and ignores Sprig and Polly startle, "we will keep going. We will find someone kind and nice who will be willing to call my parents. End of plan."

"Great plan," Sprig yawns in her ear, and she can't help the yawn in return. It stretches her neck muscles and she yawns again for good measure. Polly yawns, then Hop-pop, then her and Polly at the same time. They all smile and the moment of brevity gets the family going again, the plan -no matter how little Anne believes in it herself- solidly in mind and the goal spurring them on. Not too much further now.

The sign for 7-11 flickers and there is a closed down Redbox sitting stoutly next to a ash-tray/trash can. The ad in the window advertises Berry Glam Blitz Bomb and a two for four hotdogs sale. Her stomach rumbles.

Her family is crowded together outside the storefront, and Anne doesn't know what to do. She's loathe to leave the Plantars by themselves, but maybe the cashier won't be the most cynical soul in Los Angeles. Then the frogs won't go under the risk of wandering the streets, talking to strangers. She can't bring them in though, what if the employee freaks out (like...any reasonable person confronted by talking frog people would). A clammy, orange hand taps her arm twice. She looks down.

"We'll be okay for five minutes, Anne," reassures Hop-pop. "Hand me Sprig." She doesn't hand him Sprig so much as the pink frog melts off her back and flops down next to his grandfather, but either way transfer successful. Okay now it's just time to interact with a human who isn't one of her two childhood best friends. She can't be totally out of practice right?

Marcy's eyes had been so wide when she died. Her pretty, dark brown eyes glittering from the light of Andrias' sword. From the flashing blue of the portal home. From tears.

Anne swallows roughly and steps toward the entrance. She scolds herself when the self-automated doors startle her, and she glances around the store. Someone tall and bald by the coolers, someone on the phone in the back, besides them and Anne the place is empty. Well, and the cashier. She approaches the register before she can one-eighty out the stupid doors, and she clears her throat. The cashier, a young guy with bright green and black hair and a name tag reading 'Jared', looks up from his phone.

"Hey-o, ready to check out?"

"Um, no actually," Anne starts and stops. What is she supposed to say? "I...dropped my phone and it cracked badly," she lies. "I was supposed to meet up with my mom but I can't get the dang thing to turn on." She laughs, short and high-pitched, rubbing her neck. "Is there like, a store phone I could borrow to call her?"

Jared raises his eyebrows. "No, there isn't a store phone. If you buy something I could exchange dollars for quarters, I think there's a phone booth near here." The lights are buzzing really loudly, Anne notices. She takes a deep breath.

"Sorry, that doesn't work. Could I borrow your phone?" She sees how the older guy assesses her. She sees her dirty torn school skirt, her scorched copper armor, the twigs that she can't stop finding in her hair. "Or could I give you her number? Please, I just want to get back to my mom." Jared's frown softens and his mouth opens to speak, but is cut off by a voice behind Anne.

"Annie Bone-choy?" Her neck complains at the speed she turns to look. The bald person she saw earlier. Face contorted in open surprise, finger pointed in her direction, he says in a nasally SoCal accent, "Your parents have been looking everywhere for you."

"Do I know you?" Anne asks. Bald guy shakes his head. "No. I like your parents restaurant, amazing noodles by the way, and they have your missing posters all over the front. Yours and two other girls."

"I thought you lost your phone and were meeting up with your mom," Jared unhelpful interjects. Anne looks between both of them.

"Can I please use someone's phone to call my mom?" The two adults look at each other.

"Tell me your mom's number," says Jared tentatively. Anne rattles off the ten digit code with ease. She remembers sitting in the kitchen and her mom helping her arrange plastic magnet numbers in the order of her cell phone number. Jared puts the phone on speaker and the dialing tone begins to ring. Once, twice, three times, four...

"Hi! This is Madee Boonchuy. Not here right now, please leave a message!" The messaging system beeps and Anne just shakes her head at Jared. He ends the call.

"Can you please try again?" She pleads. Jared frowns, but does as requested. The dialing rings again. And gets voice-mail, again.

"I could call the restaurant," the bald guy offers. "It's not exactly rush hour but they are open right now, right?" Anne blinks away the stinging in her eyes. She has no idea what time it is, no idea what day or month or even if it's the same year. Who knows how Amphibia time lines up with Earth time?

"Can you? Please?" He nods and pulls out his phone. A minute while he finds the contact, and now for the third time, the phone rings on speaker. Anne knows what they say about third tries, and she crosses her fingers tightly.

"Hello? Delivery or pick-up?" Familiar, accented English, and Anne has to resist falling to the floor.

"Mom," Anne whispers in Thai, and the voice on the line speaks rapidly.

"Anne? Sweetheart? Oh my god, Anne? Anne?"

"It's me Mom. It's Anne," Anne sniffs and hiccups.

Some sharp, unintelligible yelling comes out the receiver, and there is a rustling and slamming sound before Anne's mom replies, "Where are you?"

Anne blue screens for a second. "I'm..." She struggles to remember. "I'm at a 7-11."

"What? Where? What street?"

"Daly Street," Jared pipes up.

"Who is that?" Her mother says sharply.

"That's just the cashier, he was, he was helping me. Well and another guy who comes to the restaurant apparently? I uh, he says he recognized me from my posters, huh, I didn't realize I'd have any," Anne rambles.

"I'm coming to you, Anne," Her mom promises. "I'm going to hug you so much. I'm coming to you. I have to hang up now, to get in the car, but do not go. Please."

"I promise," says Anne, and when her mom ends the call, she starts crying.

She exits the 7-11 once she gets the bald guy and Jared to distract each other (i.e. purchasing a bottled soda), and she spots the Plantars immediately. They're on top of a parked USPS truck. When Anne peers around the vehicle to see the other side of the street, she spies the mailman making his way towards the truck. Crap.

"Guys!" She hisses through clenched teeth. She raps her knuckles against the truck's side and hear Polly yelp. "Guys, get off the truck!" A moment later, Hop-pop and Sprig land beside her, Polly in her brother's arms. Anne pulls them over to the Redbox and huddles on the side opposite to the store entrance. She steps in front of them, hoping her body will shield enough of the frogs so nobody looks closer.

"Your mom is gonna be here soon?" Sprig asks. Anne nods.

"Yep, she'll...she'll be here soon." There's no response, and there is a take-a-tab paper taped to the trash can advertising singing lessons, and it's all Anne can do to not remember the time Sasha threw a karaoke party and they all started singing badly and together, and Anne blinks and keeps talking.

"My mom will come, and she's probably in her mini-van, oh man she's gonna tear through like twenty stop signs and scare other drivers so bad," she snorts, "and maybe there'll be a loose water bottle or a chip bag in the car, and oh man, you guys don't know what sour cream and onion chips are I can't wait to show you-"

"Anne," Hop-pop cuts her off. "Don't forget to breathe." She sucks in a deep breath and feels bile creeping up her throat. She tries to swallow but her mouth is so dry it just hurts. She can't imagine how her frog family's is feeling compared to her, they must be feeling so much worse than her, and they haven't said anything yet. Anne exhales forcefully. When a hand squeezes around her own, she squeezes back reassuringly.

They all jump as a dark red mini-van screeches to a halt in front of the 7-11. The driver exits the car, not wasting time to even park, and runs towards them. "Anne!"

"Mom!!!" Anne cries and she takes only a few steps before she's barreled over.

"Anne, oh my god, thank the heavens it's you! Anne, Anne, oh my baby," Anne's mom sobs into her shoulder before pulling back. Anne stares at her mother. Lets her eyes trace the deepened wrinkles, notice the shining, brown eyes the same shade as her own, the beauty mark on her chin. Her mom's glasses are new. Anne can't remember what they'd been, but now her mom wears tortoiseshell frames.

"I like your glasses," is the first thing to tumble out of Anne's mouth, and she nearly slaps herself. Her mom laughs wetly.

"Oh, Anne, oh, I've missed you so much." Her mother folds her back into her arms. Anne hugs back as tightly as she can for a second before her mom stiffens with a surprised grunt. "And you're so much stronger, when did that happen?"

Anne smiles. "I'll tell you about it." She steps back and grabs her mom by the shoulders. They're the same height now. "I'll tell you all about it." And that means... "Mom, let me introduce you to the Plantars," Anne steps to her mom's side and reveals her froggy family.

Her mother gasps and says something in Thai that Anne doesn't know. She would bet it's one of the worse swear words. "I know it's a shock, cuz, well, two foot tall talking frogs," says Anne and motions for the trio to come a bit closer. "But they protected me, fed me, and loved me while I was stranded in their world." Hop-pop shuffles the closes with Sprig and Polly poking their heads out behind him.

Hop-pop extends his hand. "My name is Hopadiah Plantar, it's an honor to meet you Mrs. Boonchuy." Her mom looks down at the wrinkly, orange hand and then back at Anne. She nods encouragingly and her mom steels herself before meeting the hand with her own.

She gingerly shakes it. "Pleasure to meet you...Hopadiah," Anne's mom says his name carefully. "My daughter says you kept her safe?" Hop-pop nods.

"To the best of my ability," and his face gains a wry look and he rubs the back of his neck. "When she and my grandkids weren't off chasing trouble."

Anne's mom smiles tentatively. "I'm sure. Are these your grandkids here?" Sprig comes out behind Hop-pop's back and puts out his hand.

"I'm Sprig Plantar! And this is-" A loud honk interrupts him and everyone in the group startles, moving to look at the source. A silver BMW is stuck behind her mom's mini-van and the one-way street doesn't give any wiggle around room. A shout filters out of the sports car. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Except with a lot more swears. Anne's mom sighs.

"Introductions later, let's get in the car," she instructs and everyone moves.

All the frogs hesitate as they get closer, Sprig even flinching when Anne hauls open the back seat door with a slam. She gestures inside. "C'mon guys, it's just like a wagon," Anne says. Polly hops in first and settles into the closest middle row seat. She bounces a couple times.

"It's comfy," the polliwog reports. The jerk in the BMW honks again, even longer. Sprig and Hop-pop pile in and Anne closes the door behind them. She gets into the passenger seat and the feeling of air conditioning against her skin is like. Magic wind. Super relaxing. Like insane luxury. Oh, Anne missed technology.

"Buckle up." Her mom clicks her seat belt into the lock and starts pulling away immediately. Leaving Anne to explain what 'buckle up' means, and what a seat belt is, and no she doesn't know when they were invented. The questions continue as the mini-van pulls onto the highway, but the group soon quiets down. Anne blinks slowly and looks outside the window. The trees and billboards and other cars pass by her so quickly, so much quicker than Bessie could ever go. A pang strikes her heart as Anne realizes Bessie will be all alone. She hopes the Plantar's family snail is taken care of while they're gone. Anne looks away from the window as nausea grips her throat. She's almost home. She can hold off on falling apart for just a little longer.

"Anne, honey, are you awake? We're home."

Anne blinks and she squeezes her eyes tight and yawns loudly and long. She hadn't realized she dozed off. "I'm...home." She opens the door and doesn't let her twinging feet deter her from getting a good look at her home. The small bushes that lined the driveway, the slightly dented mailbox, the umbrella her dad always left outside the red door. Anne drinks it all in.

For the past several months she had been in a world with fantastical flora and fauna and shocking experiences every day, but Anne feels dizzy at the sight of her home. Her eyes catch on every detail, the once too-familiar not familiar enough. The bristly door mat; the unpolished brass numbers: 301; the creaky porch step; the small, pink, clay owl figurine Anne had given to her mom for Mother's Day in fifth grade and sat tucked in the corner. Her eyelashes are sticky with tears.

"Your house is SOOOOOOOOO BIG!" Anne snorts and is grateful for Sprig. She turns around to look at the small, pink frog.

"It's pretty nice! I've loved growing up here. Three-oh-one Silver Spring Lane." A gobsmacked look.

"You have springs made of silver?" Sprig's jaw drops. Hop-pop's head pokes out of the van.

"What's this I hear of silver springs?"

Surprisingly, it's Anne's mom who answers. She laughs, and it soothes Anne, before saying, "No, Hopadiah. It's just a nice name for a road." Anne tunes out what Hop-pop replies in favor of turning back to the door.

The metal door handle is hot to touch, searing from the oppressive California heat. She breathes out in a harsh whoosh and forces herself to yank the door open. It slams against the wall and the hinges squeak. Anne hears a sound of protest from her mom, but she can't acknowledge it when there's a bullet of fluff running towards the door.

"DOMINO!" The cat jumps into Anne's arms and she catches her, swinging Domino around and around and gosh, will Anne ever stop crying today? She hides her tears in Domino's soft, white belly, and laughs as the cat wiggles around to climb up her shoulders. Domino wraps around her neck and rubs Anne's check with her cute, little face.

Anne collapses to her knees and she pulls her cat around and holds her so carefully and so, so close. Domino allows this longer than ever before, but soon she does squirm and fall to the carpet on all four feet. She chirps and purrs vacuum-like. Anne's hands move on their own accord, stroking down Domino's back, scratching all her sweet spots, reacquainting herself with her Domino, her beautiful angel baby.

"Anne, could you move your reunion a few feet more into the hallway? So we can come in?" Her mom says, her tone telling Anne she's smiling. Anne kisses her baby's head one more time before standing up and moves to the side. Ugh, her knees hurt from carpet burn. That's one thing she hadn't missed.

"Sprig, Polly, Hop-pop! Remember the killapillar?" Anne scoops up Domino and holds her out. "This is Domino One!" Sprig steps closer, squinting. He pokes at Domino's paw and she mrrps! at him. He flinches back for a second before staring deep into her eyes. Anne watches this stare-off with no small amount of amusement.

Eventually, Sprig asks, "So this Domino won't kill us for dinner?" Anne shakes her head and a leaf drifts from her hair.

"Nope!"

Sprig oh so slowly reaches a finger to Domino's long-haired back. "Oh!" He says, curling his fingers through the fur. "She's even softer than peatmoss."

Polly joins her brother and jumps up and down on her new, little legs. "Let me pet her!" Anne leans back down, but Domino wriggles out her grip and runs down the hallway, disappearing around the kitchen corner. Polly pouts. "Aw! I wanted to touch Domino One."

Anne pats her yellow bow. "Don't worry. There's plenty of time for that later."

"I believe a good use of time right now," Anne's mom says, still lingering in the open door, "would be for you to change out of your dirty clothes. Go take a shower."

Anne stares at her mom stunned. "Oh my god...," she whispers. "I shall finally be clean." Sprig laughs.

"Are there no showers where you come from?" Anne's mom asks Hop-pop as Anne still revels in the very idea of pressurized water.

"I can't say I know what a shower-whatsit is, but we did bathe," Hop-pop says archly, half at Anne's mom and half at her. Her mom nods understandingly. Then frowns.

"Do you have any spare clothes with you?" She asks and all the Plantars go wide-eyed.

"We..." Hop-pop can't finish his sentence hands twisting his ascot. Sprig looks morose and he's holding onto his slingshot tightly. Polly is similar, tugging at her frayed and dirty yellow bow. Anne's heart twinges, and she cuts in.

"We didn't exactly have time to pack our wardrobes when we came, Mom," she says. "I have piggy bank money, we can go shopping guys! You guys have to see the mall. This time, my treat," she tries to cheer up the little frogs.

Sprig and Polly perk up at the mention of visiting the mall, but Hop-pop and her mom both protest at once.

"Anne, that's mighty kind of you, but-"

"Anne, that's very generous, but-"

Both stop and her mom motions for the frog to continue. Hop-pop waits a second more before saying, "Anne, you don't need to spend your savings on us. We can make do if you just show us to a wash bucket and a needle with thread. When these get worn out, we'll cross that river when we come to it." Anne's mom then lays a hand on Hop-pop's shoulder, slightly crouching to reach. Hop-pop nods at her.

Her mom smiles before saying to him, "I can certainly show you the washing machine, but we'll figure out another set of clothes for you." Her gaze casts over Sprig, Polly, and Anne. "For all of you. And Anne," her mom walks up to her and she smiles with glistening eyes, "when did you grow up so much?" She brings Anne into a tight hug before releasing her. And boops her nose. Anne squeals. Her mom smiles. "I will pay for the shopping. Now!" She claps. "Shoes off."

Everyone looked down at their feet and noticed the frogs didn't have any. "Ah well, shoes and...shoe off. Anne, what happened to your shoe?"

Anne waves it off. "Lost it a few months ago." Her mother grumbles and Anne suspects she'll be getting a new pair of sneakers in the near future. Then it occurs to her, "Where's Dad?"

"He had to stay to make sure the delivery went smoothly since Jackson quit and everyone else messes it up," her mom explains while running her hands through Anne's hair.

Anne gasps. "No! Not Jackson."

"Yes, Jackson," replies her mom. Her fingers tug painfully through Anne's hair and come away holding a handful of leaves and twigs. "Is there an entire forest in your head? Now off you go, shower. Get the dirt off," she commands. Anne rolls her eyes.

"Yes, Mom," Anne says in Thai and kisses her cheek. She looks to the Plantars. "You guys okay with my mom showing you around the house? Show you somewhere to sit and some water?"

Hop-pop nods and Polly wiggles. "I have a mighty THIRST," she yells. Anne giggles.

"Well, alright froggy fam. See you on the flip side," and she starts to head up the steps, her fingers trailing the railing, when a cough causes her to pause. She glances back.

"Anne..." Sprig says, "welcome home."

Tears spill over her cheeks and Anne half-falls down the stairs to give him a tight hug. Quickly, other froggy arms surround the two and are joined by a pair of human arms. All together, all safe, all alive. Anne takes a deep breath, and exhales heavily. She's back home.

#amphibia fic #amphibia #anne boonchuy #hopadiah plantar #sprig plantar #polly plantar #mrs. boonchuy #amphibia season three #my writing #if you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this pls consider reblogging

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Note

Prompt 59: “You’re so drunk.” Janus saying it to his boyfriends Patton and Remus? Both who ended up drinking a little more than planned lol

thank you for this prompt!! this is probably one of the fluffiest things i’ve written in my whole life

prompt list here (prompts currently open!)

Title: and days of auld lang syne

Word Count: 1,778

Content Warnings: alcohol consumption, vague sexual innuendo

(fic masterpost)

In his defense, he doesn’t mean to lose his boyfriends. But Remy’s house is very large, and there are a lot of people here, a lot of chatter, a lot of food, a lot of champagne flowing, and that makes it incredibly easy to get sidetracked. He spends about an hour discussing obscure philosophers with Logan, and then Dot and Larry draw him into conversation for almost as long, and by the time he realizes that he has no idea where Patton and Remus have gotten off to, it’s nearly midnight.

And that simply will not do. He’s not bringing in the new year without his boyfriends by his side. It’s tradition, after all, and he’ll admit, he’s just a bit concerned about the fact that he hasn’t seen them since just after they arrived. Usually, he is confident in Patton’s ability to curb Remus’ most foolish impulses, but in a crowd like this, with this kind of festive atmosphere? There is no telling what kind of mischief Remus might think up, and even Patton’s most disappointed stare might not be enough to stop him.

So, he goes looking, which turns out to be a more monumental task than he thought. Because really, why does Remy own such a huge house? How does he have so many friends? It’s truly ridiculous, and Janus is getting tired of navigating through all these people, half of whom are strangers and all of whom are decidedly not who he is looking for. He is excellent at putting on a show of politeness even on his worst days, but he can feel his smile wearing thin around the edges, can feel his eye begin to twitch.

But finally, he bumps into Virgil, who rolls his eyes and directs him to the second floor balcony, the one overlooking the back gardens. He makes his way there with no small measure of relief, and finds that the second floor is, at least, less crowded, which does wonders for his mood. He pushes the balcony doors open, and feels the tension drain from him as he lays eyes on his boyfriends, sitting on the floor and leaning in toward each other, whispering conspiratorially.

He clears his throat.

“Is this an exclusive meeting,” he asks, “or might I join you?”

Both Patton and Remus swivel their heads toward him, the motion almost in perfect unison. And that is when he first gains the inkling that something is off here; there are no lights on the balcony except for the stars, but the illumination from inside spills from the still-open doorway and across their faces, highlighting the flushes on their cheeks, the dilation of their pupils. And as they both stand, their legs seem unsteady, wobbly, as if the floor is rocking beneath their feet. Or at least, as if they think it is.

Patton reaches him first, a wide grin splitting his lips. He stumbles, and Janus reaches out to steady him, grasping his arms, and Patton beams at him as if he hung the moon.

“Hi!” he exclaims, far too loudly for the lack of distance between them. “I’m so happy to see you! Remus, look, it’s Janus!”

Remus has reached him by now, too, and he slings an arm around both Janus’ shoulder and Patton’s, leaning in close. He is steadier on his feet than Patton is, but only just, and Janus can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Give him the thing!” he insists, somewhat ominously, and just as loud as Patton. Janus winces as his eardrums protest the noise’s proximity, but his attention is distracted by Patton, who giggles and nods, taking his arms back from Janus and reaching into his shirt, pulling out— something. Janus can’t tell what it is; it’s too dark, and Patton moves too quickly, shoving whatever-it-is roughly onto his head. He frowns, raising a hand to touch it, trying to figure out what his new adornment is, but Patton pouts at him, yanking his arm back down.

“Don’t take it off!” he pleads. “We match now!”

Remus nods in eager agreement, and Janus squints at both of them, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. It only takes a moment, now that he’s looking for it; they both have circlets of vine resting atop their heads, clumsily tied together but seeming to hold up just fine. They appear to be made of more leaves than anything else, but they are speckled with delicate white flowers. He has to admit that it’s a lovely effect, overall, and he can’t bring himself to complain about being made to wear one.

“So we do,” he says. “Dare I ask where you got these from?”

Remus grins at him and points at the far corner of the balcony, where a mess of vines curls over the railing. There are clear signs of tampering, of some vines being torn off and flowers being plucked, and Janus hopes that Remy is not particularly attached to this plant. Also in that corner, he notes, are a great many discarded champagne glasses.

“Found ‘em!” Remus proclaims proudly, and Patton giggles.

“He was trying to jump off the balcony, and, and into the pool,” Patton says, using a tone that is clearly meant to be a confidential whisper, but doesn’t quite make it there. “I told him no, ‘cause then he’d be all wet—”

“—and I told him that I’d just take off my clothes—”

“—and then I told him that we had to wait until we get home until we do that, and then I saw the flowers and I thought we could make you something instead!” Patton smiles again, wide and bright, like a puppy eagerly seeking approval. He grabs Janus’ sleeve, tugging on it slightly. “Do you like it? It’s pretty, just like you!”

Janus can feel his face heating up, and hopes that the darkness conceals his blush. “Of course I like it,” he says, and Patton rocks back and forth on his heels, delighted, while Remus thrusts both fists into the air and lets out a loud whoop, a noise that gets lost in the veritable din coming from inside, and from the people that have begin to spill outdoors in anticipation of New Year’s fireworks. And seeing them both like this, so happy and content, he can’t help but smile back at them, shaking his head. “You’re so drunk,” he says, and he’s glad that no one else is around to hear how his voice turns disgustingly fond.

Remus nods rapidly, eyes wild, but Patton frowns at him. “Nooooooo,” he moans, and pitches forward, throwing all of his weight against Janus’ chest. He barely manages to keep them both upright. “’M not drunk, ‘m jus’ having a whole lotta feelings.”

Remus cackles, launching himself forward and into the two of them, and this time, Janus can do nothing to prevent them all from tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap. He grunts as both Patton and Remus land firmly on top of him, but he can’t be angry, not now, not tonight, not with the two of them here with him, no matter how inebriated they might be. Patton starts to giggle again, burying his face into Janus’ shirt.

“Whole lotta feelings ‘bout my butt!” Remus proclaims, plastering himself against Janus’ side and hooking one leg over both of his.

“Maybe later,” Patton informs him, his voice muffled, and Janus breaks at that, dissolving into laughter.

He can’t move. Can barely breathe, with the weight of both of his boyfriends pressing against his chest. But the stars are shining bright above them, glittering and twinkling just past the roof, and in the distance, the night sky blooms into reds and greens and golds as the fireworks begin, and there is absolutely no place that he would rather be.

“I love you both so much,” he says, and Remus sighs contentedly, snuggling in closer. Patton shifts, resting his head just above Janus’ heart.

“We love you too,” he says, voice slurred. “More than, more than anything. More than puppies. More than cookies, and, and—”

“And worms,” Remus supplies, “an’ more than brains, an’ zombies, an’ blood an’ guts. More than butts, even.”

Patton hums. “More than butts,” he agrees, and then after a brief pause, “But you do have a nice butt.”

And they both fall back into giggling at that, and Janus joins them, their joy utterly endearing, utterly infectious. He loves them. He loves them so, so much, and to this day, he has no idea how he can be so lucky as to have them, what he did to deserve Patton’s cheer and aching kindness, Remus’ eccentricity and unstoppable enthusiasm. They are all so different from one another that some days, he is still surprised that they fit together as well as they do, but he has never once stopped being grateful for it, grateful for them.

From both inside the house and below the balcony, there comes the unmistakable sounds of counting.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

He wraps his arms around them as best he can from this position. Patton takes up the count under his breath.

Seven. Six. Five. Four.

Remus wriggles in even closer, grasping at both of them, practically vibrating in his excitement.

Three. Two.

One.

The cheer rises up all around them, and Janus has no time to react before Patton is smacking a wet, sloppy kiss against the corner of his mouth, followed shortly by Remus doing the same, but only managing to capture his upper lip. And he watches in amusement as they attempt to kiss each other, too, their noses bumping clumsily against each other as they try to find purchase.

He laughs. “Come here, you two,” he says, and smiles at both of them as they turn to look at him. Patton ducks down first, and Janus kisses his lips, gently, softly, and Patton sighs in contentment. And then it is Remus’ face hovering above his, waiting his turn with a patience uncharacteristic of him, and Janus kisses him just as sweetly. And they both settle against his sides as the fireworks pop and roar and bloom, brightening the night into day and ushering in the new year. There is sound and there is music, and there is joy and there is laughter, the party still in full swing, but he feels no need to join it, because he has his joy and his laughter right here.

The new year is a time of resolutions, and in this moment, he makes his: to keep this, to keep them, now and forever and always.

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888

#deintruality #intrualiceit #janus sanders #ts janus #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #my fic #cat does prompts #*chants* first prompt! first prompt! first prompt!#this was a joy and a pleasure to write

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

The Trouble ~ Jesse Imagine

(Not my gif)

Jesse x Fem!reader

Requested by @expecto-nox “Uh..Hi? I just saw that you take TLOU 2 requests and I just wanna request if you're okay with it,only if you're okay with it. It's a Jesse x reader fic and Reader almost got bitten by an Infected and Jesse was there to save her. Can you make it angsty then fluffy? If you wanna add anything it's totally cool. Thanks for taking the time to read this if you did.”

A/N- I kind of want to do a mini series off this imagine? Like follow their journey towards Seattle and then end it when the unfortunate event that shall not be mentioned happened. What do you guys think? Would yall like to see that??

Warning- Violence, Angst, swearing, fluff

———-

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around us traveling to Seattle.” You complained to your boyfriend.

Even if you were currently halfway to said destination. With no sign of turning back.

Jesse sighed and briefly looked over his shoulder to show you his look of disapproval. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.”

“And let you come alone?” You quirked your eyebrow and showed a smug smile, “no.”

Jesse let out a small chuckle as he looked forward, “just admit it you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” You scoffed, “no I am not. Why should I be?”

“Because we’re going to Dina.”

“So?” You question as if clueless to what he was referring to. “We’re also going to Tommy and Ellie.”

“Okay.” He nodded with an amused smile, “well just so you know you have nothing worry about.”

You smile and even if you were never going to admit it, his comment was a reassurance to your overwhelming worry. It’s not that you didn’t trust him because you did. You trusted this man with your life, but the only reason why the thought of Dina and him bugged you so much was because they dated for a long time—Even if it was on and off again. It’s just if they got back together so much it was for a reason right?

And your relationship was still so new and you really cared for him. Maybe even loved him? And maybe it was because the both of you were traveling through different states, fighting and avoiding danger from both the dead and difficult people, but that’s how you really felt and if this trip was just going to end up with them getting back together then it was really going to break your heart and make this trip just disappointing—not worthless since you did come help your best friend Ellie.

“Watcha thinkin back there?” Jesse questioned, making you pull away from your thoughts.

“Nothing...just tired.”

“Once we’re past this path we’ll set up camp and rest, okay?”

Responding with a quiet “okay” you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his shoulder, avoiding looking ahead at the continued narrowed path or to the side and looking down at the steep ledges.

Even if you never liked to because you liked to keep guard while Jesse guided the horse, it was getting hard not to drift to sleep. The slow careful pace, the sweet smell of fresh rain and sound of nothing but each other’s calm breathing surely not helping your situation. But it was also a moment that didn’t last long as you began to hear rustling from the ledge above you, making you pick up your head and your ears to perk up.

“You hear that?” You pointed out.

Jesse looked up to where the noise came from, but didn’t stop the horse, seconds later shrugging off said sound. “It’s probably nothing but some animal. Don’t worry.”

The rustling continued and this time you slowly pulled out your pistol, trying to ignore the sound of your heart beat picking up in your chest and trying real hard to focus on the noise above you.

“It’s not—” Jesse’s words were abruptly cut off as someone came tumbling down the ledge and blocked the path before you. “What the hell?” The horse lets out a loud squeal before she rises up on its hind legs, causing you to hold on tightly to Jesse as to not fall back. “Wow, wow calm down girl.”

The horse gets back on its four legs and walks back, snorting and nodding her head. Just as you were going to ask what or who fell the figure lifts up and reveals its torn clothes, blood covered mouth, and clouded dead looking eyes, letting both Jesse and you come to the realization that it was no living person but a runner.

Quickly Jesse pulls his gun out and shoots the runner directly in the head, said monster dropping dead before he could run forward.

“Told you.” You breathed, right as he was going remark more growling was heard followed by tumbling down, same as the previous runner had. This time though there was more than one and they blocked the horse from both sides, not that the horse cared as it jumped up, knocking both Jesse and you off her back, seconds later barely managing to avoid being attacked and jumping over the dead to run away.

Jesse quickly helped you to your feet, the both of you standing back to back, ignoring the pain all over your bodies from the fall and facing the dead that surrounded you.

“I count five in front of me. All runners.” You inform Jesse through heavy breaths, “I only have four bullets.”

“I count four in front of me. Theirs a clicker in the group.” He responds and just as he was going to report how many bullets he had, you avoided a swing from one of the fast approaching runners, moments later following by kicking it back into another runner and making them fall on the ground.

The other two ran towards you, growling and snapping at you, but in a swift motion you took out your machete and hacked it into one of its head, that single runner dropping whilst you shot the one behind it in the chest and then in the head killing it completely.

You quickly then focused your pistol on the other two that had now stood up and were making a beeline directly towards you. Right as you were going to shoot one, you were roughly tackled from one unsuspected clicker that tumbled down, the force of the impact taking you both down to roll off the ledge, only Jesse’s distant exclaim heard while you did so. “No!”

You kept your hands on the clickers neck as you tumbled down, having to hold it back as it kept snapping at you in attempts to bite any part of you it could. “Shit, shit!” The pain only worsened as you landed on your back on the hard muddy floor, the cuts all over your body combining with your new pains and making the clicker increasingly more violent. The thought of Jesse’s well being replacing the thought and worry for yourself.

But you knew you had to focus on the fight you had, couldn’t worry about Jesse even if that’s all you could think about now. You had to and couldn’t let the clicker get you, and now having no weapon in your hand you had to tighten your grip around its throat, before kneeing it in what you think is it’s stomach, that action giving you the opportunity to throw it back.

Without hesitating you struggled to pick yourself up, grunting in the effort. Through heavy breaths and shooting pains you searching for any weapon, smiling to yourself as you saw your machete a couple feet away. Right as you took one step forward you were pulled down by the same clicker gripping onto your ankle.

“Get off!” You growled as you tried to stretch your hand towards your machete while using your other foot to kick the clickers ugly head. “Get off—” a sharp pain shot in your leg making you bellow out loudly, making your efforts to escape falter and for the clicker to gain the upper hand and climb on top of you. The ugly sounds of its teeth clicking sounding right in your ear as it tried to bite your neck.

Again and without any other way you tried to fight it off your back as best you could, using every piece of strength you could. Right before you were able to reach the handle of your machete the repetitive annoying sound of the clicker stopped and the weight of it was completely off you. Before you could react you were turned on your back, coming face to face with Jesse.

“You’re alive. You’re alive.” Jesse repeated under his breath before offering his hand to help you up. “Are you okay?”

You nodded in agreement, trying to calm your breathing before you could verbally confirm or ask about himself. Before you could even attempt, the sharp pain on your leg reminded you that you were definitely not okay and that you had something worse then just cuts to worry about.

Hesitating to look down you exhaled deeply, briefly closing your eyes before you looked at the pained area, only and disappointingly seeing it covered in mud and blood.

“Shit.” You cursed as you sat back down and groaned from the pain.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse stressed, his eyes following your hands as you tore the new rip on your jeans. “Are you okay? Y/N?”

You swallowed thickly and blinked to meet his worried gaze, following his movements as he crouched in front of you; “I don’t know. I-I” it pained you to even say the next words or to even think of them and think of the outcome of the big what if. “I..think it bit me.”

Jesse’s eyes widened, a hand running through his hair and a deep frown appearing on his features, a terrified look replacing the one of worry.

“No. No it didn’t.” Jesse shoved your hands off your leg and ripped the jean up wider, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he couldn’t immediately identify your wound because of what covered it. “You can’t be bit.” He mumbled as he shrugged the backpack strap off his shoulder and searched for something inside.

“Jesse.” You tried to catch his attention but he kept frantically searching, ignoring you or tuning you out with the thoughts running through his head. “Jesse!”

Said man finally looked to you, his lips partially open and eyes glossy with tears.

You reached to cup his cheek, showing him a small smile even through your own worry. “I just want to say that the time I’ve spent traveling with you has been more than amazing. I’ve got to see and explore more than I have ever had in my life, I got to know what’s it’s like to do that with someone I like and really care for and that’s all I could ask for. Jesse I know we haven’t been dating long but the time we have—and maybe it’s because I’ve liked you before we actually dated, but regardless Jesse, I—”

“Don’t.” He cut you off, the tears you never knew he would shed or let you see rolling down his cheek, “don’t say it. Not like this, not when we don’t know if you’re bit or not. I can’t hear it if you are.”

Jesse pulled his face away from your hand and focused back on the contents inside his backpack, causing your own tears to roll down your cheeks. Only lifting his head moments later when he pulled out a half full water bottle, choosing to remain silent as he twisted off the lid and poured water on your wound, in a gentle motion rubbing the grime off it, the both of you hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was.

A soft wince escaped your lips as he did what he did, that making him let out a quiet apology as he continued with a fast beating heart. The anticipation of if you were, or if you weren’t bit making you turn your head away and focus on anything else beside the fact. Jesse feeling the same as his hand covered the awaited answer, a deep shaky exhale heard coming out his nose as he slowly pulled his hand away.

“Shit,” Jesse cursed as he fully sat down, rubbing his face with his hands and calming his fast breaths.

Not receiving the answer you wanted you peeked at your wound, a grin breaking through your lips as you saw nothing but a deep cut caused by the fall.

“It’s okay,” you shared as you threw your head back and lay on the ground, the fear you had moments ago slowly fading away. “I’m okay, I’m not bit.”

Jesse shifted around to lay next to you, the tears that once pooled his eyes no longer visible and instead replaced with content, a smile replacing his deep frown.

“You can say what you were planning to say before.” He grinned.

Turning your head to face him you matched his grin but shook your head. “You ruined the moment, I can’t say it anymore.”

“Come on say it.” Jesse urged, “it will help me feel better after the scare you gave me.”

“You did great back there, fighting those runners,” You shared. Words you knew he didn’t want to hear. “I’m proud.” You lifted your hand to ask for a high five, a action he glared at but did so anyway, to later interlace his fingers with yours and pull your hands down to the your sides.

“I’m just going to ignore you said that because you didn’t even see me fight them off.”

You shrugged and showed a cocky smile, “I still know you did great.” With your other hand you moved it to cup his cheek, moving in to give him a soft kiss, a gesture he easily returned and pulled you closer to deepen the kiss.

Later pulling away but keeping you close to stroke your cheek and express what he wanted to say before. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You smiled and pulled him in for another kiss before pulling away and standing up—“the horse shouldn’t be far off we should find her. Seattle is still far off.”

“What about your leg? Let me stitch up your wound.”

You shook your head and began to walk, “after we find your horse.”

“Y/n.”

“Jesse.” You turn and face him, quirking your eyebrow, that letting him know that you weren’t going to accept any other suggestion.

Jesse sighs and moves past you to walk ahead just in case anymore surprises happened, choosing to stay silent and not wanting to add or question your previous conversation.

But that making it the perfect opportunity for you to bring it up. “Jesse?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you.”

Said man stops in his tracks, hiding the warm smile he had on his lips by having his back turned to you. Not failing to add a witty remark, and quoting you from before right before he could continue forward.

“You ruined the moment I can’t say it anymore.”

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shaalk · 4 years

Text

Late night escapades

Type: Oneshot

Characters: Junmyeon x Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, Creampie, Dirty talk, Panty sniffing

Status: Completed

Summary: SM Entertainment has just announced that Junmyeon will be releasing a solo album soon. Because his hard work for the past 15 years as a trainee and an artist has finally paid off, he definitely deserves a special gift from me.

Words: 2494

I hear soft raps on my balcony door and my eyes shoot open immediately, knowing full well who the culprit is. I shove the covers off my legs and all but run to let the person in.

“Junmyeon baby!” I whisper-squeal when the man pulls his hood off to reveal his face.

Unable to control my excitement, my arms encircle his neck and I cling onto him like a toddler. My boyfriend chuckles huskily as he lifts me off my feet so that I am resting on his waist with my legs wrapped around his hips. His hands are cupping my butt, just stroking the panty-clad cheeks softly.

Once he has securely locked the door and drawn the curtains, he drops me onto my bed and hovers on top of my form. I can’t stop the giggles from taking over me.

“Did you climb up the tree just to get up to my room again?”

Junmyeon looks at me sheepishly and I instantly know the answer to my question. I smack his chest playfully.

“You’re lucky I miss you so much! I’ll let it go this time but next time just call me so that you can enter my home by the front door like a normal person. I don’t want you breaking bones when your livelihood depends on it.”

Junmyeon flashes me his pearly whites and nods in defeat. The male crawls down so that he can lay his head on my belly.

“How has my favourite girl been?”

He lifts my shirt slightly to give me kisses around my belly button. My fingers instantly make their way to his hair, combing through the soft locks as I sigh.

“Better now that i’m seeing you.”

Junmyeon’s head snaps up to me, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he grins at me like a love-struck teenager. He gives me one last peck on my hip bone and then inches up so that he is eye level with me.

Junmyeon cups my face in both his hands like I am precious china and gives me a long smooch, first sucking on my lower lip and then engaging me in a sloppy tongue fight.

When he pulls away from my lips with a smack, his eyes are soft. He is looking down at me with adoration, as if I am the light of his life, and my expression mirrors his exactly.

“Oh! Congratulations on your solo debut Kim Junmyeon!” I exclaim with a proud smile.

I am so delighted for him. After all the years of training and promoting as a member of Exo, he has finally been given an opportunity to release an album on his own.

Not that he doesn't like promoting with Exo of course, he just wants a chance to show his fans the real him. After 8 years of performing as Suho, he wants to give his fans the opportunity to see the real Kim Junmyeon.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he murmurs and pecks my forehead, nose and then lastly, my lips. “Where’s my present?”

“I just gave you a kiss though.”

Junmyeon holds a finger up in my face, dissatisfaction written all over his tired features.

“Correction, I gave you a kiss. You received it! And a kiss is barely enough, I want more!”

I don’t need to ponder any further about what more he can possibly want from me. I know exactly what Junmyeon is asking for because his pupils have darkened and blown out. I am more than willing to give him anything anyway, even without him asking.

Taking my silence as consent, Junmyeon sits up on his knees.

“You’re gonna let your boyfriend have his way with you, right?”

I nod eagerly without any contemplation, desiring exactly what Junmyeon is instigating.

Junmyeon hurriedly pulls the silk nightdress off my body leaving me in only my panties because who the hell wears a bra to sleep? He then pulls his own top off too.

I can’t resist sitting up and running my palms over my boyfriend’s smooth chest and abdomen. God this man is so fucking sexy. He usually keeps to a strict exercise regime and healthy eating. With his music video filming coming up soon, he is working out extra hard so that he will look good.

Thanks to the moonlight gleaming into my room through the sheer curtains and directly onto Junmyeon's stomach, I can see just how much of an effect his exercise sessions have on his body.

It is certainly panty drop worthy.

Feeling somewhat rushed, Junmyeon nudges my shoulder so that I am laid back down on the bed. His hands glide down from my shoulders to my waist so that he can get rid of my panties.

I totally don’t expect Junmyeon to bring my underwear up to his nose for a quick whiff. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he groans as soon as he inhales my scent.

I feel more juices dripping out of me.

Junmyeon shoves my panties into the back pocket of his jeans and then gets off the bed to remove his pants and boxers. His cock slaps against his hard stomach as soon as it is free of any restraints.

It is livid red and pre-cum is already dripping from the tip. I lick my lips as I feel myself salivating, already wanting my boyfriend’s member in my mouth.

Junmyeon smirks when I swallow loudly. He loves when I am needy for him, which is something I always am whenever he is around.

From the foot of my bed where he is standing, Junmyeon walks around and settles himself against the headboard. My eyes follow his every movement and they twinkle when he beckons me to go over to where he is.

I quickly get on my knees and crawl up to my boyfriend eagerly. I drop myself down on his robust thighs so that his legs are nestled between mine.

“Foreplay for another time baby girl, I need you already,” Junmyeon whispers and grips my hips so that he can hold my body up over his dick.

He takes his time lubricating the tip of his rod with my juices. I aid by swinging my hips back and forth, my breath coming out in needy pants already. Once in a while, Junmyeon purposely presses himself against my clit just so he can see me jolt at the pleasure.

“Please oppa, I want you inside me,” I whine and look at my boyfriend with puppy eyes while I wiggle my hips suggestively.

I just need to feel him in me already.

Junmyeon playfully glares at me.

“You only call me oppa when you want something,” he complains at first but then he suddenly shoves himself into me, making me yelp in shock and my hair stand on edge.

My hands immediately fly to cover my mouth. After all, I live with my parents and I certainly do not want them abruptly walking in on me and Junmyeon while we are doing the deed.

“But what my princess wants, oppa will always give.”

Once I get over the initial shock of Junmyeon’s thick meat in me, I lift myself up and slowly sink back down on him, taking more and more of him into my expanding hole each time.

As soon as I can accommodate his size and sink down on him fully, the both of us hiss. Me because I am filled to the hilt with my boyfriend, and Junmyeon because of my warmth and tightness surrounding him.

I press my forehead on Junmyeon's collarbone because I need a moment to gather my wits. He is driving me crazy even though we haven’t even done anything yet.

“Move,” Junmyeon orders breathlessly and taps my buttocks to encourage me to start riding him.

I sit up on my knees and start bouncing on Junmyeon’s length. I grip onto his shoulders for support and I use that hold as leverage to carry myself up after I sit down on his stiff rod.

My head lolls backwards when I take a moment to circle my hips. The tip of Junmyeon’s dick is pushing all the right buttons in me.

The male takes the opportunity to leave wet kisses on the newly exposed skin of my neck. Then, he grabs my butt cheeks and helps me move over him. He lifts my whole weight up and then drops me back down on him, hard.

My mouth is permanently hanging open to let out silent moans.

With my wildly bouncing breasts right in line with Junmyeon’s sight, he leans in to leave bite marks and licks all over my chest. His hands leave my ass to fondle my tits and tweak my nipples. He squeezes and plays with them as if they are his soft toys.

My hands that were previously on Junmyeon’s shoulders are soon over his, encouraging him to pinch my mounds harder. I sigh in bliss when the man leans forward to take a taut nipple into his hot mouth, lightly nibbling on the nub until it is red and erect. He then gives the same treatment to the other side.

I am slowly losing strength in my legs so I lean back, resting my hands on Junmyeon’s thighs to help me push myself back and forth. My boyfriend’s eyes are glued to our connected parts, mesmerised by the way my walls expand just to accommodate him.

“Look at you taking me in so well baby girl,” he comments with his jaw clenched.

I bite on my lip shyly at the compliment and lift Junmyeon’s hand that is idly resting on the bed to place it on my clit. He understands my intentions right away and slowly rubs lazy circles onto the nub.

My movements become jerky and I let out a throaty groan. I quickly sit up and wrap my arms around the male’s shoulders, shoving my face into the crook of his neck and my breasts flush against his chest.

I shamelessly moan and pant into Junmyeon’s ears as he continues his ministrations on my sensitive organ. My hips move on their own accord and start grinding onto his member. I mewl wantonly when he roughly pinches my clit with his thumb and index finger.

I am getting close to my orgasm and Junmyeon can tell from the pulsations of my pussy walls. Also, my moans are getting louder with each stroke.

Worried that I might wake my parents up with my incessant noises, my boyfriend clamps my mouth to shut me up and carries me with one arm to lay me down on the bed, all while he is still deeply penetrating me.

Junmyeon gets on his knees and pushes my legs to my chest. He pulls out until only the tip of his cock is in me and then surges forward all of a sudden, hitting my sweet spot head-on, making me let out a choked breath.

He does that continuously until I am a whimpering mess below him. He presses his palm harder against my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers ferociously against my earlobe.

But how can I when he is fucking me so well?

When I let out another loud moan, Junmyeon halts his thrusts altogether. I am just about to whine when he brings his mouth to my ear.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, i’m not gonna let you cum," he warns. "Oppa really wants to hear you scream out my name but we can’t wake your parents up. Understand?”

I swallow and nod robotically. At this point, I would have said yes to anything he demanded, as long as it would make Junmyeon plow into me.

Even though Junmyeon is still covering my mouth for safe measure, I bite my lip to control my cries when he starts pistoning into my cunt again.

I am grasping onto the bedsheets below me as if my life depends on them. I feel a spurt of my man's cum against my tight walls and I know both our highs are going to crash over us soon.

Junmyeon is getting ready to pull out of me as he always does, but I am not going to let him. I am supposed to give him a present after all.

My fingers curl around his wrist and pull it away from my mouth.

“Blow your load in me please oppa, i’m on the pill,” I grit out breathlessly, already feeling myself teetering off.

I have never seen Junmyeon look that elated before. It is like seeing a child getting candy.

Almost immediately, my boyfriend’s finger is back on my clit and he starts thrusting into me faster. My metal bed frame begins squeaking softly, protesting against the sudden rough movements.

My body is quaking and spasming, trying to welcome the sudden increase of pleasure. I am feeling lightheaded and my eyelids are fluttering, trying to concentrate on getting myself to cum.

What’s worse is that I can’t even scream out to let Junmyeon know how much ecstasy he is inflicting on my body. But he obviously knows and I can tell from his cocky smile and smirk.

“Come for oppa, my love. I need to feel that tight pussy cum around me,” Junmyeon's dirty talk spurs me to lose my mind faster.

Just as I explode, the male lowers his lips onto mine, eating up my moans. I am unable to kiss him back properly when the sensation of my high wrecks through my body. I just let him play with my tongue as he wants while my only focus is to ride out my orgasm.

Junmyeon isn’t far behind because as soon as my warm juices coat his cock, his movements become jerky.

"Baby girl you feel like heaven. You're gonna make me cum so hard," his voice comes out so strained and breathless.

I clench my pussy walls to squeeze him tighter and soon enough, he explodes deep into me.

“Ooooh yes,” I gasp and sigh in contentment as the warmth of his milky cum spread throughout the pits of my belly.

Junmyeon lazily thrusts into me a few more times and once he has let out the last droplet of his pent up frustration into my cervix, he pulls out and lands on the vacant space beside me.

I feel the sticky liquids from inside me stream out onto my thigh but I am too lazy to move and I know Junmyeon must be feeling the same. I am already drifting off to dreamland when I feel him drop kisses on my sweaty hair.

“Mmm, thank you for the best present ever baby girl,” Junmyeon purrs before pulling me close to him so that we are spooning.

I only hope we will be able to wake up before my parents do the following morning or they will be in for a jaw dropping surprise.

A/N: Let me know what you think! Please leave a comment :)

#exo #exosnet #exowritersnet #suhosnet #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #exo smut #exo fic #junmyeon #junmyeon fanfiction #junmyeon scenarios #junmyeon smut #junmyeon fic #suho #suho fanfiction #suho scenarios #suho smut #suho fic

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frostsinth · 3 years

Text

Of Sand & Sea - Prequel

@thava commissioned a prequel of my one-shot HERE, curious about the first meeting between Guppy and Gull. This was a great time for me, I had a lot of fun! I hope it’s everything you were looking for! It ran a little longer than planned, but I don’t think you’ll mind :D

Enjoy my work? Consider going to BuyMeACoffee to show your support. You can find the link in my MASTERLIST. Feel free to check out my other ramblings while you are there. DM me if you are interested in a commission of your own!

Enjoy, and Happy New Year!

The beach seemed a pleasant place. The crash of the waves, steady and rhythmic against the shore, filled her ears. The briny scent filled her lungs and washed away the stinging behind her eyes, though she still gave sad little sniffles every now and then. The girl walked along the sand, sweeping an abandoned bit of driftwood back and forth in front of her as she did. Far too young to be left alone to wander, but far too forgotten by the world for anyone to notice. She was dressed simply; an off-white tunic dress, old and over sized, that fell past her knees. The sleeves had been roughly shorn away, leaving her tawny kissed skin bare to the warm sun. She wiped the back of a sandy hand at her eye, blinking away the last of her tears.

This was her mother’s lands, she had been told. The islands of her forefathers. Whatever that meant. This particular island, small and entirely empty, had been her family’s for many generations. Though it had fallen into neglect after her grandmother had passed. Forgotten by the younger generation like some old heirloom left in the attic to gather cobwebs and mothballs. Far removed from the main islands and certainly off the map for tourists and greedy moguls. It was maybe only a few miles across in each direction, with a small grove of trees at the center which crowned the raised hillock where the house had been built. Though ‘house’ was a generous word, as the structure only had a few rooms and was set high on stilts. Like something out of a picture book, she had decided upon first seeing it.

This was her first time here, and as soon as she had buried her bare feet in the soft, warm sands, she had felt... different. More at home than she had in a long time. Not since…

The girl sighed, far too heavily for someone of her age, looking out across the stony beach to the ocean beyond. A weight in the corners of her large brown eyes that the waves could not so easily wash away. Her uncle thought it would be nice to bring her here. To get away from the city and have some quiet. Though he was always working... He knew nothing about children; had no concept of what she needed. He tried, to some extent. Bought her clothes, asked her what foods she liked. But more often than not, he would be in his own world, and forget she even existed. Spending his time lost in his writing, or his books.

She found she didn’t particularly mind. He was awkward, and a little strange. They were still trying to establish their relationship, so suddenly forced together. And he was older, with rickety knees and greying hair. He couldn’t keep up with her, and seemed to quickly tire of her lack of understanding and occasional emotional outbursts. As had happened this morning. They had been on the island for nearly a week now, and she had stayed in the house on the hill for the most part. Timid and frightened of the rest of the seemingly wild place. But she had nervously lingered too close to him for too long. Had gotten in his way one too many times.

His harsh words still rang in her ears as she wandered along the beach. The little patch of trees she had bolted to hadn’t been nearly so scary as the volume of his voice. And he hadn’t followed her. Hadn’t chased after her to make sure she was ok, or to apologize for losing his temper with her. So she wandered farther away, first down toward the rickety old dock where their small little boat was tethered. Then further, along the sands and stones, to the far side of the island. Clambering over rocks where she needed to, swinging her stick back and forth.

No, she decided. The island was not nearly so scary as she had first thought. And there was lots to look at. Sea birds who cawed overhead and gathered on the rocks to look at her with curious, beady eyes. Crabs that scuttled out of her way, or raised their claws at her stick when she poked gently at them. Lots and lots of shells too. Some half buried in the sands, some laying on top. As the last of her tears dried in the warm sun, leaving tracks down her dirty face, she began to collect them. Gathering them up in her dress. Tossing her stick to the side in favor of sandy shells and shiny stones.

A particularly large and gleaming shell caught her eye a little while later, tucked between some large rocks right at the edge of the water. She could see the foam from the waves splash up just beyond them, and eyed them nervously. She had never been taught to swim, and her uncle told such frightening stories of little girls being washed out to sea. But the temptation of the shell was far too great to be belittled by her fear of the water.

She piled her bounty on the sand, then carefully clambered over the damp rocks. They were quite slippery in places, and more than once her balance was challenged by their shifting and sliding. But she found a little burst of pride in herself as she managed to reach the top of one particularly large rock in front of her prize, and stood there a moment to peer at the little cove around her.

The little girl suddenly became distinctly aware of a soft sound, echoing above the crash of the waves. It sounded like a warble, a keening. Sad, and melancholy. It made her heart quicken and her fear rise again. Her large eyes darted about nervously, wondering if ghosts could come out during the day. Her curly dark auburn locks bounced about her eyes as she searched. Something moved near the head of the semicircle of rocks that formed this corner of beach, and her heart jumped. But then the keening wail came again, chirping now. Sad, but also… frightened.

She clutched her prize shell close to her chest as she cautiously ventured closer. Climbing timidly over the rocks, careful to avoid the little pools of water gathered in between where the waves crested the taller boulders to splash bits of ocean into the crevices.

The rocks clicked and shifted ahead of her, and she was distinctly aware of the movement seeming more frantic as she drew closer. Something sploshed, and slapped. Sounding like wet cloth smacking against the stones. She could finally see it more clearly now, and the girl ducked behind a rock in fright at what she saw.

At first, she had thought it was another child, naked and laying half in a shallow little puddle of water amid the stones. It certainly looked like a fat child, but with greenish-teal skin and a mop of seaweed colored locks on the top of its bulbous head. She braved another peek around the rock, easing a little closer. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else living on this island. Her uncle had told her as much, and she hadn’t any reason to disbelieve him. Curiosity overtook her fear, and she snuck closer. Perhaps a little more lonely than she would ever admit, and hoping for someone other than her uncle to talk to.

The rocks shifted and clacked beneath her feet as she moved a little closer. And the teal-skinned child’s head snapped around at the noise. Fixing her with large, bright yellow eyes.

She froze, shocked. She had never seen such eyes before! They had no whites, and it seemed like the boy had no eyebrows above them. Instead, his brow bowed out, like he had been stung by a bee. Lots of bees, she guessed, because it was very big. It was a boy, or at least, she thought it might be a boy. He had chubby cheeks and messy green hair, narrow little shoulders and spindly arms. The shape of his head and the color of his skin was distracting, but she was pretty sure it was a boy.

When he saw her, his eyes seemed to get larger. He wriggled, and kicked, as if trying to move closer. She jumped at that, skittering a few steps backwards. Her feet slipped on the stones and she gave a soft yelp as she fell. Landing hard on her bottom on the wet stones, her ragged dress becoming quickly soaked at the hem with the intermittent little puddles of water. Her shell went flying, landing a few feet away from them both, but closer to him than her. He froze at that, and stared back at her. Suddenly frightened of the strange looking boy, she crawled backwards, until her back hit a large boulder.

But he didn’t move to follow her. Though she saw him wriggle and scramble again. He gave a huff at his efforts, then the soft, keening wail came from his mouth. She had never heard such a sound before. She blinked at him, watching him collapse on his stomach in the puddle, splashing about. Yanking at his lower half, which appeared to be half under a rock.

A year ago, she had found a rabbit, stuck in a fence. Its back legs unable to fit through the opening its head and shoulders had managed to wriggle through. She remembered the way it had thrashed and kicked, its eyes wide. It had even squeaked, as if in pain, and had seemed even more frantic when she had approached.

The boy with the strange eyes and skin moved the same way as that rabbit. She watched him for a moment, until he lay still once more. After a little while, he craned his neck back. As if to see if she was still there.

“... Are you stuck?” She asked him, her voice a little soft for its timid-ness.

He blinked at her slowly, as if surprised to hear words coming from her mouth. Slowly, she eased herself back to her feet. Then carefully skirted her way over, giving him as wide a berth as she was able. His eyes followed her as she moved. They were a little eerie, but she squared her jaw stubbornly, and turned her own attention to the rock on his legs. It was big, not nearly so large as her, but it looked heavy. With a final glance at the strange boy, she put her shoulder against it and shoved with all her might. It shifted, and she heard the crunch of other rocks around them. But it didn’t move much. After a moment, she had to relent, and stepped back.

A check on the boy found him still watching her, and she noticed now that she could see him properly he didn’t seem to have ears. Instead, there were fins protruding from beneath his hair, and what she thought looked like little pink slashes on his fat neck. He looked strange… but not that scary anymore, now that she was closer. She could see specks of yellow across his nose and cheeks, and over his shoulders, arms, and chest. Like freckles, she decided. She had a few freckles, though hers were brown, not yellow. But the color seemed fitting on him, since he was a greenish-blue, and she paid it no further mind. Turning her attention back to the rock.

“It’s heavy,” She admitted, then glanced back at him, “But I can try again… pull your legs out, ok?”

He watched her silently, and for a second she wondered if he could understand her. There were some people who couldn’t, she knew. Some people on the main island spoke with different sounds and words that she didn’t understand. Her uncle had said they spoke a different language, though he hadn’t fully explained what that meant. But after a moment, the green boy nodded slightly and she gave him a small smile. So he could understand her then. Good!

“Ok, on three,” She instructed, leveling her boney shoulder against the rock again, “One, two, THREE!”

She shoved with all the might her little five year old body could manage, though her feet slid in the wet pebbles at her feet with the effort. Still, the rock lifted, just a little, and with a SHLUP, the boy scuttled backwards. Just in time too, as she lost her balance and dropped the rock back down moments later.

She slipped the rest of the way, falling onto her bottom again. The rock shifted, and both of them gasped nervously. But then it fell still, and after a moment, her face split into a broad grin. She even laughed a little, looking over at the boy to see if he shared in her mirth.

It was only then she realized it was not legs he had pulled out from under the stone. She wasn’t sure what they were, but there was more than two of them. They wriggled and twitched under her scrutiny, curling and uncurling. They were the same color as his body, but the undersides were pink with little suckers every few inches in matching pairs. As she watched, frozen in surprise, the boy inched a little closer. Seeming to snake his way over the rocks. The strange appendages carried him like legs, with his upper body propped straight up as hers was when she stood. But they didn’t move like her legs, more like fingers. Or like a spider perhaps, though they looked squishy like spaghetti. She was so surprised by the sight of him, she hadn’t realized the little boy had crawled right up to her, and was now peering at her nose to nose.

“... Who are you?” He asked her after another moment, and his voice sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of water. His breath was salty, and he smelled like the ocean.

She blinked at him stupidly for a moment. “Me?”

He nodded, then reached out one stubby teal finger, poking her shoulder curiously. “... You’re all tan and pink. Like a gull without feathers.”

She pushed his head away. “Well, you’re all green! Like seaweed!” She shot back.

He scoffed, and she jumped as one of his weird feet fell on her ankle. “I look how I’m supposed to look. You’re the weird one.”

She shook her head. “You’re the weird one! And you smell like fish!”

His head cocked to the side, and she watched his nose flare as he sniffed at her. “You smell like sand, I think.” He seemed to consider this, looking her over. “What’s wrong with your tentacles? Why do you only have two?”

“Tentacles?” She echoed the strange word, and he grinned at her. Baring stubby little white teeth.

“Yeah, these.” He held one up, wriggling it in front of her face. Then poked her nose with its tip.

She cried out softly in surprise, covering her nose with both her hands. That made him laugh quietly. “I don’t have those!” She exclaimed through her fingers. “I have legs!”

She lifted one up slightly in illustration. He looked at it, then wrapped two of his tentacles around it. She giggled, kicking slightly.

“That tickles!”

“You’re weird, little Gull.” He told her, uncurling from around her leg and sitting back slightly to appraise her again. Then his grin returned. “I like you.”

“Do you live here?” She asked curiously, shifting into a better seat and wrapping her arms around her knees.

He shook his head, then pointed out to the sea. “I live there, of course.”

“In the ocean?”

He nodded. “Yeah, don’t you?”

She laughed. “Of course not! I can’t swim.” She turned and pointed over her shoulder to the small hillock behind them above the copse of trees. “I live up there. Well, right now anyway.”

“How can you live so far from the water?” He sounded surprised. “How do you stay wet?”

“I don’t want to stay wet!” She argued. “I want to get dry!”

“You’ve got it all backwards, silly Gull!” He shook his head, exasperated. “Getting too dry will make you sick!”

“But my bed would feel really gross if it was wet all the time.” She reasoned, thinking it over. “And I’m usually dry, and I’m not sick.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re sand colored all over.” He mused, reaching out with his tentacles as he leaned back on his hands, running them appraisingly over her arms. “You dried out too much.”

She thought that over for a moment, watching his tentacles skim over her arms. “No, I think I’m supposed to be like this. Everyone else I know looks like this too. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you...” She reached out, touching the thicker body of one tentacle currently wrapping around her opposite wrist curiously. “Maybe you stayed in the water too long, and that’s why your legs and skin look funny.”

He unwrapped his tentacle, pulling it back and leaning forward to take up her hand with his. His skin was cool to the touch, and had a weird quality to it. Like a slug’s skin, but not so gross as that. She didn’t mind him touching her, turning her hand about and rubbing his thumbs along its length curiously. He lifted it up, looking at the underside of her arm, then sighed and let it drop back down.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you, little Gull. Are you sure you’re supposed to look like this?” He curled and uncurled his tentacles beneath him, inching in a half circle around her as he looked her over again. “Maybe you’re under some spell.”

“A spell?” She echoed, spinning to watch him circle her. Fascinated by the way he moved. As he completed his circuit, he slunk over to the pool of water, easing slowly down into it before laying flat on his belly so the water lapped over his back. Propping his head on his hands to look over at her again. “What kind of spell?”

He shrugged his knubby little shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know. I used to hear stories about people under spells. They have to walk the land alone forever and never return to the sea.” He twirled his tentacles back and forth behind him. “Maybe that’s what happened to you.”

She paused, falling silent and suddenly remembering her sadness. Resting her chin on her knees. “Maybe…”

They fell silent for a minute, and he seemed a bit puzzled at this. At her sudden switch. He chewed on his cheek, then shifted, rolling back out of the puddle. Water dripping from his teal skin.

“The stories say you can break the spell though.” He offered tentatively, scooching closer. One long tentacle reached out, plucking the large shell from where it had fallen. Bringing it back over and holding it out to her.

She took it with a soft sniffle. “... Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you just need to come back to the sea.” He poked her shoulder again. “Then you’ll get the ocean back in your blood.”

“I don’t know how to swim.” She reminded him.

“I can teach you!” He replied eagerly. But she quickly shook her head. “Come on, it’s easy!”

“For you, maybe.” She scoffed, running her hands over the shell in her lap. “You’re a fish!”

He scowled at her. “I am not a fish!”

“Oh yeah? Then what are you?”

He paused, thinking this over for a moment. “Well… I’m… I’m just…” He straightened, puffing up his chest. “I’m Gupslessiano.”

“... Glupses-”

“Gupslessiano.”

“Gupplessan-”

“GUPSLESSIANO!”

She shook her head. “That’s too hard to say…. How about Guppy?”

The boy chewed that over, leaning back. “... Hmmm… I suppose it’s ok if you call me Guppy.” His bright yellow eyes darted to her. “But only if I can call you Gull!”

She grinned at him. “Deal!”

“So then, Gull,” He keened, skittering back a few steps, “... Wanna play a game?”

... The End

#merman #octomer #merman lover #sea monster #sea monster lover #sea monster boyfriend #childhood friends #first meeting #prequel #terato #exophilia #monster x human #monster romance #monster fluff

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bl1ndbraavosi · 3 years

Note

White violet or huckleberry for kakasaku 🥺

eeeeep this was soooo much fun THANK YOU

ok tbh i wanted to do smth for each of these prompts but my brain is EMPTY so i offer u this piece for huckleberry - simple pleasures

send me a prompt!!

“We’re celebrating,” she said as she walked into his office, uninvited, unexpected, and unwarranted.

“I don’t have anything to celebrate,” he said shortly, sending her one of his patented Very Tired looks before returning to his mind-numbing paperwork.

“Well, I do,” she insisted, circling his desk and planting herself very inconveniently on top of his paperwork, the sound of paper and scrolls crunching beneath her weight. “Do you know how much work it takes to keep you alive and well? I’m celebrating another year I’ve kept you around,” she teased, swinging her legs out and kicking him in the shin far more viciously than he thought the situation called for.

“Maybe you should quit,” he muttered under his breath. She let out a deeply unhappy tut-tut.

“We’re going to unpack that some other time. Today, it’s your birthday, and I am determined to make sure you have fun,” she said with a triumphant grin. “Even if it makes you miserable.” He thought that sounded a little counterintuitive, but he knew from years of experience that there was no deterring Sakura once she was on a mission. She was the embodiment of do or die.

He had begrudgingly let her tear him away from his desk, which he could admit was a gift in and of itself, and now they were wandering aimlessly around the village. She had made it a point to teasingly parade him by the Hokage monument, where his big head was staring down at him, immortalized in stone.

“How incredible that it’s life-sized,” she teased. He nearly cracked a smile before he remembered that he was meant to be there with her against his will. He had a feeling she knew he’d nearly cracked, because then she’d taken her torture one step further and announced—loudly—that she was so pleased to be celebrating his birthday with him.

The villagers flocked unrepentantly. He was shocked her face didn’t split in half under the force of her shit-eating grin.

“I thought birthdays were supposed to be fun,” he complained once they’d made a daring escape from all the bowing well-wishers.

“I was under the impression that torture and melancholy was your idea of a good time,” she said, pouting in thought and looking up at him with mockingly wide, innocent eyes.

“Cute,” he said, not hiding how unimpressed he was with her. She giggled and held herself to his arm.

“Okay, fine. So what do you want to do?” she asked, smiling up at him with so much warmth he nearly burnt up from the inside out. He just shrugged. He had never really thought about it. “Well, what do you usually do?”

“Nothing,” he said plainly. She frowned.

“What about when you were a kid?” she asked, her lip jutting out in a genuine pout as her frown deepened. He shifted uncomfortably beside her as they ambled down a quiet road. Truthfully, there was really only one person in the village that ever acknowledged his birthday since the death of Minato-sensei. Gai was always available for a “celebratory competition”, and that was all he ever really needed.

“I don’t know, Sakura,” he said tiredly. “I was probably on missions most of the time,” he admitted with a shrug. He remembered Rin always bringing him dog-shaped onigiri on his birthdays. Minato-sensei had always been disgruntled when Kakashi’s one birthday request was a lesson in fuinjutsu, but he always complied. Obito…

Kakashi sighed and when he looked down at Sakura, who was uncharacteristically quiet, he was horrified to see her big green eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. He flinched away from her at the sight, which thankfully dispelled the tears, but her tears had made way for annoyance, which she relieved by roughly punching his arm.

Physical violence was far less terrifying than being confronted with such an outward display of emotion, though, so he would accept this as a victory.

“I have an idea,” she said once she’d finished terrorizing him with her brute strength. He wasn’t sure what he found more daunting; her fists or her mind. He went along with her to spare himself the trouble for the time being.

Not long after, he found himself laid on a blanket at a park, staring up at the stars while Sakura snickered into the basket of goods she’d procured. He hadn’t argued when she’d pulled him around town, ducking into a couple of storefronts until she had gathered all her necessities. Now, they were sharing an itchy blanket in the middle of a park while she concocted some beverage in a couple of embarrassingly festive cups.

From where he lay, he couldn’t see much beyond her hunched back, shaking with her quiet snickers. Whenever he asked her what exactly she was doing, she told him to kindly shut up and let her surprise him. And so, he was staring at the stars. Not a bad end to the day, he supposed. Even if there was a madwoman at his feet, brewing up a surefire shit-storm.

When she finally decided to re-enter the realm of normal, human behaviour, she was brandishing two plastic cups, filled to the brim with some heinously green liquid that she said was guaranteed to get him “Kaka-shitfaced”. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d also presented him with a massive sparkler sat atop the saddest baked good he’d ever laid eyes on.

“What is this?” he asked in distaste.

“A bran muffin; you need to watch out for your digestive tract at your age,” she teased. “Also, it was late and that was all the bakery had left in stock.” It was the thought that counted, he supposed. Still, he made her share half of it “for good luck”.

She was right about one thing, though. That drink was going straight to his head. He knew he was in trouble when the stars starting dancing above him. Sakura was lying beside him, her head resting against his shoulder and her arms tightly hugging one of his. She gasped, untangling one of her arms to point overhead to a star shooting clear across the sky.

“Make a birthday wish,” she said through her giggles. He peered down at her, pink-cheeked and gazing up at the sky, the silliest grin plastered across her face. He felt so lighthearted he thought he might just float away. His mind was shockingly blank as the star and its tail disappeared from the night sky. “Did you do it?” she whispered.

He hummed vaguely, and that seemed to be enough to appease her. He was grateful for that tight hold she had on his arm, because right now, he felt like that was all that was keeping him tethered to this world. He could have blamed the drinks, but honestly, it was a combination of things.

“You know, I had planned on making you play a drinking game with me, but I think we are both better off without it,” she said, giggling to herself. “But, just so you know, that is quintessential birthday behaviour.”

“For sixteen year olds, maybe,” he mocked.

“What do you know? You went straight from five to fifty,” she chided lightly. Then, her head was tilted back and she was gazing at him with the same intrigue with which she had been watching the stars.

“And is stargazing quintessential birthday behaviour?” he asked. She pouted in thought.

“Could be. It’s all very individual, you know,” she said with the confidence of a bonafide birthday expert.

“Except the drinking games. Those are non-negotiable,” he said.

“Exactly. You’re a quick learner,” she playfully praised him. “They really are essential.”

“How about one round, then? For the sake of tradition, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “Truth or drink,” she proposed, and he agreed because he had absolutely no basis for refusal. He was entirely unsure of why he’d proposed this to begin with. She turned so she was curled up to his side instead of on her back, and it felt only natural for him to move his arm from her grasp to drape it around her. He didn’t dwell much on just how natural it felt to have her tucked under his arm that way.

“What was your best birthday?” he asked. She snorted, delicate as ever. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

“That’s a terrible question, Kakashi. You’re supposed to pick something that would be hard to answer so that I’d be tempted to drink,” she said, rolling her eyes as she laid her chin on his chest to peer up at him judgmentally and drunkenly. He thought that was a strange combination, but it worked for her. When he shrugged and made no effort to rectify his drinking game blunder, she sighed. “Fine, I’ll tell you, and then you have to recreate it with me. If you refuse, you have to down another birthday beverage,” she proposed with a wicked smile.

“I feel like you are taking advantage of my trusting nature,” he complained.

“You are the least trusting being in existence,” she said, waving him off. He didn’t argue; instead he agreed to her terms, curious to see where it would take them. So far, leaning into her ideas had landed him in a decent position. He couldn’t deny that this was the best night he’d had in a long time, birthday or not. “My favourite birthday memory is from when I was seven. Ino and I ate our weight in dango and birthday cake, and then we played on a swing set until we both threw up,” she said, giggling through the story as she recalled it.

“I’m not eating my weight in dango,” he warned. Her giggles intensified.

“I’ll concede on that,” she agreed.

“And I’ve never been on a swing set,” he admitted softly, sorry to see her giggles give way to a wide-eyed disbelief, tinged the faintest bit with sadness. So quick it made him dizzy, she was up on her feet and tugging on his arms until he was standing with her.

“That is unacceptable, Hokage-sama,” she said seriously, slipping her hand into his and towing him toward a children’s playground, her blanket and basket forgotten behind them. She presented the swing set to him with a flourish, pushing him until the swing was behind his legs, and then she was shoving him until he was uncomfortably sat on its band, his feet dragging sadly through the woodchips beneath him.

“I feel that I may have missed my window of opportunity,” he said as he stared down at his legs, seemingly too long for this endeavour to truly work out in his favour. She ignored him, sitting herself on the swing beside him and wasting no time in launching herself into a languid swing. Cautiously, he did the same. She laughed at him every time he miscalculated and kicked up a burst of woodchips mid-swing.

“You’re a natural,” she teased, leaning back and enjoying the breeze as she flew back to front, her hair billowing behind her, shining in the moonlight. “Isn’t this nice?” she called out as they swung in opposing directions. He had to admit, silly as it felt, it was nice. It felt good to finally have this small, seemingly inconsequential experience; even if it was coming a few decades late.

He wasn’t sure how long they did that, just swinging back and forth, higher and higher, mostly in silence, but for Sakura’s delighted giggles every now and then. A few times, he even laughed with her. Eventually, though, their swinging slowed until they were simply hanging side-by-side.

“I don’t see how that made you puke,” he said after awhile. He should have known nothing good would come of this when her mischievous snicker hit his ears. She hopped off her swing and grabbed each of the chains that hung on either side of him.

“Do you trust me?”

“In general, or right this moment?”

She didn’t bother elaborating, nor waiting for his final answer. Instead, she gripped those chains and twisted, link over link, until the chains were tangled and taut and he was deeply nervous of where this would lead him.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice lilting with palpable amusement.

“No,” he answered, but just as he did, she gripped his shoulders and pushed—he suspected with a hint of chakra strength—and sent him spinning furiously. The world around him was a total blur. He felt the chains untangle and re-tangle in the opposite direction, the force of his spinning too strong to stop. He felt her arms on his shoulders again, and he stared up at her to meet her green eyes, even though she had six of them.

He couldn’t get a word out before he was spinning again. Her uncontrollable laugher taunted him as he turned without end. Finally, just when he thought his head might fly off like a spinning top, he stopped.

“You feeling okay?” she asked softly, her laughter subdued but not departed.

“Never better,” he responded, as strongly as he could. He was pleased that his voice managed to sound deceptively even, but the effect of that was entirely ruined by his sliding off the seat and flat on his back into the woodchips, his legs dangling on the swing above him. “Ow.”

“Oh, gods,” she giggled out, falling to her hands and knees above him, peering down at him in concern, but her shoulders still quaking with silent laughter. His head was still spinning, and he was seeing stars, but this time, they appeared to be dancing in Sakura’s eyes instead of the night sky. He thought they seemed to belong there.

“I think it’s your turn,” he rasped out.

“I think our game of truth or drink has ended,” she said with a light laugh, pressing cool fingertips to his forehead. He shook his head and demanded she take her turn. “Well, we’ve already thrown the rules out the door,” she considered with a soft smile, her soft hands still sitting at the side of his face. “Would you show me your face?” she asked, her cheeks going pink.

He would blame the alcohol and the light-headedness, but he didn’t even hesitate before curling a finger into his mask and pulling it down. She stared down at him in surprise, her cheeks transitioning from pink to red.

“Does that mean you have to drink?” he asked stupidly.

“You have woodchips in your hair,” she responded, equally stupidly.

And then his hand was at the back of her head and he was leaning up to meet her halfway in a kiss that made him dizzier than all the swing-spinning in the world. She tasted like that vile green drink and bran muffin. With a contented sigh, he fell back down to the woodchips, leaving his hand lingering in her hair. She smiled down at him.

“Birthday kisses are also essential,” she offered. He hummed, agreeing wholeheartedly.

And then he was curled on his side, throwing up into the woodchips, Sakura’s laughter ringing loudly in his ears.

#alholland #prompt

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little-ligi · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump - No.26

No.26 - Recovery Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1848 @febuwhump

Follow on from no.21 (Torture)

Lancelot woke violently, wrenching his mind from the nightmare with a yell. He could still hear Gwaine’s terrible screams echoing in his head; despite being safely away from their torturers and back in Camelot, he’d never be free from that torture.

He dragged his eyes open as a hand gripped his uninjured one. Merlin was perched on the side of his bed, leaning over him with a worried smile. He pushed Lancelot’s sweaty hair off of his forehead, cupping the side of his head.

“Gwaine?” Lancelot rasped, trying to push himself upright.

“He’s alright,” Merlin soothed, continuing to stroke Lancelot’s hair, effectively holding him down on the bed at the same time. “He’s getting better every day.”

With a barely contained whimper, Lancelot sagged back into his pillow.

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

He knew Merlin had cast as many healing spells on Gwaine as he could. He’d wanted to do more but Gaius had cautioned him against trying, not wanting Arthur to get suspicious if Gwaine healed too quickly. The best he could do was make sure there’d be no lasting damage.

“I need to see him,” Lancelot asked, coughing against his dry throat. Merlin’s mouth turned down at the corners as he very slowly helped his friend to sit up, holding a cup of herby smelling water to his lips. Lancelot sipped it, tasting the familiar bitter tang of willow bark.

They had been back in Camelot for three days, holed up in the physician’s chambers to recover from their awful ordeal. Lancelot was in Merlin’s room, the familiar surroundings helping to calm him whenever his mind wandered back to the torture cell. Merlin sleeping on the floor beside the bed also helped. Gwaine was on a cot in the main chamber so he was never too far from Gaius if needed. Lancelot hadn’t had a chance to see him since they’d been brought back.

“Gaius says you shouldn’t be up yet,” Merlin started, putting the empty cup back on the bedside table.

“Please, Merlin.”

Lancelot’s chest constricted and suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He needed to check on Gwaine. He needed to see for himself that his friend was alright. That the injuries he had suffered under torture were healing. That his beautiful gregarious spirit had not been broken.

Before he knew it, he was gasping, panicking, overwhelmed by the memory of Gwaine’s screams, the sound of his bones breaking and his shoulders dislocating as the crank of the Rack turned. Merlin’s bedroom faded out of his sight as blackness swarmed over his vision. He moaned, tears spilling from his eyes, pain washing over him as if he could still feel the torturer’s tools on him.

He thrashed, trying to get away, to get to Gwaine, to…

“Lancelot!”

Warmth spread across his chest, a friendly, comforting warmth that reminded him of safety, and home. He latched onto the feeling, pulling himself back like a drowning man kicking for the surface. His eyes focussed onto two golden pools of light in front of him and gradually he managed to break through the darkness in his mind enough to see they were Merlin’s eyes.

“Hey, hey, Lancelot, it’s alright.” Merlin had a hand on Lancelot’s chest, magic radiating from it, grounding him.

Lancelot gulped, a sob breaking free from his trembling lips. Merlin gently pulled him to his chest, mindful of his heavily bandaged torso and splinted left hand.

“Merlin,” Lancelot breathed into the soft red neckerchief his face was buried in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Merlin said fiercely. “Do you think you’re strong enough to get up?” Lancelot nodded shakily. “Come on, I’ll take you to see Gwaine.”

Putting an arm around Lancelot’s back, Merlin helped him scoot to the edge of the bed. Wincing, he swung his legs over and put weight on his aching feet. He swayed slightly, but Merlin’s strong hands on his back and chest held him up as he took a deep breath and stood.

Ever so slowly, and leaning heavily against Merlin, he limped to the steps and down out of Merlin’s room. Gwaine’s cot was beside Gaius’s workbench, and Lancelot almost fell as he tried to hurry towards it. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying when he saw Gwaine.

His face was a mess of bruising, one side of his beard shaved away so a poultice could be spread over a large slice down his jaw. There were bandages wrapped around his head. And even more over his torso. Both of his arms, which had been dislocated at the shoulders, were bound down over his chest to hold the newly realigned joints still, one strapped with splints to correct a break as well.

Gaius was mopping Gwaine’s sweaty brow but looked up when Merlin helped Lancelot closer to the bed.

“Lancelot!” The physician quickly got up from his chair, beckoning for Merlin to lower Lancelot down into it instead. “Why are you out of bed?”

“He needed to see Gwaine,” Merlin said and Lancelot caught him giving Gaius a meaningful look.

“He is strong, he will recover from this,” Gaius said confidently, his hand gently patting Gwaine’s chest.

“L’nce…” Gwaine’s eyes cracked a little open and he groaned heavily, trying to roll to his side to face Lancelot. Gaius held his chest, preventing him from moving and he screwed his eyes back up in pain.

“Try not to move, my lad,” he said quietly.

Lancelot reached forwards, his own hand landing on the opposite side to Gaius’s, his frantic fingers tracing the edge of a bandage. Gwaine gave an exaggerated wince and a groan and Lancelot withdrew his hand quickly.

“Gwaine! I’m sorry, did I –” he began, worry thick in his voice but he broke off when a tired grin spread across Gwaine’s bruised face.

“Got ya,” he said wryly, his voice hoarse but tinged with mirth. His eyelids peeled open again, and Lancelot could have wept at the spark he saw in the green eyes. Merlin gave a slightly watery chuckle beside Lancelot.

“I’ll get you some more tincture for the pain,” Gaius said, smiling down at Gwaine then giving Lancelot’s shoulder a squeeze as well.

“How are you, Gwaine?” Merlin asked, sinking to his knees beside Lancelot’s chair, his elbows resting on Gwaine’s bed.

“’ve been better.” He kicked one leg sluggishly, hissing in pain. “You, Lance?”

Lancelot frowned and shrugged. “About the same.”

He tentatively reached a hand out again, letting it hover over Gwaine’s hand, which was tucked under his chin due to his arms being strapped to his chest, but this time not touching.

“Please,” Gwaine whispered, nodding slightly against his pillow as best as he could.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I was messing with you, Lance. It didn’t hurt,” Gwaine said with a hint of bravado. Merlin scoffed, clearly seeing straight through his lie. “Alright, it did hurt, but not that much,” he conceded.

Lancelot didn’t move his hand until Gwaine tried to lift his own fingers, brushing one against Lancelot’s palm. The tips of his fingers were carefully bandaged, covering the raw skin where his nails had been ripped from them, the same as Lancelot’s own hands. He curled his fingers gently around Gwaine’s and Gwaine gave him another lopsided grin, wincing as it pulled the cut on his jaw.

“Glad we got out of there,” he said roughly. “Not our best quest.”

Lancelot couldn’t stop the small snort of laughter that broke from him, even as tears welled in his eyes again. “That’s putting it mildly.”

He felt Merlin’s hand pressing warm against his lower back as he ducked his head to wipe the tears from his face.

“We’re gonna be alright?” Gwaine asked, a small shake in his voice, like he was worried about the answer, his eyes flicked to Merlin, then up to Gaius as he came back over with a small cup.

“You should both make a full recovery,” the physician assured him.

Lancelot chewed his lip. Recovery could not come soon enough, for he wanted nothing more than to see Gwaine up and about, swinging his sword or playing a joke on Arthur. To give him a hug without the worry of hurting him. And for himself; he hated being stuck in the physician’s chambers, unable to do anything. Unable to be useful to his king and his friends.

Lancelot relinquished his hold on Gwaine’s hand as Merlin slid a very careful hand underneath Gwaine’s head, apologising when he groaned and screwed his eyes shut in agony. He lifted him fractionally, enough so that Gaius could spoon the pain relieving potion into his mouth, letting just a tiny amount trickle between his lips each time. Gwaine winced with every swallow, but by the time he’d finished the cupful the pained creases in his brow had eased a little and his breathing was less haggard.

“Thank you,” he muttered to Gaius. “Don’t s’pose I can have some ale now?”

Gaius gave him a look that was half fondness and half reproach, going back over to his workbench and stirring something.

“I have some poppy laced wine for you later, Gwaine, but it’ll send you to sleep, so I’ll give it to you after the king has been down to see you.”

“Arthur’s coming?” Lancelot asked, trying to straighten in his chair.

“As soon as he’s finished his council meeting,” Merlin said with a nod. “In fact I’d better go and tell him you’re both awake, he’ll want to wrap the meeting up and get down here.”

“Merlin, no,” Lancelot protested weakly. “Not if he’s busy. His duties are more important.”

Merlin gave Lancelot a look that said he was being too self-deprecating as he bounced to his feet.

“You’re two of his favourite knights – not that he plays favourites, of course,” he added with a grin, already halfway to the door, calling back over his shoulder. “He’ll want to be down here to see you both. He’s been to check on you several times in the last two days, but you’re usually asleep.”

Lancelot pulled a face; he didn’t feel like he’d slept at all, what with the nightmares, and the pain, but Merlin was gone before Lancelot could argue.

“You alright, Lance?” Gwaine’s quiet voice drew his attention back down to his friend and Lancelot gave him a weary smile.

“Better now I know you’re recovering.”

He shifted his hand up to the side of Gwaine’s face, letting his fingertips push the hair away from his cheek. Gwaine rolled his head towards Lancelot, effectively trapping his fingers under his head so his cheek was cupped by his palm. It stung fiercely where his nail-less fingers pressed against their bandages and down into the pillow, but Lancelot wasn’t going to move. He let his thumb rub over the shell of Gwaine’s ear where it poked out under his bandages. And for the first time since they had been captured he felt content in the knowledge they were safe.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday26 #recovery #bbc merlin fanfiction #lancelot whump #gwaine whump #caring merlin #ptsd #referenced torture #magical healing #healing herbs #could be gwaincelot #not an evening reblog just a really late blog #ligi writes #a day late #but still going #hey ligi your gwaincelot obsession is showing

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anxietysroomsupport · 3 years

Note

i found out pushing doesn't work. that's what my sister does when she thinks something's wrong, she pushes that she wants to go to the doctor. eventually our parents give in. i think i mentioned it because i sent an ask here recently, but my joints have been giving me grief lately. several months ago my knees kept feeling like my bones were grinding when i put weight on them for a few days. more recently, in january i think, after spending an hour or two outside, my hips did the (1/?)

(2/?) the same, that night and for the next few days. sometimes it was fine, usually better mid morning, but other times i couldn't put wait on them. it felt like they were grinding, or going to give up on me. it's been happening longer where i feel like if i move the wrong way, something will pop out. i try to sit up and swing my legs and my hips yell at me with slight pain, so even though they would probably just pop, i wait till it stops, just in case. because i don't want to see (2/?)

(3/?) what would happen if they didn't. but recently, a week or two after i started these new exercises (my mom thinks it's related to that, which it may be slightly, but i don't think so completely), modified push ups so i could get better core strength and stuff, my joints have started popping. started feeling like they'll go out more often. and i mean popping loudly. i kneeled earlier in the process of sitting up, and my sister, who was talking and a few feet away, asked me if i (3/?)

(4/?) okay. it only hurt a little, it's more just the sensation of the popping, tiny pain. but my right knee sort of buzzed, like my elbow did yesterday. except yesterday, my elbow hurt. it felt, just from a random movement, like it actually popped out for a moment, or tried to, and my elbows are usually fine. if it's the exercises, i don't want to just give up my hopes. i want to be able to one day walk on my hands. i know i'd never get back into it after this, even if it's not the (4/?)

(5/?) problem. anyways, sorry, there's a lot to say, i'll try to hurry this up. recently after reading something they flared, when it started happening nearly every time i move, then went down a little, and have stayed that way for about a week. the exercises have been making me feel a little stronger, and i just don't think they're doing this. but, i kept mentioning it. my pain. asking if people could hear it. only my sister cares to listen. she always cares. always listens. (5/?)

(6/?) mental or physical health she's there for me. she keeps saying that i really should go to the doctor, so i keep asking. i mentioned the knee thing to my mom. she said she kept researching but couldn't find anything narrow enough to be diagnosable. that i should just wear the shoes that i can't stand, stop the exercises, start up again with walking when my body calms down, as if it will. i can't stop now. but i don't think she'll take me. i think i have to wait till something bad (6/?)

(7/?) especially after the thing i read, i don't want to wait. i don't want to ignore the signs. if i could save myself so much pain, why can't i try? just two or three days ago i was getting into school when my hip started to hurt. the hallways are one way, so i have to walk around nearly the entire school to get to my class, and i only had a few minutes to get there. i just told myself to keep walking. ignore the fact that i could barely put weight on my right leg. i had to get to (7/8)

(8/?) class. but pushing doesn't work. i pushed to go to the doctor. i got in an argument. i had stuff to do and i was starting to cry, so i just said i wouldn't bring it up anymore. i'd stop. my sister's an adult. i just realized i can ask her to take me. if another bad thing happens, i will. if they flare up again, i will tell my parents that i need to go to the doctor. if they won't, i'll ask my sister. i don't want to. i know my mom tries. she said normally she would, but covid. (8/?)

(9/?) but i have to go. maybe it's nothing, or maybe i will have to stop doing the exercises, and break my heart a little bit more as i give up on another goal. but i have to. i have to. i can't cripple myself for life because i wouldn't go. i have no idea what could happen to me one day or some day soon even if i don't. maybe i'm just overreacting and i'm fine and it's growing pains but i haven't grown in 1 1/2 years and it hurts. and i'm so so tired. been reading, sorry it's like prose (9/9).

I sent an ask about my joints recently? Yeah, well, this. yesterday I was hesitantly diagnosed with Hypermobility Syndrome, pretty wide across my body but mainly in my lower body. basically the doctor said, that since it's the best guess, I need to go to Physical Therapy and try to strengthen my tendons and joints. so obviously I'm so glad to have a solution, maybe not be in so much pain anymore, but at the same time, I like being a little bendy. I'm not stretchy, not good at gymnastics (1/2)

(2/2) or whatever, but I do like feeling a little different. so I guess it's just like, what if PT makes it so I'm not bendy anymore? is it like those metaphors where you break a stick, then put a bunch together and can't break it? or am I folding the stick in half, forsaking mobility for strength? and I don't think that a diagnosis for an actual chronic illness has hit me yet, I know I'll be more nervous when my first PT comes in 3 days, but I still feel normal.

Hypermobile anon here, I believe I said I wished it was something a little more for some reason? Yeah, well, good news, I don't anymore. My pain is like, I'm in so much pain, but not actually that much, and I know that I both am and aren't, and it doesn't actually feel like that much, but it is? My point is, tonight's been really bad and I'm starting to think it's good the friend I tend to go outside on walks and stuff with was busy. Also, my mom, in complimenting my drive, (1/2)

(2/2) said that while my sibling was told to do physical therapy to keep their hand working and didn't do it as much as they should, I was doing physical therapy regularly and faithfully to stop my joints from aching. I know my family, mostly my parents, has lots of issues and then just powers through, but you'd think that my mom, who has a bunch going on (allergies, diabetes, random undiagnosable stuff), would understand chronic illness. To her, my joints ache. Sorry, it's not actually too bad.

Hi Anon,

First thing, so so sorry for the delay on this one. And it’s great that you have continued writing in with updates!

Thank goodness you did keep pushing and get your diagnosis (even if it may be a hesitant one)! You really could have ended up struggling for a long time. Arthritis would have been another guess if your doctor hadn’t come to Hypermobility Syndrome.

Hopefully your doctor is treating this seriously, but remember that if any doctor is trying to ignore your concerns, you can very clearly say to them, “If you’re not going to do tests I want it noted in my chart.”

From the advice of a lot of chronically ill folks, it is also strongly recommended to get your vitamin levels checked, especially b12, iron, and vitamin d. These can actually cause joint symptoms if they’re low enough and lots of things can affect your absorption of them.

It is definitely still possible to build muscle and continue to be flexible. It takes quite a lot of bulk to start limiting your range of movement, and physical therapy will probably be gradual enough that you can assess your flexibility as you go.

As far as feeling “normal”, having chronic illness actually is really common! In 2012, the National Health Council stated that roughly 133 million people in the U.S. were dealing with some kind of chronic condition.

It is awful that you’re in so much pain. Your doctor should also be helping you manage that, since strengthening your muscles isn’t going to be an immediate solution. That takes time, but you’re in a lot of pain right now. Anti-inflammatory painkillers can help with joint pain, and heat treatments like warm baths, hot water bottles, and heat-rub creams can be useful too. Beyond that, you might need prescription treatments.

Your mom is probably just trying to encourage you, but it’s small comfort compared to the level of pain you’re dealing with. People will often deal with chronic illness in different ways, especially different generations. It might help to find groups online that are dealing with similar issues, or chronic conditions in general. Places like reddit, facebook, etc will have groups or subreddits dedicated to creating a community, so you can share your experiences and find other people dealing with the same issues. You might ask your physical therapist if there are any in-person or online support groups locally.

You’ll have to find a way to manage your chronic illness, your way. If your mom doesn’t understand it, don’t worry about her. You got this. And your sister’s got your back.

-Kai, bun

#chronic illness #pain #diagnosis #doctors #family #sister #parents #mom #joint pain #hypermobility syndrome #treatment #physical therapy #medicine #long post

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schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

a series of events

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Mikaele Salesa, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker & Sasha James

Characters: Mikaele Salesa, Getrude Robinson, Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 5,314

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Missing Scene

Canon Compliant

Vignettes

Summary:

It's not a tragedy. It's not a comedy either. It's a series of unfortunate events and their rather anticlimactic end.

aka What do Mikaele, Gertrude and Tim have in common? A gun!

Contains spoilers up until MAG 115

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205352

CN: Guns (discussed), Murder (mentioned & idiomatic) Entities alluded to: Buried, Corruption, Flesh, Slaughter, Stranger

Exposition

It starts with a plain looking flintlock pistol and a few percussion weapons. After he had copied Jürgen’s client list, he had studied every last name on it relentlessly until he found one that he was sure enough he could sell to without having Jürgen with him. Then he tracked down a lass in Sunderland who liquidated a relatively sumptuous collection of antique weapons.

Now he’s standing in front of a door belonging to a block of flats which doesn’t look in the slightest like a home for antiques. Mikaele’s used to much too big houses, creaking with old age and looming over him like the head of a giant monster sleeping underneath the earth. He knows brass doorknockers and intercommunication systems at iron gates separating the wide-spreading garden area from the street. A simple intercom at the door and several flights of stairs towards one of half a dozen identical looking doors is unfamiliar territory and sends a rush of adrenaline through his whole body.

After drawing a final breath to brace himself, he rings the bell and waits for the steady thrum of the buzzer inviting him into the whitewashed house with its light grey louvred blinds. His feet hit tiles and then stair after stair until he’s in front of a door with inlaid glass. The sight through is blocked by what seems to be a curtain made from Nottingham lace.

Drawing another breath, he raps his knuckles curtly against the wood of the door and takes a step back. While he listens to shuffling footsteps coming closer, he swallows drily and plasters a sly grin on his face, even though he doesn’t feel like it. He has seen Jürgen interact with dozens of people over the years and had a fair share of interactions with tedious clients himself, so he knows that confidence is the first step to success. If he thinks he can make a deal, then he can make a deal. It’s easy, he tells himself.

The door swings open and a woman in her thirties studies him with tired eyes. She says: “Mr Salesa, I suppose?”

He nods, accompanied by verbal confirmation and greeting, and extends his hand for her to shake, and it only takes an imploring look upon his hand until she grabs hold of it and welcomes him into her small flat.

“It’s in the backroom,” she says as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. “Found them while cleaning out my Da’s cellar but hadn’t had the chance to get them looked at. What with all the funeral preparations, you know?”

Mikaele doesn’t because he never had to take care of such thing, but he makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and offers his condolences because it’s the polite thing to do. She thanks him in a detached voice, as one does faced with superficial, sympathetic words.

“It’s a whole chest of them,” she continues while opening the door to a small pantry which is filled to the brim with shelves displaying tinned and pickled food. The floor area is covered with cardboard boxes, two wooden chests and a few rolled up carpets. She gestures towards the chest on the left and steps back to make room for him. He thanks her.

“I don’t know if they’re worth anything at all,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and watching him step closer until the fingers of his outstretched hand touch the copper key of the chest, and sink to his knees. A part of him wants to explain to her that she’s setting herself up to get stitched up like a kipper. But it’s not his problem, is it? Actually, it’s rather his fortune.

Mikaele opens the lid and takes a look at the percussion weapons, eight of them in total. Six percussion rifles and two guns. And right on top of them lies a flintlock gun with a wooden handle. He’s not interested in that, so he takes it out and lays it down next to him on the floor with great caution.

“So, you’re taking them?” She asks and he can hear her shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got two other potential buyers. But if you want them, you can have them.”

He doesn’t know why she’s so eager to get rid of them and uneasiness settles into his midriff, constricting his breathing in an almost imperceptible way. So, he tells her that he can’t decide without taking a proper look at them. And then he asks her about deeds of ownership.

“Everything I’ve got is in that chest. If they don’t have a deed of ownership, then I haven’t either,” she replies while he takes one percussion gun out of the chest, examining the caplock mechanism and pulling back the hammer, only to be greeted by the strenuous sound of a screw being used for the first time after a long period of inactivity.

Cautiously taking out one musket after the other, splayed around him like sunbeams, the bottom of the chest reveals nine deeds of ownership and even a documentation of the last purchase agreement.

This is too good to be true, Mikaele thinks. But what he says is that he is going to buy them and that he can guarantee her an adequate payment, he can’t, however, say anything about the price just now. He must test if they work, he apologises, then he promises that if they’re usable he’s going to pay her even more. Even though it doesn’t make a difference for his potential buyer. Mikaele will get the same amount either way. But she seems like she could use the money, and this is his first buy all on his own. He can be a little generous, he can be a little accommodating.

“I don’t care,” she says, levity coming back to her and lifting her shoulders as if up until now she had been pressed down by a weight he hadn’t noticed. “I just want them gone. So, if you could take them with you today, that would be appreciated.”

After taking out the documents, he nods absent-mindedly and places the weapons back inside the chest. When he turns towards the flintlock pistol, he asks where he should put it.

“You can have it,” she rushes to say, involuntarily taking a step back and raising her hands in a display of defensiveness, palms spread wide open. He tells her that he doesn’t necessarily want it, but she dismisses his objections. “I don’t want it.” He opens his mouth again. “Look, take it as an eight plus one deal, okay? I don’t want them. Not any of them.”

He nods as if he understands what she’s trying to say. He doesn’t, but does it make any difference?

Together they lift the now locked chest after and they carry it down the stairs, through the small front yard and into Mikaele’s waiting car. As she steps back from the boot, he thanks her for her generosity and extends once again his hand to meet hers.

“Thank you,” she says as if she hadn’t singlehandedly conferred the possibility for his career beyond horror and threats on his life bound in leather. So, he thanks her, too, and as he drives away, he can feel the uneasiness melt from his ribcage into a small puddle of contentment right above his abdomen.

This is the start of something new.

Rising Action

It hadn’t been the start of something new, Mikaele realises when he sees the now familiar chest again. It had been a continuation of misfortune and horrible, sleepless nights. At least until Jürgen’s list began to seek him out to sell him the objects Jürgen wouldn’t take.

It’s a mule chest made of oak, a warm reddish colour and with a beautiful patina spread over the copper of the escutcheon, handles and applications that speaks of a long history of utilisation. Nice to look at with its octagon panelling and its visible age rings and veins of the wood.

But Mikaele knows there’s something inside besides the eighteenth century’s weaponry he held for the first time over twenty years ago. Something that, if it would live in a book, would be in Jürgen’s métier.

Despite his knowledge of the danger that lurks inside this chest, Mikaele had sold it multiple times to all kinds of different people. He thought, a meat grinder, an antique syringe, a wooden crate, a wooden chest – when it comes down to it, it’s all the same.

Slowly, word spreads. Especially in a social circle as small as the one Mikaele operates in. People talk and its hard to bring something to a market that has learned by now that the thing will get them killed. (Of course, there are always the outliers, the unpredictable variables of heedless rich men who think they can withstand temptation, only to fail. Mikaele, however, is not a heedless man and if he knows one thing, it’s that dead men can’t spend money anymore.)

So, he almost got restless at the prospect of owning a chest filled with death impossible to market again, when he remembers the small business card in his middle desk drawer that reads in small capital letters The Magnus Institute.

He calls.

Mr Bouchard welcomes his offer with the generosity of a Lukas and asks him to drop off the chest as quickly as convenient. So, he gets into his car roughly two days later and takes the trip to the institute himself as the loss of Cook is still somewhat thrumming beneath his skin. (He gives the others a few days off, tells Leigh to stock up on supplies, so they can set sails as soon as he gets back.)

When he gets out of the car in the parking lot of the institute, he realises belatedly that he has no chance of transporting the chest all on his own, so he locks up the door and heads up to the institute, a certain spring in his step and something akin to giddiness in his soul.

“Rosie,” he greets the woman sitting at the desk in front of Mr Bouchard’s office and she offers him salutations with a smile as wide as the Thames. “Mr Bouchard awaits me. A delivery for Artefacts that I could not possibly carry alone.”

She tells him that Mr Bouchard is in a meeting with a Lukas, and she says it with a wink and a smile, and even though Mikaele doesn’t quite make heads or tails of her words, he understands that she can’t ring him up until he gets out of his call, so he asks: “Would you mind calling Artefacts to send a helping hand?”

Telephone handset already in hand, her manicured fingers dial a three-digit number, and she waits patiently for the other person to pick up.

Meanwhile, Mikaele studies the stone tiles that could almost look like marble, and the dark, oiled wood that forms the intricate details of the desk she’s sitting at. The surface is covered in paper and sticky notes and handwritten reminders and dates, almost contrary to the planner lying next to her keyboard that is colour-coded and in a minimalistic beauty that Mikaele wants to envy but finds to be incredibly annoying.

Although Mikaele’s clearly occupied studying her surroundings like the engaged columns that bestow texture upon the too white walls, ending in abstract art nouveau capitals that could be worthy of note but only exert tristesse in their colourlessness. It’s a shame, Mikaele thinks, that this is what Jonah Magnus chose to express the prestigiousness of the institute with.

Suddenly, someone’s standing too close to him; entirely unexpected in his line of vision. He startles, ripping his gaze off the columns, and is met with an expressionless look of a woman. She narrows her eyes when he takes a step back to bring distance between them and apologises in a stern voice that doesn’t speak of remorse.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replies, interlacing his fingers behind his back.

From the other side of her desk, Rosie informs him that someone from Artefacts will soon be with them and if he would mind waiting for a bit. He shakes his head in answer, but his attention lays on the gaunt woman before him. She’s one part tenuous and two parts careworn wrapped in white hair and wrinkly skin only broken by thread veins and purposeful inexpressiveness.

She introduces herself as Gertrude Robinson, the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and asks him for the cause of his visitation. So, without his own volition he tells of the chest and its malevolent contents. He tells of violence and strife and death. And when he’s done, all he can do is blink at her in owlish perturbation.

Adversatively, her gaze is unwavering, examining the parts of his being that he himself is not entirely aware of. With a blink of her eye, he feels like he can breathe again, but her carefully worded question, if he had anything else to say to her, tries to gently pry words from his mouth that he hadn’t previously known existed. He swallows them all down, phoneme for lexeme for root, almost choking on the pre- and inter- and suffixes.

He says: “Beware of the splinters. And always wear gloves.”

Though he thought she’d be displeased, her eyes glow in satisfaction and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips makes uneasiness rear its ugly head like he’s still a twenty-something in the middle of Jürgen’s library.

Climax

Michael’s standing in the doorway even though she has told him a hundred times not to lurk. He’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and the look on his face can only be described as discontent.

“I told you,” she says, weariness settling into her bones, “that it’s an act of utmost discourtesy to earwig my recordings of a statement.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his weight and leans against the doorframe like a scallywag assessing the possibilities to wreak havoc. With a sigh coming from the depths of her soul, she attempts to find chagrin between fatigue and impuissance, but she comes home empty handed.

“I know,” she concedes, “this is of personal interest to you. And I can assure you, I won’t keep you in the dark in regard to research. However, I find myself in the unfortunate position of putting the development of the case before your personal interest. Which, ultimately, should lead to your satisfaction, too.” She interrupts herself in hope that he says at least something. He doesn’t. “Emma is currently tracking down Mikaele Salesa and should return with him and his extensive knowledge of the artefact as soon as possible. A research assistant is accompanying her, for her own safety and the insurance that Mr Salesa will come back.”

Michael narrows his eyes, still rigid and tensed up, every fibre of his body tight-drawn.

She has never seen him like this, without his languid smile and crinkling eyes, without the casual ‘swagger’ of his step and his restless fingers in search of something to hold on to. This is the first time she has ever seen his face in severity and earnest, almost distorted in its unfamiliarity.

“Michael,” she says after a while and she can’t keep every notion of defeat out of her voice. Three words sit on her tongue, heavy and strange, a combination of egoistical self-sorrow and wrong-worded sentiment. An attempt of retaliation, of connecting broken pieces and lost connections.

But her mouth remains empty, her teeth blocking the path separating herself from vulnerability and violability.

It's nothing personal, she thinks to herself, Michael's as good as they come. But here inside the walls of the institute every word is a weapon shock-sensitive and ready to explode. (The shock comes in many forms, most prevalently and most dangerously in the shape of grey-green eyes and blasé smiles that turn benign concerns into malignant worries. The shock comes in bursts, circling into waves that drown out every other thought.)

So, she breathes around three words that Michael deserves and that she would willingly give if he were anyone else, anyone unknown.

Time goes by in little droplets of apprehensiveness, pulling together into a flow of disquietness. But Michael’s not moving, just staring at her demandingly, his jaw locked and his knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she must avert her eyes, cannot take his open display of discontent anymore, and her gaze falls upon the wooden chest, neatly tucked into the corner of her office. A feeling of I can’t believe an unimpressive thing like you could do such harm, but deep down in her core she knows it not to be true. She has had enough artefacts in her hands, only separated from her skin by a thin layer of latex, to know that nothing ever seems as ill-natured and pernicious as it truly is.

Her eyes snap back to him, and she needs him to break the silence. (Needs him to spare a smile to reinforce something resembling normalcy. Although she Knows it to be true that Michael can’t do anything about this situation. He’s bound to the laws of physic, too, and he can’t tilt the world back into its normal position. And Gertrude shouldn’t expect him to do it if she herself can’t do anything about the world.)

“Michael,” she says again, breath catching at the edges of a four-letter word still sitting discomfortably in her throat. “Sometimes the right thing to do and the easy thing to do are two different things.” He continues to stare, vulnerability brought by wholeheartedness. “And the right thing is concentrating on your work so that Emma can do hers.”

Softly, Michael says that they were his friends. His shoulders dropping, weighted down by the acknowledgement of defeat. The start of a sentence escapes his lips, but he struggles to force it out completely, and interrupts himself. He draws a shaky breath. Voice trembling, he tries again and states that one of them did this, and she feels like he should make an all-encompassing gesture, drawing in not only shaky breaths but all the weak-kneed wrongfulness of this place.

He doesn’t know, she thinks, he doesn’t know a thing.

“Sometimes,” she says and lays her hand flat atop the desk to stop them from pushing her upright, “bad things happen. And we must deal gently with them.”

A broken-up sentence that he is just, that he is. But he can’t go on and he swallows the fire in his chest, chokes on the flames and sobs up a few sparks. He says that he’s so, so very angry. And the taste that his words leave in her mouth reminds Gertrude of bonfires and sun storms and the sound of cracking wood. (It reminds her of her adolescence, of nights spend only illuminated by the moon and the flames licking into the sky.)

She nods and presses the palms of her hands on the wooden surface with as much strength as she can conjure. She says: “Anger is a dangerous place. You must tread softly, or it swallows you whole.”

They fall back into silence, the quiet thrum of the air condition a white noise for his grief.

Then his arms fall down, and he tries to smile at her but it's a vain attempt at best. (She knows how his smile looks by heart. And this is only the caricature version of Michael himself.)

Michael's as good as they come, so she settles on: “Trust me, Michael.” And she can see that he does.

Falling Action

In the end, Gertrude is alone in the Archives and she’s buried beneath statements and rituals and eyes that follow every step she takes. Maybe she’s growing paranoid in the wake of a catastrophe she can’t even fanthom the momentousness of. Maybe she’s in her right to collect explosives like wrinkles on her skin. However, she’s still in need of more, more, more. (More certitudes, more dependability, more apologia.)

So, she starts a little fire. Nothing major, just a small one. On the other side of a room that contains a wooden chest that has brought so much grief upon the institute.

Nobody’s in danger of getting hurt, she reasons, every artefact destroyed is a blessing bestowed upon humanity. She only needs them to clear the room, to lose sight of a few things like maybe a Gorilla Skin or a wooden chest full of weaponry.

And the impossible thing is that it worked. Or semi-worked at least because the Gorilla Skin is not in the institute, has never been, and Gertrude’s not any closer to finding it, but she’s got a hold onto the chest, offered by Sonja in an attempt to safe what can be saved.

Time runs out, the Unknowing comes closer, creeps into every waking thought and tries to strangle her into submission. But Gertrude’s not done. She’s almost entirely alone and her hands may be shaking like aspen leaf, but she’s not done.

Shoulders squared and cardigan wrapped around her thin frame, she walks into Research and politely requests help moving an artefact into the Archives. A young man she has seen a few times in the hallways offers his help and she assures him that there will be a sack barrow in Artefacts when he asks if she needs more than one pair of helping hands.

“That will do,” he says light-heartedly and opens the door for her to step through in front of him. It’s a nice gesture and Gertrude enjoys Tim’s joviality as long as it lasts.

They walk in silence for a moment, their footsteps being the only noise they produce. They echo inside Gertrude’s ribcage and for a moment she thinks fondly of Gerry who’s just waiting for her to get started on their trip to the other temples of the beholding. (She won’t think of it as a capital B, she’s been resisting for so long, she won’t cave now. The pressure to give in and paint her dreams with atrocity is big and strong and all-consuming. Just a flick of her tongue and an almost imperceptible strain on her queries and the knowledge of the world would lie at her feet, waiting for her to be crowned and bestowed a gift that she had always declined politely.)

“Tim Stoker.” The research assistant breaks their silence and her train of thought. Blinking through her dusty glasses, she turns towards him without a falter in his steps. “Pleasant to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Robinson.”

Meeting her stern gaze with a friendly one of his, he smiles at her with something more akin to geniality than politeness. (All of a sudden, she’s standing in front of Michael who laughs with an edge of nervousness shortly before she sends him off to find the door. Unexpectedly, she sees Emma in the way he drags his left foot a little more than his right. Without intention, she sees Eric and Fiona in the freckle-constellations on his bare arms.)

She must avert her eyes, forcibly shaking off the images of trust and anger and disappointment dressed in faces she had known so dearly. So, she attempts to focus on their differences, on his height and cadence and the way that he says her name with distant respect like she’s worthy of note.

“Originally, I applied for a position in the Archives,” Tim says at this moment and Gertrude is present again, emerging victorious from the fight with her demons. (Victorious for now.) “But there hasn’t been an opening in quite some time.”

Nodding in thought, she tells him that the Archives is crewed with only her since 2011 and that she doesn’t intend on changing the way that she works. (Gerry’s not employed by the institute, so it’s safe to be in his company for now.)

“Not going to lie, I’m a bit disappointed at that prospect,” Tim retorts without showing any sign of frustration or letdown. And this is the thing that tips Gertrude off, makes suspicion rise in her gut like the tide after moonrise. Tim Stoker is a strange man with unclear affiliations who explicitly applied to be part of the Archives, part of Gertrude’s team. And who, upon dismissal, took work up in the institute anyways. As if he’d like to keep close, take an eyeful of the progress she’s making.

She studies him again, out of the corner of her eye this time, and asks what persuaded him to apply to the Archives in the first place, carefully keeping the compulsion out of her voice, and he says: “I’ve been working in publishing for a long time but in college I used to work as a research assistant in an archive. I guess it’s work I liked doing.”

The lie slips from his skull directly into the hollowness of her chest, and she can feel the draw of the eye to dig deep into the hidden space behind his heart. But she swallows it down, like she always has, like she always will. Pushes it into a corner not to be touched ever again. (It’s going to rear its ugly head time and time again, but hope is a frail thing with sturdy bones and Gertrude is hell-bent on keeping it alive.)

She tells him that she thinks he would be perfectly suited for the Archives, and she apologises that she can’t offer him a position. But he waves his hand dismissively, laughter in his voice and a quick pip on his tongue: “There will be other times.” But she sure hopes there will not.

Denouement

Upon entering the storage room, Tim tells her that he doesn’t believe her, that Sasha James is a liar, but he laughs right with her, holding the door open so she can come inside, too.

“I’m not lying,” she replies, breath still caught in her throat. “Jon really did! I saw it with my own two eyes!”

Tim, however, is not listening anymore. He’s mesmerized by an oak chest in the far corner of the room. A curse falls from his lips into the dusty air of the room and it only takes him a few bee-lining steps until he’s right in front of the thing.

“What’s that?” Sasha asks, following him until she’s standing right beside him. Shrugging his shoulders, he tells her that its from Artefacts and Gertrude Robinson asked him to bring it down here for a time being. (A time being that is long over since Artefacts has been renovated and Gertrude Robinson went missing.)

He kneels down to examine the chest because he distinctly remembers Gertrude telling him to not dwell on the contents for too long. Cautiously, he reaches for the escutcheon of the lid, tinged green and matted by disuse.

Sasha catches his hand mid-air. “Should you be touching it?” The levity of their prior conversation is forgotten, a tension hangs in the air between them, filled only by the muted footsteps of Martin and Jon in the hallways. “If it’s an artefact, it could be dangerous.”

Mischievously grinning, he asks her if she’s as thorough and careful in her daily life as she is with the looming possibility of spooky encounters.

Even though her aim is pretty good, he dodges the jab with a laugh he’s sure causes her to smile at least a little. He tells her to live a little, be great and beyond.

“If you had seen the artefacts we were dealing with,” she says, “you wouldn’t be as careless. You’ve read the statements. You’ve worked in Research.”

He sighs and a constricted look settles on his face, almost mirroring the flood of memories knocking him down, only simmered down to something he can actually display within the boundaries of his flesh. She’s right and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to voice it out loud, so he settles on the one thing he always knew best: Deflection.

Making a pained sound at the back of his throat, he laments his choice of occupation without acknowledging the true intent of it. He tells her that, when Jon had asked him to move down into the Archives with him and Sasha, he hadn’t thought about it twice, had deemed working with his friends favourable to Research where Conrad works, of all people. He had thought, so he says, that working inside of an archive again would feel like home for an anthropology major like him. Field work may be wonderful, he continues, but he loved working nose burrowed in books.

More quietly, he admits that he misses publishing. Misses reading into the late hours of the night, entranced by academic works filled with hypotheses and argumentation. Misses tweaking phrases and correcting spelling, omitting thoughts only worthy of footnotes to force papers into their linear trickle of thoughts. Misses communicating with people beyond horrifying experiences and lived nightmares.

“This really is an awful lot like Research,” Sasha agrees, still eying the chest just like he is. “Artefacts is much the same, really. Just with the additional splash of weariness of life.”

In as much confidence as they can find in an open room, too close to their colleagues, Tim says that the Magnus Institute is the worst academic facility he has ever seen. That if he has to see Sasha staple documents together one more time, he’s going to pull his hair out and quit.

“I don’t understand your problem,” Sasha replies dismissively. “What the hell is wrong with stapling. It’s fun!”

He stares at her incredulously. Then he tries to explain to her why stapling sensitive documents that they are supposed to keep safe and away from harm is most decidedly the opposite of their job description.

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

Pointing at his face, still on his knees in front of her which means that he has to strain his neck to be able to look at her, he asks if he’s even apt to overthink. And once again she tries to shove at him. This time, though, she succeeds but she doesn’t reckon him trying to hold on to her legs to keep himself steady and upright, which only leads to them falling into a heap on the floor.

Laughing and a bit out of breath, she shoves at him again, trying to free herself to get standing again.

When she manages to upright herself again, she says: “You should stop being quite as overdramatic.” He points at his face once more and mouths Who? Me? at her, feigning a look of innocence. “And you should call Artefacts, so they can come and collect their cursed chest or whatever.” Still pointing at himself, he mouths again Who? Me? This time, however, with fake indignation plastered over his face.

“Yes you, yes you, yes you,” Sasha singsongs, shoving at him for the last time, pressing him into the floor, before she finally gets up and starts to head for the door. “And because of your blatant neglect of your duties,” she’s gesturing towards the chest over her shoulder which, admittedly, looks rather silly, “and your implication– no, your malicious defamation of one Sasha James, I’m going to leave you to rummage through these boxes all on your own.”

She leaves the storage room, and he can hear the echo of her footsteps, while he loudly mourns her absence and begs for her to come back. The laughter, however, that rings out of the hallway, makes it absolutely clear that he has no choice but to suffer on his own.

(If he’s nice enough, and Tim’s confident that he is, then Martin may have mercy with him and join him on their combined quest to conquer the Archives.)

#the magnus archives #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #mikaele salesa #michael shelley #sasha james #fanfiction #schmok writes #missing scene #never posted this here #time to AHHH about tma finale

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years

Text

Out of Action or Lessons to be Learnt

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst

This Passage Contains Potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content. Chapter-specific warning: This chapter contains mention of pregnancy symptoms such as morning sickness, and food cravings as well as mood swings

Summary: Kirby tries to survive the new developments in her life, Rod becoming slightly overprotective doesn't really help much.

Kirby's POV:

After the show on Sunday (24th June) Roddy decided to invite Orton and Schultz out to dinner with us.

"So you got your woman pregnant?"

"Yes, David. Why'd you ask?" I answered for Roddy

"When's it due?"

"Well, Schultzy," I had to do some calculations in my head, "Around the end of next Feb."

"So, Rod, Kirby, y'all got any ideas for names yet?" Orton quizzed

"I ain't got no names, you got any names, Kirbs?"

"I like the name 'Casey' it's a good, neutral name, y'know."

"Your woman's a quicker thinker than you, boy."

"Yeah, Rod, ya married a feisty one."

"As Kirby'll tell ya lads, it's a marriage of equals."

We finished our meals, paid and left, heading to the next show. Tuesday, Twenty-Sixth, Providence, Rhode Island. Then the next show, Wednesday, Twenty-Seventh, Columbus, Ohio. After the Wednesday show Rod and myself spent some time with Orndorff and Orton. Then the next show, Thursday, Twenty-Eighth, Rod was meant to do a show in Dayton, Ohio, without me but he no-showed.

"Rod, McMahon called, something about a show in Dayton?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell them I was looking after you."

"Roddy, I'm fine, you should've done the show."

"Kirbs, I care more about making sure ya alright than doing every show, I need to know that you're okay."

"Roderick. Would you listen to me?!"

"Kirby, don't you go telling me what to do!"

Rod had gotten right up into my face, soon he seemed to notice the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Kirby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Woah, Rod. Rod, it's alright, you're okay, Hon. Roddy, come here."

I pulled him into my arms, feeling him gently caress my stomach.

"Kirbs, d'ya think I'll make a good father?"

"Of course you'll make a good father, Rod."

The following day, the moment I woke up I had to rush to the bathroom and throw up, Rod rushed in after me, checking that I was alright and helping me clean myself off. We had to attend a show in Elizabeth, New Jersey the next day. The next show after that was Tuesday, the Second of July, Glen Falls, New York, after the show Rod asked me to come with him to a local bar to meet an 'old friend' of his, or in other words, Rod was asking me to keep him calm.

"Kirby, this is Greg 'The Hammer' Valentine. Greg, my beautiful wife, Kirby Piper."

"You're the gal I keep hearing about from people."

"Well, that depends on what you've heard."

"I heard that you were, or are, pregnant."

"That's true," Orton butted in, "Rod and I got told that on TV."

"Yeah, Piper's Pit, last month. I'm glad you found yourself a person who makes you happy, Rod."

"I, uh, I watched the matches you two had in Eighty-three."

"What did you think of them?"

"They're good, excellent even, though, the dog collar match. I can't watch that ever again."

"Why not?"

"Cause I worry about you, every time I watch it, Roddy."

The next show was Thursday, the fifth, in Hazelton, Pennsylvania. Jimmy Snuka and Roddy. I accompanied Rod to ringside, grabbing a seat at ringside. I had to run to the back about five minutes into the match. Rod rushed to the back after me, I could hear him getting counted out.

"Kirbs, Kirby, are you alright?"

"Rod, Rod, c'mere you idiot."

"Ya tired, Honey?"

I placed my forehead in the crook of his neck, "I'm exhausted right now."

"C'mon, I'll take ya back to the hotel and let ya rest."

Rod drove us back to the hotel and Orndorff stopped by with a new guy.

"Hi Paul."

"Hey, Kirbs, are you alright?"

"I'm better than earlier."

"She was non-stop apologising to me on the way here. Adrian, this is my wonderful wife, Kirby."

"Hi, you're, uhm, Dick Murdoch's tag partner?"

"Yeah, Adrian Adonis, nice to meet ya."

"Kirby Piper, pleasure to meet you too, Adrian. Rod?"

"Yes honey?"

"Can I slap Snuka?"

Rod let out a chuckle, "If you want to, hon. It would make my day."

Orndorff and Adonis shared a knowing look before Paul spoke up.

"Why do you two want to attack Snuka?"

"Because he's a dickhead." I stated flatly before covering my mouth in shock, "I didn't mean to say that."

"Why not, you're right. If he hurts or threatens you, he's dead meat, honey."

"Rod, don't. You can't be in your children's life if you're locked away in prison."

"Children, plural?"

"We all know that this child ain't gonna be the last." Adrian added

"True. Thank you Adrian."

"So, what was your reaction to the pregnancy, Kirby?"

"Uhm, well, if I'm honest with you, Adrian, at first I couldn't believe it. I think my first words were 'oh no'."

"Your first reaction was 'Oh no'?" Rod stated, sounding slightly hurt

"Rod, I wrestle for a living. Pregnancy lasts between eight and ten months. That means I'm out for a long while."

"Alright. Alright."

"I love you, Roddy."

After Orndorff and Adonis left Rod changed his focus back to me.

"C'mere you," He pulled me towards him, chest to chest, before kissing me roughly and backing me towards the bed, "You sexy goliath."

"You are such a hot head, Roderick."

"You married me though, didn't ya." He hoisted my leg, pressing his groin into mine.

"As if I'd turn you down, my love."

On Saturday (the seventh) I was at ringside, watching Roddy lose by DQ, the moment Rod left the ring he walked over to me, pulling me to my feet only to dip me into a kiss.

After the show we went back to the hotel with Valentine, Adonis and Orndorff.

Me and Paul were in the hotel room just chatting away when we heard a crash from the hallway, followed by several smaller crashes and then a banging at the door.

Greg threw the door open and Paul helped get Adrian and Roddy inside.

"What the fuck happened?"

The room went silent and Greg went to get help as me and Paul watched over Adrian and Roddy.

"Roddy."

No response. I took my shirt off (a plain white T-shirt, which would not be white for much longer) and used it to try and stem the bleeding from the cut on his outer thigh.

"Rod."

He groaned in a pained response

"Roderick, talk to me."

We spent the night in the hospital, Rod needed stitches to the wound on his thigh and Adrian needed stitches to the wound on his right pectoral, Adrian would be in the hospital for two days at the least and both would be back in action by Friday.

Jesse came to visit and Rod introduced him to me and vice versa, introducing me as 'My beloved wife, the mother of my unborn child and the woman who saved my life, twice.'

While Rod slept off the pain in his leg, Jesse raised some questions to me.

"Did you see him get hurt?"

"No, Jesse, I saw the injury after Valentine dropped him on the bed."

"How long have you two been together?"

"We've known each other since January, Schultz introduced us. We started dating each other at the end of January, from the twentieth. Got married on the first of June, not too long after that, he got me pregnant."

"This is the, second, time."

"Second time for what?"

"Roddy being injured."

"Yeah, same leg too."

"Some fans are fucking insane."

"I'm just glad they haven't gone after me, Rod would lose his mind if anything happened to me, or the baby."

"You should hear him in the locker room."

"He's always talking about me?"

"Always, usually to Adonis. Those two are usually stuck to each other by the hip. If he's not with Adonis, he's with Orton, or Schultz, or Orndorff, or Valentine, or even me."

"He constantly talks about me?"

"Either you, or more recently, the baby."

"He's the kindest, most respectful man, I've ever met, Jesse."

"Thank you, baby." Rod mumbled out.

"Roddy," I jumped slightly, rushing from Jesse's side to sit next to Rod on the hospital bed, "Are you alright, my love."

"C'mere," Rod pulled me in, lazily and sloppily kissing me on the lips.

"I, uh, I got you guys this," Jesse handed Roddy a book, "I know it's early, but you can never be too prepared y'know."

After Roddy was released from the hospital, we decided to spend the night alone.

"Roddy, I, good God I don't want this to come off as if I'm scared. Rod, I don't want to let you out of my sight."

"Kirbs, come here," He pulled me into a hug, "If I never let you outta my sight, then ya never have to let me out of your sight."

We slept and I got up earlier than Rod, I did my morning routine before deciding to flick through the parenting book that Jesse gave us.

Around half an hour later I finished going through the book and heard Rod yawn and the hotel bed creak under his weight.

"Morning."

"What a beautiful sight to wake up to."

"Roderick, you charmer. How's the leg, my love?"

"Slowly getting better. Kirbs?"

"Uh huh?"

"Damien said that, your Da, called him, as in Damien. We need to go to our place and pick some stuff up that your Mam and Da sent over."

"If we leave after you get dressed, we can get home, spend Tuesday and Wednesday there and then drive to the show on Thursday so we can be there for Friday."

"I love how your brain works."

"I love you too, Rod."

By the time we got back to the house it had actually taken us around a day and a half, we reached the house, got what mail had accumulated and left for the show in Chicago, getting to a hotel on Thursday night.

I had separated the mail into four stacks, bills, family mail, fan letters, and unsorted as of yet.

"Bills, fan letter, fan letter, somethin' from my family, fan letter, fan letter, family mail, bill."

"Kirbs?"

"Cannae talk right now, Rod. Family mail, fan letter, fan letter, fan letter, family mail."

"Kirby?"

"Cannae talk right now, Roddy. Bill, Bill, fan letter, bill, family mail, fan letter, fan letter."

"Kirby, my love, Kirby?"

"I Can nae talk right now Roderick. Fan letter, Fa-"

Rod cut me off by grabbing my face and kissing me roughly.

"Kirby, you can go through that later, right now, ya need ta sleep, baby."

While Rod was doing the show, I stayed at the hotel, and went through all the mail. I ended up going to a local supermarket and an ATM in order to pay the bills, sending money off to each company and opening my fan letters, many of which were actually hate mail, ignoring the hatred of both me and my husband, I opened some of the mail my family had sent, most of which were small boxes of my things or wedding presents.

Rod walked in with Jesse and Adrian close behind him.

"Oh, there's ma beautiful wife."

"Did ya win, love?"

"Double disqualification."

"Oh, Hon."

"No, it's fine. What's in the mail babe?"

"I've dealt with the bills, uhm, wedding gifts from my family, some of my old stuff from my younger years. I've put most of it in the back of the D200. I haven't opened your fan mail."

"Kirby?"

"Yes, Adrian."

"How's the baby?"

"The baby's fine. How are you guys doing?"

"We're good, Kirbs" Jesse stated, rather matter-of-factly.

We spent around an hour hanging out with Jesse and Adrian before Jesse departed, Adrian stayed with me while Rod went out to get the boys some beer.

"So, Roddy's good to you?"

"Yeah, He's the best man I've ever had in my life. He's not possessive, he's rather protective, especially when he's jealous, he tries his hardest to make sure I'm happy and the baby's okay."

"You know, he's my best friend, right?"

"I suspected that you two were close after seeing you guys stick around each other at a couple shows."

The door swung open and Rod placed an ice cold beer against Adrian's neck.

"Hey, hey. stop that man."

"Boys, don't fight, especially when there's a pregnant woman nearby."

"I'm sorry baby, c'mere."

Rod put the rest of the six pack on the floor and walked over to me, kissing me gently on the forehead and then on the lips, several times, getting needier every time and deepening the kiss, backing me up until he could straddle my lap before realising what he was doing.

"Sorry about that, Adrian. I got a bit carried away. She is the most attractive woman I've ever met."

"Nah, don't worry about it, you two are married. You should show that you love each other, you've got a kid on the way and before ya know it, you'll be parents. Ya kids have gotta know that ya love each other, and that love is meant to be shown, ya know."

END OF OUT OF ACTION or LESSONS TO BE LEARNT

#wrestling fic #Lucifarians

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

Fusion

In which Zoe and the Doctor argue, and Jamie knows more about the future than they expect him to.

on ao3.

“So here’s what we’re going to do.” Swinging her arm in a wide arc across the table, Zoe scraped out a chalk half-circle. The shape was almost startlingly accurate, near-perfect in its evenness – but then again, Jamie thought, he should have stopped underestimating Zoe’s precision a long time ago. “If we assume the ships are spread out in a roughly circular formation -”

“Why not an elliptical formation?” the Doctor interrupted. “Surely that’s more likely. We know the fleet performed a slingshot manoeuvre from Zakhten -”

“But a circle would make more strategic sense,” Zoe argued. “If they were to fire on us from an elliptical formation -”

“Can we make that assumption in our calculations -”

“Listen,” Jamie said loudly, sitting forward to plant his hands palms-down on the table. “Listen!” The Doctor and Zoe paused, both looking over at him with a touch of guilt, like a pair of scolded children. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

“I, ah -” Clearing his throat, the Doctor tugged at his coat lapels. “I suppose you’re right. Do go on, Zoe.”

She scowled at him for a moment longer, but turned back to the table and the chalk in her hand quickly enough. “So,” she began again, her voice still sharp, “if we assume...”

Leaning back in his chair, Jamie folded his arms behind his head and let his mind wander as Zoe sketched out her thoughts. It was at times like this, he thought, that he was glad the Doctor and Zoe could be so fussy over their theories. Oh, they liked to think they were above being petty, both of them – Zoe with her logic, the Doctor with his certainty that he knew what was best. But they tended to end up at loggerheads somewhere along the way, and Jamie himself would have to step in and break up their more heated debates. That was his little bit of usefulness, the thing that kept him from feeling totally out of place between them. They might know more than he could ever dream of, but they still needed him to keep them on track.

They were bickering again now, though Jamie had lost track of the conversation for just slightly too long to know what had started it. The Doctor had grabbed a piece of chalk of his own, and was scribbling calculations over Zoe’s diagram, ignoring her tugging on his arm.

“Did you compensate for air resistance?” he was asking.

Zoe huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course I did. I do know what I’m doing, Doctor.”

“Ah – yes, I’m quite sure you do, Zoe. But something about these calculation still isn’t adding up -”

“I’ve told you, it’s because you forgot to put the constant in here -”

“They said it was an hour ‘til launch, aye?” Jamie put in, injecting as much boredom into his voice as he could muster. “It’s only been -” He glanced at his watch, then at the clock on the wall. “Twenty minutes? An’ you’re still no closer tae figurin’ out what ye want tae do with these rockets.”

Zoe threw him a withering stare. “You see, Jamie,” she said, in that slow, patient voice she knew perfectly well he hated, “this is rather important. So we need to make sure we get it completely right.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied just as slowly, glaring right back at her. “That’s why I think ye ought tae work together instead of jumpin’ down each other’s throats every five minutes.”

Startled into silence, Zoe glanced over at the Doctor, who simply shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” she murmured, though with too much sheepishness to sound entirely genuine.

Satisfied, Jamie sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and propping his chin up with his hands. He could just about make out the rough shape of the thing, though Zoe’s diagram was all but illegible now, covered in a mess of lines and numbers and shapes. They had settled on the ships ringing in the planet in a semi-circle rather than a half-oval, but Zoe had lost the fight over where the commanding ship was, and its location had been scribbled out and scrawled in a few times over. Twisting his head around, Jamie watched a new string of words emerge behind the Doctor’s chalk stub. Hydro fusion engine, he mouthed to himself as he read. Explode on impact.

Something about that sounded terribly familiar. Almost like he had heard it before – and not too long ago. But where?

Not on this planet, he was sure of that. It had been longer ago. Certainly not on eleventh-century Earth – and not the week before that, either, at that holiday resort on a meteor – maybe hunkered down in a snowstorm shelter on Zelius Minor, a few weeks ago now -

No, he realised. It had been none of those. It had been almost a month ago, on an uninhabited planet so remote that even the TARDIS had not known a single name for it. A galaxy liner had crashed there, blown off-course by something the Doctor called stellar winds. And, as it turned out, some great space-beastie that ate the dust from nebulas. They had landed in the middle of the crash response, and with a wince he remembered how his shoulders had ached after a few hours of carrying people out of the wreckage. It might not have been so bad had the crash not been radioactive. The paramedics had handed him a bulky suit that slowed his movements and grew stuffier and stuffier the more he breathed in it, but they had assured him it would be better than the alternative.

He paused.

The site had been radioactive, yes – because of the ship’s engines. And they were the same engines that these ships had.

The Doctor and Zoe were still arguing over some insignificant little detail. Pushing himself up to stand at the table as authoritatively as they did, he pressed his hands down on the wood again, inadvertently blurring one or two of the myriad calculations.

“Ye said it was a hydro fusion engine,” he said, nodding first to the Doctor, then to the spot on the table where those words were scrawled out. “A wee while ago.”

“Ye-es.” The Doctor spoke slowly, like he was trying and failing to figure out what might be coming next. “Quite common, in ships of this type. Nothing I -” He exchanged a glance with Zoe. “We didn’t expect.”

Zoe nodded – and they might have been missing his point entirely, but Jamie had to admit it was a welcome change to see them agreeing with each other again. As glad as he was that they needed him, brokering some sort of peace quickly grew tiring. “We’ve established that the rockets will cause irreparable damage long before the explosions reach the engines,” she added. “It doesn’t matter what type of engines the ships have.” But then she turned back to the Doctor. “I still think -”

“I’m no’ worried about that,” Jamie said hastily, leaning forward as far as he could until he was almost putting himself between them. “I mean – they’re radioactive, aren’t they?”

As one, the Doctor and Zoe leant back, blinking at him. “Well – yes,” the Doctor said eventually. “Yes, I suppose you could put it like that. They depend on the fusion of particles to release energy, you see, and – ah -” He faltered. “Yes, you could say it’s radioactive.”

“An’ anythin’ that breaks off them’ll be radioactive too,” Jamie pressed on. “An’ those pieces are gonnae fall back down onto the planet.”

“Ah,” was all the Doctor said.

Zoe was no more eloquent. “Oh,” she added. Her mind was almost visibly turning over – but her next words told Jamie that she had been pondering something else entirely. “Jamie,” she said slowly. “You didn’t even know what a tablet was, last week.”

“I figured it out when ye explained,” Jamie protested. “It’s just that everywhere has different names for them.”

She scowled at him, only frowning harder when he reached over to push at her shoulder. “How on Earth do you know what a hydro fusion engine is?”

Jamie opened his mouth to throw some joking answer back to her, but paused when one did not spring to mind as easily as he had hoped. The Doctor stepped in instead, sweeping his sleeve over the table and leaving behind a mess of white powder on both wood and fabric. “There’s no time to lose,” he said, hurrying over to pull on Zoe and Jamie’s sleeves and lead them out of the room. “We must stop the launch. If any of those fragments hit the planet – if they should hit a populated area -”

“The consequences would be enormous,” Zoe agreed. “But we have to do something. About the fleet, I mean.”

“Rockets first,” the Doctor said, his tone as brisk as his stride. “Something later.”

Huffing, Zoe turned back to Jamie. “But how did you know?” she said. “I mean, you can’t have been taught about them. Surely,” she added, sounding rather less confident.

For a moment, Jamie was tempted to lie, to say that of course he had learnt about hydro fusion engines as a child, who had not? But Zoe looked so earnestly baffled. And besides, the weight of their urgency was far too heavy for him to be able to carry it off for long. “I just remember it,” he said at last. “Ye know – a wee while ago, with that other ship. Ye an’ the Doctor talked about it. I don’t know what it does, or why it’s radioactive, just that it is.”

“But – you know about hydro fusion engines,” Zoe insisted. “And not about – all sorts of things. Simple things, things that were around decades before my time.”

Jamie tipped his head towards her. “’Spose so. I dinnae really think about it.” It would be odd, he supposed, if he were in Zoe’s place. Listening to someone talk about a sickle without knowing what an anvil was. “But it’s all the future to me. Doesnae really matter when it’s from. I know it or I don’t.”

“I suppose so,” Zoe parroted. She scrunched her face up, visibly mulling it over. “I just can’t imagine it. Not seeing how things build on each other.”

“I can see that, alright. Just no’ always – what’s buildin’ on what.”

“But that’s the point -”

The Doctor was halfway down the corridor already, and he turned, all but hopping from one foot to the other in his impatience. “Come on, you two!” he called back to them. “We don’t have much time.”

“We’re coming,” Zoe called back, pushing herself onwards a touch faster. Jamie matched her speed, striding on beside her, and watched as her expression softened, the confusion fading away. When at last she glanced over at him, it had turned to something more affectionate. “You’re one of the strangest people I’ve ever met, Jamie McCrimmon.”

He grinned. It was not often that Zoe looked at anyone like that, so freely and easily. Strange, perhaps, that she should be looking so happy when they were hurrying down a corridor to stop a rocket launch that would wipe out half a planet’s population – but maybe that was another thing that should not surprise him about Zoe. “Is that a compliment?”

She broke into a smile at that, taking his hand, and he squeezed hers in return. “Yes, it is.”

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