#oh and making ten a straight man. horrendous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scrybe-of-writings · 2 years

Text

It's Normal - P03 & FtM Reader

TW: Gender Crisis, negative thoughts about Gender Crisis, internalized transphobia

oughh the first thing i ever post is a fic about two fellas being trans. go figure. fic's under the cut have fun go ham

I am down horrendously bad for this guy but I also kind of meant to leave this ambiguous on purpose so I guess it's your call on whether it's romantic or platonic or just two guys Being Silly

also I've always headcanoned p03 as being ftm but i guess if you think about it this could be interpreted as either? maybe? idk man robots and gender are equally complicated to write for all i know is that this guy is Not Cis

“I think… I’m trans,” you blurted one game. It had been quiet for a few minutes, nearly bordering on awkward—the two of you hadn’t taken a break for quite some time, and you had begun to run out of things to talk about.

P03 set down a card. “What?”

Immediately, your face began to burn. You should have expected this, really. Why did you think that he, of all people, would get it? Did he even know what being trans was? If so, he’d surely find you even more disgusting than he already had. Stupid. Stupid, stupid—

“Are you going to elaborate, or are you just going to keep your face in your hands?”

Oh. Um.

You lifted your head. “Uh. Trans. Transgender? I think I’m transgender.”

“The hell is that?” Jesus. Okay.

“Uhh. You know, like—um. Okay—so—you know how we have, like, the concept of gender, right? Like. Men and women and all that jazz. And you know how I’m like. A girl. But the thing is I’m not. But. Like. Okay maybe yeah I look like a girl but I’m not really because calling myself that is really super gross and sometimes I wonder if I’d feel better about myself if I cut my hair and stopped wearing blouses and—”

“God. Okay, slow down. I can’t understand a thing you say when you ramble like that. It’s irritating.”

“I want to cut my hair. And wear bigger clothes. And make my voice lower? I guess?”

He just stared. God, you were a weirdo. Even if he was neutral before, there was no way he wouldn’t despise you after that explanation. Why couldn’t you keep your shit together for ten minutes? You could feel his gaze burning straight through you, but the worst part was that you couldn’t figure out why. He hadn’t said anything for several seconds, and you were getting extremely worried. What the hell was going on in that processor of his? You hated the fact that he was so hard to read sometimes.

The silence was getting too much. “So… there’s that.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said, ‘what’s the big deal?’ Okay, you have long hair and stuff. Just change it. What, you want scissors? We’re in a factory. Made of metal. Find them yourself. Don’t leave hair on the floor.”

“You’re not grossed out?”

“Am I not supposed to be?” There it was. You knew this would happen. Of course. ‘Do what you like, but I still won’t be a fan’-type shit. God. Stupid. Stupid—

“Of course I’m still grossed out by you. You sweat and leave stray hairs everywhere and you make messes when you eat and I had to install a bathroom because of you. Do you know how much that screwed up the synergy we’ve got going on here? Our system? Beasts are disgusting. Was your haircut supposed to change that?” He scoffed, then went back to looking at his cards. “Your ideas are unhinged, challenger.”

“No, me being trans.”

“What about it?”

“I—?” This was going in a very different direction than you'd thought it would. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little relieved, but part of you still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t playing some kind of trick on you. “Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“No…? Did you hit your head? Do you have some kind of brain-eating parasite? Did you breathe in some of those freaky mushrooms? I told you not to go back there. Anyway, it happens to everyone. Chill out. You’re not special.”

Wait. “What?”

“What?” “What do you mean it happens to everyone?”

“I mean it happens to everyone.”

Did— Was he—?

“I… don’t think so.”

“Of course it does.”

“So it’s happened to Dredger? And Inspector? Leshy? The mages?”

“Okay, maybe not everyone,” he said, a little too quickly. “But it’s not some super interesting thing like I’m betting you’re hoping it is. Super normal. So calm down. Are we done?” P03’s eyes refused to meet your own, despite how much they were darting around, and you could hear clicks getting increasingly louder as he kept stacking the same cars on the table. “Can we get back to our game, now?”

Holy shit. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him this uncomfortable before. A few minutes prior you might have thought it was because you were the culprit—freaking him out with your weird gender moment and all—but you were beginning to suspect that maybe it was something else. You had never been one to pry, but…

“P03?”

“What.”

“Do… you want to talk about something?”

He hesitated, like he was about to let his walls down, even for a second, but stopped himself, and you saw the emotion leave his face again. Still he refused to show vulnerability, it seemed. He picked up his cards. “No. Not really.”

You picked yours up, too. “Alright. Well, if you change your mind… We’re a little bit in need of a conversation topic, aren’t we?”

“Tsk. Okay."

The room was quiet again, but after a while, you heard a very soft, "Scissors are in the middle drawer. You’re really stupid, you know that?”

“Ha, ha. Okay, buddy."

#inscryption #p03 #p03 x reader #???#ig you could read it that way?#two fellas being gay and trans #the youth's queer agenda.... seeping into our media....

42 notes · View notes

jaws-and-canines · 1 year

Text

Steel Thread

A AU: Ten Years Under A Different Hand story. This is a little way before what I’ve written in this AU before (which you can find here and here), and focuses on Mere and Haskell’s first meeting. Contains strong themes of mouth gore (mouth stitched shut trope) as well as general canon-typical violence. --- As expected, guilty. They find me guilty as charged, right to the letter of the law. That I knew was coming. The rest? Not really. I haven’t really had time to think, to process it all. Judge, courtroom, emptied of media and the public, jury dismissed, which should have told me what was coming. That god-awful sentence- indefinite Special Circumstances Detention. And I’m crying out to the judge who isn’t listening- please, no. Please. The last thing I manage to scream out to her as they usher me out to the fate worse than death will haunt me for the rest of my life, and I know it will- please, I’d rather hang. But nothing changes. Sterile holding cells, and I can barely stop my weeping to be able to catch my breath.

Then the Specials. I scream and fight but it’s no use. It takes only two of them to pick me up, one under each arm, and then I’m given the hushed-voice choice to walk or to be carried to the car. Walk, I sob. I’ll walk.

And I do. Of my own volition I sit down in the back of the blacked-out car, shift to get comfortable with my hands cuffed behind my back. I let them hood me, keeping my heavy head down like it weighs with the gravity of my situation. I suppose it may as well. I just let them. Perhaps I should have fought harder.

Then here. Passed from one Special to another. When the hood comes off I’m inside a high victoriana house. This man is almost twice my size, built like a brick wall, short black hair and a bronze tan to his skin, the sort you get from working outside. He holds me by the back of the neck and and by the hip, against his body, total control over me. And then down the steps. Into a basement, dark brick, wooden stairs, and a locked door between me and the light of day.

There’s sawdust on the floor, I realise. Sawdust. I inhale sharply, the fear I’ve been holding back breaking out of me. There’s a rickety chair, and then on two tables in the corner of the basement- tray after tray after tray of horrendous looking things- or mundane things that I know aren’t here to be used for their intended purposes. No. These are instruments of pain. And they’re here for me.

They’re going to fucking kill me, I think for a moment, and wince. The Special stands me up straight and I look at him, the wince still halfway on my face. Whatever tears I cried in the back of the car have dried on my cheeks now, the pallor of fear-fuelled adrenaline drying my tears and turning me pale with terror.

“Sit,” he says.

I sit on the rickety-looking chair. He takes a zip tie from the tray and uses it to attach my handcuffs to the chair behind my back, before standing up, almost in an at-ease position in front of me, hands in his pockets. “I don’t have a name, but you will call me Mere. General Mere, third class, in fact.” He fucking towers over me.“You’re here because someone has to make an example of you and that person is me.”

“I thought I was here because I fucking killed a man,” I croak. My mouth is bone-dry.

“Oh, you are.” He chews the inside of his cheek. He’s so nonchalant about it. “You’ve had freedom and power and look what you did with it. No more. You have to be taught how to act. You need someone to tell you what to do. You need someone who is going to set you straight and won’t spare you the damn rod just like the child you are.”

Yeah, you’ve made that clear, I think. If he’s just going to hurt me this isn’t going to be too bad. Some amount of pain, surely, one’s brain has to give in. There’s an upper limit to what I can take, somewhere, there must be, and I have a feeling he’ll find it, but there’s nothing beyond that limit. “So what, you’re going to beat me bloody and call that making an example of me?”

“No,” he says simply, and shrugs. “I’m going to break you into a cowering, cringing wretch who flinches when I raise my hand and you won’t even realise how little of you is left. And then when people come around to visit me, they’ll see you. And you’ll serve them tea, and you will do so without a single error, exactly as I ask.”

He pauses, and a nasty smile crosses his face. “That’s the example I’m going to make of you. I’m going to fucking break you.”

And it strikes me, properly, that I’m handcuffed to a chair in this man’s basement. It strikes me, it terrifies me. All those horrific tools and here I was, thinking maybe they’d just smash me to pieces, but no, I was stupid to think the Specials would ever give you a single-edged sword to plunge into your own stomach. No, of course not. He’s promising something more horrendous than a short lifetime of agony under his hands- he’s promising the slow implosion of my mind. The whittling down of my personality into something I never wanted it to be.

Annihilation in a still-living body, and it terrifies me.

And he just carries on talking like he hasn’t just put the fear of God Himself into me, with that little hands-in-the-pockets shrug. “I don’t like noise. I don’t like the way you scream and swear and wail. You are not going to learn anything whilst you can still talk.”

I snarl at him. Desperate, afraid anger. “I’m not going to learn anything from you, you fucking-”

He interrupts me, talking over me. “Therefore, I’m going to sew your fucking mouth shut and save us all the hassle.”

I start to laugh. He can’t be serious. And then he walks over to the table and sifts through the trays, taking out a thick needle and a roll of metal thread. The laughter turns to tears of fear. “No, no, no,” I plead with him. He’s serious. He’s serious. He’s going to stitch my mouth shut. “Please, please, no.”

He doesn’t seem to even notice and threads the needle deftly, first try.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck!” I cry, seeing him twist the end of the thread around the needle so it doesn’t come unthreaded. “Fuck, I thought you weren’t serious! That’s barbaric!”

He holds the point up to the light. “I’m always serious. Learn that quickly.”

“No, no, you can’t do this-”

“I can.” He pierces through my bottom lip and the pain makes my eyes water. “Shut up or I’ll break half your fucking teeth before I sew your mouth shut and leave you with a mouthful of blood and enamel for the rest of your life.” He makes the first stitch and I swallow sharply. He sews alarmingly quickly and neatly.

I realise he’s crossing them over, making a row of neat little crosses over my lips. “Stop! Stop!” I slur, as he pulls his latest stitch tight. There are tears streaming down my face- more out of instinct than anything. He just keeps going.

I realise that if I want to say something coherent, now is probably my last chance. Then I realise I can do much more than just say something. I spit at Mere, the best that I can with half my mouth sewn tightly shut. It hits him across the face, and he drops the needle, wiping his face on the back of his hand with a look of furious surprise.

“You can… stop me talk- talkin’ but you can’ stop me thinkin’,” I manage to say, feeling the stitches tear through my skin every time I move my lips. I have to swallow back the harder sounds in the words just to keep my mouth as still as I possibly can. “My… head is my own and it always will be. Example. Or not.”

His jaw twitches. Just like my father. “You know, normally, I’d break your ankles for spitting at me like that,” he says quietly. “I’ll take that as a learning lesson. You had the opportunity to say anything. Anything at all. And you chose to spit at me and make some quaint little statement of defiance. I hope you know, you’ll regret wasting the opportunity.”

Something tears as I swallow the spit I’ve used to talk. I know I’ll pay for this, but oh, as I taste the blood dripping into my mouth, from my ruined lips, I know it was worth it. Mere picks up the needle and carries on stitching. One more cross-stitch and it feels like I don’t have the range of motion to talk without ripping my face in two. The final three are just painful reminders that he is imposing silence on me.

Too bad I still have vocal chords. That’s something he’s going to be hard-pressed to take away from me, if that’s even possible. I scream through it all, even as he tuts at me, pulling stitches tighter than they really need to be. I can scream at the top of my lungs without moving my mouth.

I keep screaming, even as he loops over the last stitch and pulls it tight through my angry and inflamed flesh. It hurts like hell, throbbing, stinging, itching and almost everything in between. I can feel the heat radiating from where the thread is tearing away at the flesh and blood of the holes he’s put through my lips.

I want to tear him to fucking pieces. A distraught sort of fury. How dare he stitch my mouth shut. How dare he even think he has the right. How dare he then go right ahead and do it. How dare he. I want to rip his eyes out. I want to tear out his tongue. I want to rip the stitches out of my face and then make him eat the metal wire. The scream that I keep making, sucking in shaky breaths that jog the stitches each time I do, is one of tearful bitter rage.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” he says, and takes something else from the table. I look at it, and then the scream of rage turns to indignance. A shock collar- I’ve never seen one before, but the design leaves so little to the imagination. Even the metal prongs on the back of the hefty box on the side of it is pretty evidently holding one hell of a shock. “This is a shock collar,” he says to me, holding it up. “I think you’ve worked that out.”

He stoops down to place it around my neck. “If you decide to make a break for it, this will go off.” He checks the prongs make contact with my skin before bringing the two ends of the collar to meet each other, overlapping the holes punched into the plastic leather. He turns around again and takes a metal plate and a screwdriver from the table. “And it’s a nasty little thing. But it probably won’t kill you.”

He pauses as he lines up the screws. “Unfortunate for you, maybe,” he says, and screws the collar onto me with a little laugh under his breath. I can smell stale coffee every time he exhales, his hair is greasy and his nails are fucking filthy, and here he is, screwing a fucking shock collar onto me like I’m the animal here.

There are no words I would have to say even if I could. I glare at him, mouth stitched shut, blood dripping down my chin. I hate you, I want to say. My eyes should be more than enough.

He just rubs his forehead, trying to ease a headache, and then crouches down in front of me. “Now we’re a little quieter, why don’t we talk about what’s going to happen next?” He lifts my head up to look at him, my blood dribbling down my chin, shaking and trembling, whimpering quietly as every breath I take makes the steel thread tear further into my skin. The shock collar sits heavy against my throat, the prongs itching at my skin. “Because you have some choices you need to make, and you aren’t going to like them.”

#whump #whumpblr #writeblr #count the days #mouth gore #i mean it lmao #ten years under a different hand

16 notes · View notes

abominationvault · 3 months

Text

Session 24: Sat 10 Feb 2024

BWJ is off his everything today, so Luna might have trouble putting him to bed. Baby Skabb is better this week, after a bit of a battle with a fever. Oh wait - BWJ is down, I repeat, BWJ is down. Let the adventuring commence!

Hartvig has a touch of death this week, which he announces by hacking some lung butter at us down the discord. Lemsip’ll fix it. Halo might help also.

Sprocket wants to clarify something: The idea was to get the book, let Flashbang make some changes and sneak it back, correct? Yes, so we’re one third done. But we're down one wooden guy and one dolly man. They will continue with their art installation until Flashbang has done his thing. “So please… Please quickly…” Sprocket adds, out of character.

Skabb and Flashbang are to alter the ritual, which is Primal magic. Skabb makes a Nature check: 23, and Flashbang 12. Another check, while the rest of us keep watch: Skabb 15, and a third: 18. (She’s reminded of Carol Vorderman as the DM asks for further checks.) She refrains from rage-vomiting on the book. Flashbang finishes up and hands the book back to Luna.

Sprocket has been being bathed for five or ten minutes now. The druids are dancing around him and doing drumming. He looks around and spots these:

(Top to bottom: Addled hippy, Nasty Little hippy, Shameful hippy, Smelly hippy, Smug hippy)

Luna makes a Stealth check to return the book: 19. It is returned safely, and Luna rejoins us. Flashbang says there will be more of this dancing at the festival. He will let us know when it begins so we can enjoy the fruits of our handiwork.

As soon as Luna is clear, Sprocket twitches in the druid’s hands and yells, “Get your hands off me woman!”

“You're alive, little one!” she says smugly as she sets him down. “Who are you?”

“I ain’t got to talk to no no-bathing woman. We’re leaving.”

She picks him up again. “you have some kind of magic?”

“Damn straight I do!”

“Who are you, little magical beast?”

Augustus steps forward and goes to pluck Sprocket from her hands. “You’re alive too!” she says.

Skabb, worried for Sprocket, has readied a Goblin Song about stinky hippies and starts yell-singing it from the bushes. She makes a Performance check: 16. The druid looks up. She looks back at Sprocket and asks him what the noise is. Sprocket listens. “Sounds like singin’, woman.”

“Hardly.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“Fine, keep your secrets. But if you are what you seem, return to the circle next time you’re in town, I may have work for you.”

Sprocket extricates himself and trots off, in not quite the direction of the singing.

Flashbang is dancing to Skabb’s horrendous singing. “Nice work!”

Skabb wants to go back into town and see the effects of her last job for Flashbang, with the diary, and we need to rest and do some shopping.

Nadia breaks off from the others to make a Tanglefoot bag and four Glue bullets, and the others find the owner of the diary. The townspeople have assumed that he’s left his diary lying around in public places where kids might find it, and are judging him for that rather than the actual contents. Everyone is gossiping about the randy mage in the bookshop. Skabb does Mr Burns steeple fingers.

Hartvig thinks he should change the name of his shop to The Randy Mage.

While we’re in town, Skabb sees a familiar face - the mayor. He approaches and asks if we’ve found anything yet. Aware that she might scupper our chances of getting a nice house, she chews her lip and says nothing. Sprocket reports the ghouls and cultists, and tells him we’re in the process of eliminating them. Are they what caused the lighthouse stuff?

They’re definitely involved, Sprocket replies, and Luna puts in about the ghost lady. She doesn’t say her name, good thing too or she'd get shushed for saying it aloud.

We have two options for a home - an old warehouse, or a smaller dilapidated house he can give us. The warehouse is somewhat nearer the marketplace and in a bit less shady of a neighbourhood. Kraken street warehouse is large and will cost more money to decorate, and that’ll be on us, but it would be a nicer house. Skabb likes the idea of shady neighbours. Crow Alley is nearer the cemetery, so we’d rather avoid that. Also, there are no neighbours in the warehouse. Skabb is sold. We could have a gym, hot tub, slug farm…

The DM sends Skabb and Nadia the floor-plan and says he will let us decide what goes where. So half slug patch, and half workshop then.

Hartvig wants to sell his scorpion venom, as he’s never used it. (it’s worth 40gp. Skabb: “Let’s find more giant scorpions!”) The casters take a look at their spells, opting for healing and light type things.

Sprocket can go to the library and do some research, or he can chat to the priests; he plumps for the latter. He has a good reputation with the temple after we dealt with the undead, so he can ask them about ghouls. After a brief moral debate, he asks them how to kill ghouls most effectively. “Regular ones and ones of a cult persuasion.” Immune to death effect, disease, paralysis, poison and unconsciousness. Negative type damage will heal them. They can eat corpses to regain HP. They carry something called ghoul fever and can paralyse you - unless you’re an elf. No specific weaknesses. Healing is bad for them, so Hartvig can just jump into the middle of them and do a big heal spell. “And it won’t hurt you guys. It’ll be nice if I hit you guys.” We can throw holy water like a bomb, that’ll do damage to them as well. They sell scrolls of healing that will hurt them, the priests say. Sprocket has a shedload of money so he buys some. 4gp for a scroll of heal, so he buys two. “Now I have three,” he says, carefully adding them to his character sheet.

“Can we buy a bunch of holy water and a super soaker?” Luna asks. “Is it cheaper by the bucket?”

Sprocket asks for five bottles of holy water. “Wait, how many are in the party? Okay, a deal on six.” He must give the priests a reason to give him a discount. “We’re ridding your town of an undead blight! Also we’re pretty cool, and I’m adorable! Uh…” Diplomacy, and he can add two. 16, for an 18 total. Alright, how about 2gp each so 12gp for six, they offer him.

“I agree, you are a credit to your people and faith.”

In arranging this deal, Sprocket has further improved his reputation with the priests.

Skabb wants to buy a Buffeting Winds scroll from Flashbang, and feed it to Grabby Cat so she can learn it. And another one of Magic Stone.

Once we all meet up again, Sprocket tells us that the hippy druid lady offered us some work. We keep that for later.

We retrace our steps - after a sleep. Ahhh, that’s better. Sprocket gives us each a vial of holy water, and he and Nadia give their healing scrolls to Hartvig and Skabb.

Jorg’ath must make a CON save - huh? He does - well, he returns from disciplining a cat (an IRL one, he hasn’t found Joto or anything) and then does it. 10… Not good. He has spent a lot of time cheek to jowl with ghouls, so he might be a little bit sick. He takes 2 (not 22!) D6’s of Negative damage, 7 total. Sprocket is trained in Medicine so he rolls that and Skabb rolls Nature. Sprocket and Nadia roll 1’s, but Skabb rolls a 26. Jorg’ath smells off. She sticks a claw in his scales - he has stage 2 ghoul fever. (Is that better than night fever, he wants to know.) He only takes half the hit points given back by healing spells and items. Well… shit. Would Goblin Fever help, Skabb asks? Like a competing virus type thing?

He’ll have to take 8 hours of downtime to get rid of it. It’ll take a while to kill him, he’d have to get to stage 6. Can he shake it off with a few good rolls, Sprocket asks? “… and a cup of tea?” Luna adds. We’d have to drag him out of here and treat him with lots of smelly mud, Skabb knows. Well, it's not all bad, there’s apparently a long list of things you’re immune to, Luna reminds him.

We go back to one of the mitflit areas to let him heal up before we press on, and he chooses Skabb as his main caregiver. Sprocket, Nadia, Hartvig and Skabb all roll medicine checks - the first 3 all roll 20s, and Hartvig’s is a crit. Skabb can add 4 to her roll as she has great support, and she rolls a 21, for 25 total! Jorg’ath rolls a Fortitude save - 28! He can add four to that on top, so now he no longer has ghoul fever. We all get a Hero Point!

(Skabb is crunching a handful of ticks that she found in Jorg'ath's scales as she worked.)

Augie rejoins us, yeah! It’s a shame we can’t bring him to town with us because he’s undead. “Perhaps if we tart him up a bit,” Hartvig suggests. “He just looks a bit peaky, he’s been ill.”

We’re in a little room just outside Velcro’s library; we head south. Jorg’ath opens the door, then another door, then we roll Initiative!

Rotting flesh heap in the middle, surrounded by ghouls. Yurck. Does Jorg’ath speak Undercommon? Nope. Skabb does, but she didn’t hear it.

“Wheee!” Shouts Augie, leaping over Jorg’ath and going straight for a ghoul cultist to bite it in the shins. “He’s got some moxie, I’ll give him that,” says Hartvig, impressed.

Jorg’ath Rages, inspired by Augie’s enthusiasm. He can add 4 instead of 2 to his Rage damage and can make it acid. “I’ll pop in the middle of these gentlemen,” he says, and stands on the pile. The flesh all seems connected, he notices. It's not a pile of humanoid corpses. Weird. 17 doesn’t hit. He Hero Points it for a 26, and 13 slashing damage plus 4 acid. Then the cultist to his left - 20 for 8 (+4) damage. Con save - 18. There is a stench in here, but he can hold his breath!

But he’s made the save and is immune.

Sprocketses! He sees one cultist being gently chewed by Augie, and has a go at Phase Bolt:

He then gives it a wash with Spout, but it makes the save. Still, Howdydoodis! Pinpoint accurate, the spout causes the insidey-bits to rupture, and exits from the eye.

Nadia can’t see anything so she runs in and stabs a ghoul with her bayonet. She hits and then makes her save versus the stink, yeah. She’s sick in her mouth a bit anyway.

Luna can shoot, but the ghoul will get a bonus to his AC. She goes for it anyway and gets a 29! That’ll do it. Second attack is a 23!

Skabb’s computer ain’t playing ball. She moves up by Luna and sits on her face, “in a non-rude way” so she can see. Does she know if any of the party are susceptible to ghoul type stuff? All of us can get ghoul fever, but Nadia won’t be paralysed as she’s half elf. Skabb can shield one of us, so she picks Jorg’ath the tank. “It pains me though.”

She takes out her slingshot and swings it around her head: 26 hits for 2 bludgeoning. She hears a wet thwack, even though they’re not technically Wet Undead.

The cultists have a go, and cast Harm on Nadia and Jorg’ath, who both get a Fortitude save (Nadia 21, Jorg’ath also good so they take half damage).

One of them moves, and casts Grim Tendrils - Jorg’ath and Nadia both save and take half damage and Persistent Bleeding (It’s up to the DM to remember about that though, so.)

Hartvig’s spell misses, even with a Hero Point, and Jorg’ath gets a Howdydoodis! I miss what he does because I’m eating cake. He does Raging Intimidation on the last one but only rolls a 12. “Well that’s upset me.”

Sprocket has Augustus cast Shield, which is Heightened. He casts a thing so he can see through Augustus’ eyes as well. Is Augustus susceptible to smells? “If he doesn’t have a nose, shall we whittle him one?” Hartvig asks, and earns himself a Hero Point.

Augustus makes a save of 16, and is Sickened 1.

Nadia moves forward and shoots, drops Alkonost and misses with Bluebird. “GET ON THE GROUND! NOW!”

Luna sneaks forward and misses, Hero Points it and hits. Her second attack misses. “Rats.”

Skabb casts Disrupt Undead. “Yeah. Disrupt your day, motherfucker.” It saves though. “Absolute wanker.” It casts Harm again, forcing another save; Luna, Skabb and Augustus do badly. From the other room we hear Sprocket go “Ow!”

Hartvig does Needle Darts again:

… aaaaand it misses again.

Augie lunges at the last cultist, mouth first, and hits with a 29. “It’s a joy to watch you work, sir,” says Hartvig.

Jorg’ath is up next, and swings his great sword for 9 slashing. Second attack misses. He tries Intimidating Prowess again and fails again to the amusement of all.

Sprocket does some measuring. Can he do Phase Bolt through the wall, and through Augie, and hit the cultist? Yes, apparently, he can, and the cover bonus is reduced by two, negating it entirely. 24 hits for a howdydoodis!

What we see is a Ray of Awful, and we’re just a bit worried for Augie, then the bolt phases out and then back in but inside the cultist, making him, quote, “aggressively dead”.

Skabb notices something written in Undercommon on the floor by the flesh pile, in spite of herself:

“Pure Flesh.”

We offer it to Augie, but he shakes his head. “Not undead.”

Is it still possessed of some mockery of life? We should burn it. Should we try to talk to it first? We could have Jor’gath intimidate it, Skabb says, laughing. She could do a nature check on it? She does that, dropping the sharp stick she was going to poke it with.

There are lots of teeth. It’s a hideous lump. Does Sprocket want to do an Arcana check? “Eurgh, not really.” He does anyway, creeping to the edge of the stink in the room. 13, and a retch. This is nothing that has been created magically.

What is it, then?

Hartvig has a go at a Religion check, and Skabb does an Occultism check. After a cursory look, it doesn’t seem undead. In a flash, Skabb realises that this is the decomposing corpse of a Gibbering Mouther - a type of Aberration. (Jorg’ath wants to do a Crafting check to try and put it back together.) Skabb thinks the cultists were worshipping the corpse.

Jorg’ath burns it with his torch.

If they’re worshipping this, is it likely that there are others down here? Not necessarily, the DM tells her.

We listen at the next door before the lizard hoofs it open. We sneak as best we can, being quiet as the ghouls can see in the dark but not necessarily hear. We all Follow the Expert, Luna, whose Sneak is 4.

Skabb hears nothing through the door. We push Luna to the front to open it. She rolls a 30 Stealth. “That’s illegal!” Jorg’ath cries. Luna gets a Hero Point.

Through the door are what look at first glance like mushrooms, but because Luna rolled so well, she can see nasty tentacles waving about. “Gross.”

It sits on a pile of dark grey soil. This seems to be a garden. We ask Augie about this. “Ghouls use them to flash-season their food.” They have flesh-rotting venom, apparently.

Fun!

Skabb and Jorg’ath roll Nature checks, while squabbling. The fungus can’t see, it uses tremor sense so Grabby Cat could fly over them for a recce. They have a reach of ten feet with the tentacles. They have a poison called Violet Rot, which enfeebles you over time. People have been known to rip off the tentacles and use them as weapons, though the poison only continues to work for about an hour.

If Jorg’ath smashes the floor with his axe, will it create a distraction allowing the rest of us to sneak through? How about a fire bomb? Skabb has a spell that lets her rain down rubble…? They are weak to fire, apparently.

Nadia knows that if someone can harvest the venom, she can preserve it with a crafting check and make Violet Venom which is quite valuable.

Hartvig could torch all three of these things with a cantrip. Skabb does Burning Hands, and they fail the save. 8 fire apiece - so 13 fire damage each, and we roll initiative. We stop there as Luna is falling asleep, and it’s better to pause here than in the middle of combat.

#dnd #pathfinder #abomination vaults #abomination vaults spoilers

0 notes

sserpente · 3 years

Photo

A/N: That Hyundai ad hit different. *chuckles*

Words: 3097 Warnings: kidnapping, hostage

New York smelled pretty bad, come to think of it. You had almost forgotten the hustle and bustle of this huge city that never slept and if there was one thing you had not been missing at all after spending a few months in Morocco for work, it was the constant traffic jams.

It was hot, unbearably so. You’d been a sweating mess ever since your cab driver had picked you up at the airport and the fact that the air conditioning in the cab was broken didn’t exactly help with that. Your thighs stuck to the leather of the backseat, your forehead glistening and your make-up… well, it used to be make-up.

The cab driver seemed nice, at least and since the long snake made entirely of cars had not moved for at least an hour now, he had offered to park on the side of the road and get you both a bottle of water. Ironically, you were only a few yards away from Stark Tower.

Perhaps you shouldn’t complain about the traffic jam. Half of the city was a mess after the atrocious battle you had been fortunate enough only to have witnessed on the news on the plane. You could only hope that your tiny studio flat was still intact and quite frankly, it was short of a miracle that a cab service had actually agreed on picking you up so shortly after an almost-war—not to mention that the plane had actually landed.

You sighed, brushing a strand of hair sticking to your cheek out of your face. You were unbelievably tired—even more so knowing that you had dodged a catastrophe that would go down in history all thanks to work. Your eyes fell shut and you leaned against the car window when suddenly, the driver’s door was all but yanked open and someone who certainly did not resemble your cab driver, started the car and clutched at the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

Your lips parted. Shackles and a muzzle, along with a blue glowing cube landed on the passenger seat with a loud clatter, followed by an annoyed groan. It was him. The man who had attempted to take over the entire planet only moments ago, he was here in this car and he was currently kidnapping you with it.

A scream escaped your lips, a mixture of shock and fear spreading in your body and fuelling the rising amount of adrenaline. It was only then the God of Mischief glanced at the rear-view mirror and spotted you there panicking—but by then, he had already stirred the car back on the road, straight towards the traffic jam.

“You… you are… Let me out! Let me out at once!” You screeched, the heat around you—along with your miserable appearance—all but forgotten. Loki rolled his eyes. Great. Another mortal.

“I am not stopping this car,” was all he said. Your eyes widened in utter shock.

“Then don’t! Fuck!” Danger was radiating off of this man like heat from an active volcano; so if necessary, you would jump out of the moving car as well. Biting your lower lip and wondering if you should go through with this risky stunt at the speed he was going, the wheels squeaking over the asphalt with every abrupt turn he took, or if that would be a suicide mission. It was probably the latter, and when you reached for the handle of the back door, it took the God of Mischief only a mere second to lock it, trapping you inside.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“You’ll kill yourself.” Loki spat. You did not miss the patronising tone in his voice—stupid. He believed you stupid.

“And if I stay in here with you I won’t?” You retorted hysterically. And it was justified, really—for when your gaze drifted back to the road ahead of you, you could see him racing straight towards a long line of cars waiting for the traffic to clear up.

“Watch out! The other cars, watch out! Oh my God…” You screamed, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your face with your arms but the imminent crash never came. When you opened your eyes again, Loki had all but moved through the other cars as if by magic. God, what was this, Harry Potter?

With your heart in your mouth, you brought your trembling hands to your thighs and pressed down on them in a desperate attempt to fight off the panic attack rising within you like the forthcoming eruption of a volcano.

But even when you reached the suburbs, ironically moved closer to your home, and the car finally slowed down to a reasonable speed, making you wonder how a god from another realm knew how to drive a car in the first place, your dread kept growing steadily. What would happen once Loki decided he had reached his destination? What would he do with you? Would you end up as another casualty? You’d know where he was, after all, and only God knew how he had managed to escape after the Avengers reported his capture—not to mention that he was in the possession of that mysterious blue cube you were certain bore even more chaos and destruction in the wrong hands.

“I take it this vehicle is supposed to be a means of transport in exchange for payment?” He suddenly said.

“What?” You gaped at him, swallowing. “Yes! I mean, yes, it’s a taxi. That’s… I was…”

“Where do you live?”

“Excuse me? What, are you going to drop me off and expect me to tip you?”

Loki smirked. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but he did like your feistiness. “I need a place to hide.”

“What… no! No! I am not giving shelter to a criminal!” You snarled, swallowing your fear of him—and then you made the mistake of peeking at the navigation system the taxi driver had set up next to the steering wheel, with your address on bright display to show Loki exactly where he’d have to go.

The God of Mischief tilted his head. “You don’t have much choice in the matter, my dear.”

You took a deep shaky breath, digging your nails into the backseat. If your lower lip was trembling, you didn’t notice. “P-please… please just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where you are or where you went. Please.”

“I am not going to kill you if that is what you are worried about.” He replied after a long pause. When you said nothing, too stunned and scared to come up with another snarky comment, silence spread in the car like wildfire.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you closed your eyes, hoping that this was a bad joke, a terrible nightmare and any moment now, you would wake up safely on the plane, yet to land in half-destroyed New York City—but the end of slumber never came. You were wide awake; even more so when, after what felt like hours, Loki finally stopped the car. Of course, you had not noticed him observing you repeatedly through the rear-view mirror, almost as if to check if you were still alive.

Your eyes met and then, finally, he unlocked the doors. Only now, you did not move an inch. You had no idea what to expect if you stepped out of this car.

Naturally, Loki disagreed with your cautious decision. He yanked the car door open when he saw you frozen in place, grabbing your upper arm so fast you didn’t even have a chance to react, and all of a sudden, seeing the entrance door of the apartment building you lived in did not at all look as appealing as it had at the airport anymore.

His grip around your arm was firm but when you whined in pain, the God of Mischief actually softened it—if only a little, barely noticeable.

“Unlock the door, my dear, will you?” He inquired, smiling sweetly at you. Right beneath the surface, you could hear that there would be dire consequences if you failed to comply.

Surely at this point, he could hear your rapid heartbeat. Shaking, you fumbled for the keys in your bag until they were jingling in your palms all the while Loki watched you like a hawk. You had dismissed calling the police on your phone in the car already—for now.

Fuck, you had been kidnapped. You were about to be held hostage in your own flat, or… or… was he just going to enter and kick you out? Had he been lying about not killing you? Would he fling a dagger at you any moment now like you had seen him do on TV?

Loki followed you when you approached the door and unlocked it clumsily. One floor up and to the left. For just a brief moment, you wondered what would happen if you started screaming bloody murder, alerting your neighbours but even when you opened your mouth to attempt it, not a single sound would escape your lips.

Even a little further out and farther away from the centre of New York City, rent prices were horrendous. Your salary was not bad but your apartment was no more than a small studio equipped with a humble kitchen, a separate bathroom with a tiny shower and lastly, your double bed in the centre of the room, posing as your sofa during the day.

Loki looked around unimpressed when he entered. “Well… it will do.”

“N-now what?” You choked out.

Loki raised his eyebrows, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Right—because that was going to be so easy. He sighed and rolled his eyes when you only stared at him in horror.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“W-would you? You tried to subjugate our planet like ten minutes ago!”

“And for good reason too. This realm is lawless, your people slaughter each other day in and out and you feel threatened by me? I would have given you a new purpose.”

He had a point… but… “And what is that so-called purpose? Slavery?” Loki’s expression darkened, making you flinch back.

“S-sorry… I’ll… I’ll be i-in the bathroom taking a shower. Please just… I mean… whatever.” Would he stop you? Hesitating, you made your way to the bathroom, waiting for him to yank you back, press you against the wall and threaten you? Threaten you with what, exactly? Could you trust that he wouldn’t kill you? Loki felt like a ticking time bomb in your flat.

But a painful yank never came and when you locked the bathroom door behind you, you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, trying to process the fact you had a war criminal in your home.

Once you had gathered enough energy to do what you had come to the bathroom for and, an hour later, returned to the main room, Loki was sitting on your bed cross-legged, the Tesseract right before him, glowing away.

“I roamed your ‘kitchen’”, he said without glancing up to meet your eyes, “Do you have anything edible at all?”

“I was away for a whole month.” You argued. “I haven’t done any shopping yet because I was kidnapped by a space Viking.”

Loki smirked. Amused, he finally looked up. “Well, perhaps I should take you back to Asgard with me then. I could use a diligent little servant.”

Your reaction did not disappoint him. Chuckling to himself, he slid off the bed more elegantly than you could ever muster, the Tesseract disappearing into nothingness.

“What I am trying to say is that even gods need to eat and I am, quite frankly, starving.”

“That sounds like a you-problem.” You grumbled. And then, as if on cue, your stomach growled. Damn it.

“Fine. I’ll order some pizza.”

Loki had all but watched you like a hawk upon calling the local pizza place. Everything inside of you had screamed to let them know about your predicament, to beg them to call the police and send them to you instead of the pizza.

But as soon as the food was delivered, the mood in your apartment changed so rapidly it left you wondering if the only reason for Loki’s world domination attempt had been his hunger. The man devoured a family-sized pizza in but what felt like two minutes and, upon realising you were done with yours, leaving three pieces in the box, he devoured those as well. And never before had you seen someone eat pizza so gracefully.

It didn’t exactly make it feel like you had been kidnapped anymore. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn’t been lying about not wanting to kill you after all. Perhaps he wasn’t as evil as you… no, stop. He had literally just tried to take over the planet!

“What are you pondering on, little mortal?”

You shivered, the nickname affecting you in a way it truly shouldn’t, especially after he had lost his armour and magically exchanged it for more casual clothes—they still looked like they were from a different time period altogether but it wasn’t nearly as intimidating as before.

“W-why did you really do it?” You found yourself asking. It was a risk—but you were feeling braver now that your stomach was full even though part of you was surprised you had managed to eat at all.

“What?”

“Why did you really try to take over the planet? Did you… do you really want to enslave us all?”

“A lack of freedom does not equal slavery. It offers protection from failure and bad choices.” He said. You frowned.

“You truly believe that?”

“You fight wars over opinions, religions and race among your own species. Your choices are suffocating the whole of Midgard. I would have changed that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

You looked down, reaching for the sweet treat that had come with your pizza to stop your fingers from trembling.

“What is that?”

“Oh, uh… those are marshmallows. This pizza place always packs them with your order, don’t ask me why.”

“What’s that?” He repeated, frowning at the plastic wrapper.

“It’s candy…”

“Well, it doesn’t look very natural.”

Woah. How had this conversation just gone from “humans should not have freedom of choice” to “marshmallows look unhealthy”?

“They’re… I mean they’re not. They’re made of pure sugar and artificial flavouring.”

“Then why do you eat them?”

“Because… because they taste good?”

Loki gave you a taunting look. See? It said. This is what I meant.

But when you opened the package and handed it to him, he took one out nonetheless. It looked tiny between his long fingers—as tiny as you must have looked next to him.

You gulped when it disappeared between his lips. When you reached out to take the package back, he snatched it away from you.

“They are quite delicious, actually.” Your jaw dropped when he popped them all into his mouth at once, winking at you. Not quite sure how to react to this, you averted your gaze, taking a feigned interest in your digital alarm clock on the nightstand instead.

It was only 5 PM but you were positively ready to pass out. Where would you even sleep tonight? Where would he sleep? Would he even sleep?

“You are tired.” He suddenly stated as if on cue. He couldn’t read your mind… right? He did have that weird cube of his, after all.

“Well, yeah… I got kidnapped, experienced a live remake of ‘Fast and Furious’ and I have a criminal in my flat.”

“I only understood half of what you just said but I can ensure you that I will not harm you when you sleep.” There it was again, that frown that almost made it look like he was offended. As if the very circumstance of him hurting an innocent for no reason other than malice insulted him.

“So by all means, retire to bed.” He went on, gesturing to the bed and eventually, standing up to make space for you. The pizza boxes disappeared in but a green shimmer of light and you watched Loki, albeit still suspicious, heading over to the small kitchen table. To be quite frank, it was the last thing you remembered.

Loki was gone, no trace of him left. It was as if he had never even been here. It was already past noon—the exhaustion from your flight as well as the racy car drive and last but not least, your shining time as a hostage had worn you out to the point you didn’t even remember falling asleep anymore.

You only realised now that it was your doorbell that had woken you up. Jumping out of bed and moaning when your vision turned black for a moment, you headed over to your speaker and pressed the button. Perhaps it was Loki. Perhaps he had locked himself out but then again… would he not be able to magic himself back in? Why had he insisted on you unlocking the door yesterday in the first place? You shook your head.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is Henry, I’ve got your delivery.” A boyish voice responded.

“W-what delivery? I didn’t order anything.”

“You did, ma’am, would you come open the door, please?”

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll be down in a second.”

You had fallen asleep in your clothes from last night, so one quick glance in the mirror was all you had before you headed back down and opened the main entrance door.

The delivery boy was holding both your suitcase and a jumbo-size package of marshmallows in his hands. Big marshmallows—the bonfire kind, to be precise.

“Who…” But you knew. You knew the moment you made the connection and knew the moment you looked straight into Henry’s eyes and noticed them glowing unnaturally blue when he handed the items to you.

It had not been a dream then. Loki had really been here. You had been eating pizza with the God of Mischief and now… the gesture was almost sweet. Was that his way of saying thank you? For what? You hadn’t exactly done much except for trembling in fear.

“He instructed me to tell you that you will meet again soon.” Henry announced and then, before you even had a chance to respond, he turned on his heel, hopped back into the delivery van parked in front of the building and left. You only realised now that the Hyundai taxi was gone too.

681 notes · View notes

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

10 for the hug prompts with JonMartin? 🥺

touches prompt list

10 - hiding their face in the other’s neck

a no-fears au where jon and martin are in an established relationship! cw for nausea and a brief mention of vomiting (doesn't actually occur)

Jon doesn’t do roller coasters.

It is not, despite what Tim says when he thinks Jon isn’t listening, because he’s a, quote, ‘old man at heart’ and doesn’t know how to have fun. In theory, Jon is actually rather fond of roller coasters. He’d watched a documentary once about the design of them, and it had been rather fascinating.

It’s not because Jon doesn’t like roller coasters. It’s…

Well. It’s probably more accurate to say that roller coasters don’t like him. Specifically, his sense of equilibrium and his digestive system. Pills help somewhat, if he remembers to take them, but the fact of the matter is that he’s much more likely to leave the ride with a feeling of intense nausea than of exhilaration. He just… gets motion sick. No way around it. He always sits in the front seat of cars, ensures that he’s in a forward-facing train seat at all times, rarely travels by boat, and… avoids roller coasters.

The fact that he is currently standing in the queue for a particularly large and particularly frightening-looking roller coaster is not, therefore, due to his overwhelming love for them. It is instead entirely due to his overwhelming love for the man standing next to him, eyes bright and excited as he explains the history of this particular roller coaster. His hand is warm and soft in Jon’s, and their clasped hands swing absently back and forth as they slowly inch forward in the queue. His curls are a shock of auburn against the sky, and when he laughs and squeezes Jon’s hand, Jon forgets his anxiety entirely for a moment, lost in a wave of affection and fondness.

“—and because it’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of the ride,” Martin says with a wide grin, “it’ll be running backward today! Well, all season, I- I suppose, but we’re here today, so…”

Jon has never been on a roller coaster that’s traveled backward. It does… not sound appealing.

“That’s… very exciting,” Jon says with a smile, trying to make the words sound as genuine as possible. Because he is a coward. Or, perhaps, just very in love. Maybe both.

It’s just… Martin had been so excited when he’d dropped the amusement park tickets in front of Jon a few weeks ago. And in the four months or so that they’ve been dating, Jon has found it increasingly hard to say things that will cause that wide, unabashed smile on Martin’s face to dim even in the slightest. So Jon had discretely taken several motion sickness pills before they’d left that morning and had told himself that there were plenty of other things to do at an amusement park besides roller coasters and spinning rides and other things that make it their personal mission to tie Jon’s stomach into knots.

And then Martin had spent the entire train ride rambling about the various roller coasters and how he’d always wanted to go to an amusement park but he’d never been able to find the time or the money before and how he’s never been on a roller coaster but they look so fun, and Jon just… hadn’t been able to tell him.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as they finally reach the front of the queue, the brightly colored cars sitting empty in front of them. It’ll be… completely, totally fine. Nothing to worry about.

They sit a few rows from the front. The click of the restraints makes Jon’s stomach squeeze with nerves, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the bar in front of him with white knuckles until Martin says gently, “Hey. Is… everything okay?”

No, but it’s certainly too late to change my mind now, Jon does not say.

“Yes,” Jon says, loosening his grip with considerable effort. It’s fine. “Just… b-been a while since I was on one of these.”

Technically not a lie.

“Oh!” Martin gives him a soft smile that makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Well, it’ll be a… new experience for both of us then, I suppose.”

The car jerks into motion, and Jon’s hands tighten instinctively on the bar again. It’s a… disconcerting effect, to be moving backward rather than forward, and one that Jon is decidedly not fond of. They exit the staging area and begin to climb up the first of the many, many hills Jon had eyed warily from their place in the queue. Jon looks straight ahead and does not look down and tries to breathe through his nose.

A warm hand covers his, and Jon looks over to see Martin watching him, that same soft smile on his lips. Martin squeezes gently, and Jon relaxes, just a fraction.

Then, the car tips over the peak of the hill and begins to accelerate, and Jon’s world blurs into a mess of colors and sensations.

The only part of the ride that Jon enjoys is the fact that it’s over quickly. By the time the car rolls to a halt—after a terrifying sequence of loops and drops and harsh curves and tight spirals—Jon feels as if his insides have been scooped out, stuffed in a washing machine, tumble dried, and then pushed back into him at all the wrong angles. Martin’s hand is still gripping his, somehow, and it remains there as they exit the car and make their way down the ramp and into the main thoroughfare. Jon’s legs feel boneless, like they’re made of jelly, and he is deeply afraid that if he opens his mouth, he is going to empty the contents of his stomach onto the pavement below.

Gentle hands are on Jon’s shoulders then, and Jon finds himself guided onto a metal bench just a few meters away from the exit ramp. Jon tries to protest that he’s fine—they have limited time here and he doesn’t need to take a break—but his stomach rolls and he pinches his lips shut before he manages to form a single word. When a hand settles on his upper back and presses down gently, he finally gives in to the urge to bend over and tuck his head between his knees in an effort to alleviate some of the lingering vertigo.

“Breathe, Jon,” Martin says, and Jon does. He takes a few deep breaths, and when a particularly powerful wave of nausea overtakes him, he can’t help the groan that escapes him. “I know,” Martin says softly, moving his hand in soothing circles on Jon’s back. “Just keep breathing, Jon. We can get some water in a bit, just… for now, let’s sit.”

Jon is too nauseous to be properly embarrassed by the coddling. That situation changes quickly as the minutes pass and Jon’s stomach begins to settle. After what must be nearly ten minutes, the nausea has faded entirely, but Jon keeps his head between his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Martin’s face.

“Feeling any better?” Martin prompts, and Jon lets out a slow breath. He nods once, and—with the help of Martin’s hand on his arm—straightens slowly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he does so.

“Sorry,” he says, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear him over the din of the crowd.

“You don’t have to apologize for- for feeling sick,” Martin says. He rubs a thumb against Jon’s arm and says, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I- I didn’t think… it would be this bad?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Martin give him a look that very clearly expresses his skepticism.

Jon sighs and puts his head in his hands again. “I just… didn’t want to disappoint you, I suppose.”

Martin is, of course, sharper than Jon gives him credit for sometimes. “Because I said I’d never had the chance to go on a roller coaster before?”

Jon nods miserably. “I-in my defense, I thought you would start with something significantly less… gravity-defying.”

“Jon,” Martin says, kindly and patiently yet with a chastising edge to it. “You could have waited by the exit.”

“I—I didn’t…” Jon feels the tips of his ears grow warm. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his voice pitched a touch higher than normal. “That’s… um, r-really sweet, actually.”

Jon is glad that Martin can’t see his face because he’s sure whatever expression would have crossed it just then would have been utterly sappy and mortifying.

“B-but I—I don’t want you to make yourself sick on my account,” Martin hastens to say. “There are loads of other things to do here. W-we don’t have to ride the roller coasters.”

Jon uncovers his face and looks at Martin. “But you want to ride the roller coasters.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I… also want to spend time with you, Jon. D-doing things we both want to do, not… not just me.”

Jon stares at Martin and thinks, not for the first time, that he loves him. But it’s still too early to say it, probably, and he’s certainly not going to do so sitting on a sticky metal bench surrounded by children and tired-eyed parents. So all he says, in the end, is, “If… if you’re sure.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand in his and squeezes gently. “I am.” Then, he gives Jon a wide, soft smile that has Jon’s stomach twisting all over again. “So. What do you do at amusement parks, then?”

Jon flushes. But Martin doesn’t laugh at him when he mumbles that he’s actually quite fond of carousels. Instead, he takes Jon’s hand and walks with him across the park—staying away from the more crowded sections, stopping to buy some horrendously overpriced bottles of water on their way—until they’re standing in front of the carousel, painted in lovely pastel blues and yellows.

Jon, for a moment, feels self-conscious and more than a bit childish. But then Martin squeezes his hand and says, without a hint of teasing, “So, what animal do you prefer?” and the tension in Jon’s shoulders melts away in an instant.

Jon learns that Martin likes the classic horses, manes painted gold and plastic saddles a bright cherry red. (And Martin is entirely unsurprised to find that Jon chooses the cat, every time.) He learns, as they continue to explore the amusement park, that Martin likes caramel apples but hates how they get stuck in his teeth. (He purchases one anyway, rolled in peanuts and little rainbow sprinkles, that gives Jon a toothache just looking at it.) He learns that Martin does not appreciate his explanation that the monsters on the haunted house ride are ‘just dummies’ and ‘obviously fake’ and ‘really, Martin, that’s not even the correct number of bones in a human skeleton.’ (Though he secretly treasures the way that Martin clings to his side in the car and hides his face in Jon’s neck, his curls tickling the sensitive skin just underneath Jon’s chin.)

And Martin, apparently, learns that Jon is strangely good at midway games.

“You know those things are totally rigged, right?” Martin says, staring at Jon in disbelief as he tries and fails to adjust his grip on the frankly enormous plush teddy bear the midway worker had begrudgingly surrendered to him. And the medium-sized plush cat he’d won earlier. And the dozen or so little plushies and trinkets and accessories he’d acquired along the way. “You’re not supposed to be able to win.”

“Yes, well.” Jon gives up on trying to find a comfortable way to carry his prizes and extends the massive teddy toward Martin. “I suppose I’m just… lucky.”

He is certainly not going to admit that he spent a good three days researching what to do on a carnival date, came to the conclusion that it would be romantic to win an enormous stuffed animal for Martin, and committed himself to memorizing which games were easiest to win and what strategies he should employ in order to have the best chance at success. That would be… well. A bit much, he thinks. Best to just… not mention it.

Martin carries the teddy all the way back to his flat, his cheeks flushing a lovely pink whenever an occasional curious glance is thrown in their direction. It’s only once they get there and Martin tries to pass the plushie back to Jon with a sheepish, “Suppose I better give this back now,” that Jon realizes he had… indeed not been very clear about his intentions.

“It’s… for you, actually,” Jon says, ignoring the way his cheeks are growing steadily warmer. Then, Jon takes a breath and pushes the rest of the plushies rather unceremoniously into Martin’s arms, save for the cat which he’s… grown rather attached to in their short acquaintanceship. “Th-they all are. Er. F-for you.”

“O-oh.” Martin looks down at the collection of brightly colored things in his arms, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “I—I… really?”

Jon hugs the cat tightly to his chest, feeling something like embarrassment curl in his stomach. “I-if you don’t want them, I—I can—”

“No!” Martin says quickly, curling his arms protectively around the plushies. “I—I do. W-want them.” He looks down at the teddy sitting by his feet, then up at Jon with a warm, shy smile on his face. “Th-thanks, Jon.”

I love him, I love him, I love him.

Jon nods, pinches his lips together, and tries to keep his affection contained. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, after all. That’s… something he’s not meant to do, he thinks.

Then, when they’re both lying in bed and Martin’s chest is pressed against Jon’s back, his arm curled around Jon’s middle and his nose buried in Jon’s hair, Martin murmurs, “I love you,” and Jon’s breath catches in his throat.

“I… I love you too,” he whispers. And it’s such an easy thing to say that Jon wonders why he’d ever worried at all.

Martin makes a sleepy, contented noise, burrowing closer and wrapping Jon more tightly in his arms. And because he can—he can, he can, Martin said it first, so he can—Jon says again, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear it: “I love you.”

The words are sweet on his tongue, like candy floss and funnel cakes and caramel apples.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #i know nothing about british amusement parks so if this is painfully american... forgive me #hawkfurze

271 notes · View notes

jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

👀👀👀👀 fluff prompts you say?? Maybe, hmmm... soulmates AU? Jaskier has a romantic soulmate and a platonic soulmate, and he introduces them? Geraskilion? Or any soulmate AU, I am WEAK.

Also have I mentioned that you're brilliant and wonderful and amazing lately? Because you are 💕💕💕💕💕

Short and sweet I said... then you hit me with geraskilion and I had feelings 😂

Ship: Jask/Geralt/Dandelion

CW: brief mention of sex, alcohol

________

Soulmarks.

Everyone had one. Jaskier had two. He had a blazing red sword spanning from his right shoulder across his pectoral, and a delicate feathered quill in buttercup yellow on the inside of his wrist. Each mark bonded him with someone in a unique way. The red inked into his skin signified a romantic bond, and the yellow, a platonic one.

Not everyone was guaranteed to meet their soulmate(s). Jaskier was one of the lucky ones. He’d met both of them very early on in life. He’d been barely eighteen when he stumbled into his classroom at Oxenfurt university, flopping onto the bench, almost ten minutes late and horrendously out of breath. He’d spent the next two minutes digging through his satchel looking for a pen, when a long feathered quill had waved in front of his face, pink and sparkly and garish, but that hadn’t been what grabbed his attention. No, Jaskier had been more concerned by the yellow quill tattoo on their wrist.

A tattoo that matched his perfectly.

Jaskier had naturally promptly fallen out of his chair in an effort to pull back his sleeve to reveal his own yellow quill.

Dandelion’s laughter had gone straight to his heart, and Jaskier had been completely taken by his best friend ever since. The two Julian’s of Oxenfurt, completely inseparable, both in name and nature. No one who met them could believe that their soulbond was only platonic but it truly was. Dandelion also had two tattoos, but Jaskier had only seen one, all he knew was that they were both yellow, and his soulmate really didn’t care for nor want romance.

That was fine by Jaskier.

He’d known his romantic love was out there, waiting for him to find them.

Meeting Geralt was a lot less dramatic. Dandelion had been out drinking with some old school friends, so Jaskier had wandered to the other side of town to give his soulmate some space. The old bar had attracted him like a moth to a flame. It looked like something out of an old western film and Jaskier was weak for anything with a theatrical flair. He’d shuffled into the bar and plopped down onto the stool next to an unfairly attractive man who’d been nursing his whiskey, and ordered a Sex on the Beach.

Geralt hadn’t stopped staring at him, which wasn’t entirely unusual, Jaskier was an attractive man but this had been different. The sheer intensity of Geralt’s gaze had burned into his skin… his shoulder to be precise. Jaskier had been wearing a transparent black mesh shirt with cornflowers decorating the fabric, but his red sword tattoo had clearly been visible.

The rest of the night had been a blur but had ended with rather spectacular sex at Geralt’s place, revealing a second yellow tattoo just above Geralt’s hip, a marigold; a platonic soulmate that Geralt hadn’t met yet.

Five years later, that yellow marigold still went unclaimed, and Jaskier was still dancing between Geralt and Dandelion. It wasn’t as if he was intentionally keeping them apart, he was just worried they wouldn’t like each other. They were opposites in every way. Geralt was practical, rough around the edges, and a little too guarded in his emotions, whereas Dandelion was a flamboyant mess, a lover of finer things and eloquent to a fault.

It would break Jaskier’s heart if the two pieces of his soul didn’t get along.

So he artfully managed to keep them at a distance.

Until now.

Jaskier had finally decided it was time to move in with Geralt, after years bunking with Dandelion, Valdo, Essi and Pris, and Dandelion was helping him move. Although ‘helping’ was probably a strong word. Dandelion’s help was closer to just keeping Jaskier company, and really it was just making Jaskier sad about leaving him behind. He’d never wanted to be that person, the one that left his friends behind, but he missed Geralt more and more each day.

It just wasn’t fair.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice called out from the open door; an hour early. “Are you ready to go, love?”

“Oh, ho, ho!” Dandelion giggled from Jaskier’s shitty single bed that he was leaving behind. “The famous Geralt Rivia! Fucking finally, I was starting to think you were making him up, darling.”

“Lion, no,” Jaskier groaned as his friend bounced up and skipped from the room. “This- this is a terrible idea!”

“Dandelion, I presume?” he heard Geralt ask, and Jaskier skidded into the room too late. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

This- this was not as terrible as he’d expected. The soft smiles the two shared was so much better than Jaskier’s wildest dreams. He let out a sigh of relief and everyone got back to work, until Geralt stretched up to pick up Jaskier’s stuffed lion from the top of his bookcase, which definitely didn’t still spend every night in Jaskier’s bed… of course not.

Dandelion shrieked and there was a twang of ukulele strings, as the instrument fell to the floor.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz!” Dandelion spat out vehemently, “You didn’t tell me your soulmate was my soulmate!”

Everyone froze.

Geralt glanced down at his now exposed yellow marigold tattoo, and then his eyes snapped up to meet Dandelion’s fierce gaze. Dandelion’s skirt was pulled down to reveal a very familiar marigold tattoo just above his hip.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier groaned, as the room burst into an array of laughter.

He’d really fucked up this time.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #jaskilion #geraskilion #soulmate au #wolfie's witcher writing

81 notes · View notes

anonniemousefics · 3 years

Text

My Dearest Inej - Epilogue I

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen and Up

What follows is a collection of letters, found bundled together in twine, kept among the personal belongings of the feared privateer, Inej Ghafa, captain of The Wraith.

Chapter Summary -- A gratuitously self-indulgent two-part epilogue because it made me happy :) If you’ve enjoyed this fic (or others) and feel like buying me a coffee, you can here. Thanks so much to everyone who’s come along for this ride. This one’s for you.

BONUS CONTENT - Epilogue I

(in Jesper’s handwriting, accompanied by an empty bottle of kvas)

Welcome home and congratulations, assholes.

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

My dearest Inej,

My darling wife,

Brekker –

It has brought me no small amount of joy over the years to hear this name uttered with unfiltered contempt, and, lucky me, that has been happening a lot as of late. Since you are now a hundred miles out to sea, it’s my hope that, through this letter, we can now share in this delight together. (I assume this is part of what you were after when you stole my heart and took my name, though, for the life of me, I can’t work out what else you got out of the deal. You are one horrendous negotiator, Mrs. Brekker.)

When we first returned, I’d chalked it up to the Dregs being unsure of how to act around me since the poisoning and the coup attempt and the shoot out and the jailbreak. Perhaps I’d finally asked too much of the lot of them. Perhaps some time was needed before normalcy resumed.

But now it’s been a couple weeks. And I’m starting to think this has nothing to do with my near-death experience.

I’m starting to think I’m being ignored, Brekker. I’m starting to think our nuptials in Novyi Zem may have ruffled some feathers.

Jesper, in particular, is being shockingly petty. The man hasn’t so much as glanced at me without disdain in a week. Which I’m not entirely unused to – it’s not the punishment he thinks it is – except yesterday, I was refused entry into his home to walk Ambroos at lunch time. I had to wait around until his meeting at two bells and then pick the lock like some common criminal.

(Don’t say it. My criminality has been called many things, but common is not one of them.)

Wylan has informed me he thinks I ought to extend an olive branch, so to speak, and try to make amends. He said this with a completely straight face. It’s like he just met me yesterday. Make amends? For what? For once, I have done nothing wrong – in fact, I’d argue that I finally did something right. Jesper’s just going to have to face facts – he has chosen the mercher’s life, and now not every adventure is going to include him.

Oh, gods. This did get under my skin after all. Damnit. Jesper can’t know, all right?

When are we running away together again? Can it be soon? Mornings without you in my arms are the kind of unbearable torture I typically only reserve for turncoats. All of this only serves to solidify my intentions to stow myself away on your next voyage. Ketterdam is now frigid and stupid, and even that matters little to me when my heart is with yours across the waves.

Counting the hours until then.

Yours,

Kaz

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

(hastily scrawled and unsigned)

Excuse me.

EXCUSE ME.

Tell me you and Brekker didn’t elope in Novyi Zem. Tell me this isn’t true.

I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU BOTH.

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

My beloved Mrs. Brekker,

Why am I receiving death threats from Nina Zenik? Not that I don’t mind a good death threat now and again – jogs the liver, as Jesper says (or would say, if he was speaking to me). But Zenik’s are colorful and weirdly specific and involve detailed descriptions of what she intends to do to with my entrails, and I don’t care to be upstaged like that.

Yours,

Kaz

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

Dear Nina,

My dearest friend, I enclose this letter with an overabundance of apologies and Ravkan toffees. I did consider there was a chance that an elopement wouldn’t sit well with everyone, but please know that it was never my intention to purposefully exclude anyone from a celebration. In fact, I assure you that a marriage was never even part of the plan when we set sail for Novyi Zem. What occurred during our travels was very private and healing in its own way, and that was all that I was considering at the time. I swear I was not trying to keep anything from you.

Maybe you would like it if I told you the whole story? Would that help?

We didn’t even start to consider it until a month into our stay. We’d spent a perfect afternoon at the seaside, wading in the shallows and trading kisses in the shade. But I knew well enough that happiness like this tends to not stick, and the thought of it all ending so soon started to break my heart – after all, a month had already flown by. And, as we talked about this, and found that we both felt the same way, we began to see what fools we would be if we let all this happiness slip away from us without a fight. That’s never been our way, after all.

And so began a whirlwind couple of weeks of perhaps some of the most unromantic negotiating and scheming you’ve ever seen. You’d have been appalled. We drew up calendars and maps, routed out how we could each split our time between land and sea, worked up how we would delegate to our crews in each instance of absence, and squabbled and bargained and plotted until what we were left with was a deal that neither one of us could walk away from. A deal to each other and our shared happiness. A commitment to fight for it always.

You’ll be shocked to learn that it was Kaz who first mentioned that what we were plotting looked a good deal like a marriage. I was inclined to laugh at first – I mean, can you imagine it? The Bastard of the Barrel, a shackled man. And me, a pirate with a land-loving husband. Sankta Alina, it feels ridiculous to write even now. Oh, but it would have been a terrible lie to claim I didn’t want it, this life we’d crafted. I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I waited an unbearably long time to say it so plainly to him – that was not my brightest decision. I think I just deeply feared that he’d end up resenting me if I pushed for this formal commitment, if I told him how desperately I wanted a life with him. Evidently, he was feeling the same way. After Kaz had mentioned it, we both tip-toed around it like idiots for the remainder of our trip, right up until the final week.

I’d spent the day making arrangements with the crew, making all the necessary preparations to leave by the week’s end. Kaz was waiting for me at the door of my quarters on the Wraith while I was sending away the last of the crewfolk with their assignments. I’d turned to gather up my things so we could return to our inn for the night when, out of nowhere, Kaz blurts out: “Marry me, Inej.”

Nina. I thought I was hearing things. I think I just stared at him a moment, probably a beat too long, too flabbergasted to register what was happening. You’d think I’d be used to this by now – he does have such a bad habit of waiting to say how he’s feeling until it explodes out of him. So, he said it again: “Marry me. Marry me before we leave here. I’ve wasted too much of my life wanting you from afar.”

And then I said, in a complete stupor: “Are you actually proposing right here.”

He swallowed hard and looked away – I think it was dawning on him how terribly unromantic he was being. His ears were turning pink, and my mind was just this awful blank space totally devoid of language – it was being so unhelpful.

And then Kaz said: “I’ll beg if I have to,” with that endearing sidelong glance, like he knew exactly the way to my heart. (Of course he does.)

I do love it when men beg.

Now that we were both grinning, he shocked me further by attempting to go down on one knee in front of me, which I found really distressing, given his bad leg, and I wouldn’t let him do it. Which is how we ended up on the floor together, a ridiculous, clumsy mess of promises and kisses and laughter (mostly mine) and tears (all mine), and that’s where I’ll stop, since what happened next isn’t really for polite company.

(Not that I’m accusing you of being polite. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’d just much rather tell you everything in person.)

And from this moment, it was as if we were both overtaken by a sort of giddy enchantment. The decision was made – the most logical decision I feel we’ve ever made, and there seemed to be no reason to wait. Or rather, we both felt we’d waited long enough. We made arrangements with another captain at the port to marry us. Kaz bought me a bouquet of wild geraniums from a flower cart on our way. It was exactly everything I needed, and the most perfect end to our journey I could have imagined.

At present, I am at sea for the next three weeks before returning to Ketterdam, where Kaz will be joining me on a voyage to Ravka to visit my parents. We would very much like to see you when we arrive, if you’re not still angry. Please be happy for us.

Love,

Inej

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

My lovely and dearest, much-too-easily-pleased friend,

Of course I am happy for you. I am sad for me. It’s all very selfish, I recognize. I wanted an enormous Suli wedding for you. I wanted days of celebrations and feasts. I wanted to shower you in all the wild geraniums you could imagine and attend to the train of the gorgeous, colorful gown I’ve dreamed up for you. I wanted to watch Jesper get uproariously drunk and then try to make a speech. I wanted the opportunity to deeply embarrass Brekker publically. And none of these things shall happen for me, and for that I am sad.

But of course all of this pales in comparison to knowing that you’ve found a good partner for life in Kaz and that you will obviously be very happy for the rest of your days. I just would like to have seen him spoil you with the grand wedding I believe you deserve, but if you’re pleased, then I shall be, too.

Can I at least throw a party for you both when you come to Ravka? I would be happy to include your parents.

Love,

Nina

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

Inej, my darling, love of my life,

What in the fresh hell is this?

(enclosed is a piece of expensive-looking parchment, neatly calligraphed with the following)

The honor of your presence is requested

At the nuptial celebrations for

Inej Ghafa

Kaz Brekker

(a note in Kaz’s handwriting: “Celebrations”?! Plural?!)

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

Zenik -

There is no force in heaven or hell that could compel me to attend nuptial celebrations, even – and perhaps especially -- ones allegedly thrown in my honor. There is a reason Inej and I were married in secret. I do not trust the conspicuousness of these large soirees – we are wanted in four different countries, for gods’ sake. Possibly five.

I suggest you cease and desist whatever it is you’re scheming immediately – or I’ll have to see it done myself.

--Brekker

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

Dear Mr. Brekker,

I wish to write you today to welcome you into our family. My daughter has delivered the news to me that the two of you have exchanged vows to each other before the Saints, and while my wife was at first distressed to learn that what is meant to be the most sacred of ceremonies had taken place for our daughter aboard a ship, docked in a far off country, we have each since made our peace with it. I wish for you to know that we do not harbor any grudges over being uninvolved in the giving away of our daughter’s hand, and that, henceforth, you are as a son to me. We are grateful that our beloved Inej found you. I trust that you will love her well for the remainder of your days.

We can hardly wait to celebrate your union properly when you come to Ravka next. Our caravan is yours.

May the Saints bless you both with long, happy lives together.

M. Ghafa

(an addition in Kaz’s handwriting, the ink dark and thick from the numerous times it’s been traced over)

FUCK

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

Zenik –

I know you are behind this.

- Brekker

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

Brekker,

I have done nothing you wouldn’t have done yourself. Do we have a deal?

- Zenik

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

Zenik –

Clearly my hands are tied.

You had better be procuring a security detail fit for kings.

- Brekker

P.S. – Fine, I’ll admit it – well played.

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

To be continued…

Tagging: @psyche-the-ya-protagonist, @drunk-hyena, @emmayame, @totchipanda, @happy-hudson, @whosanxiety, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @raging-bisexual-alert, @gedankenvoll, @feelinglikecleopatra, @leavemeuntold, @bookish-mind, @sbooksworld, @teacup-tyrant, @annejulianneh111

#six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #nina zenik #fanfiction #fanfic #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #love letters #epilogue #kanej fanfic #crosspost

41 notes · View notes

scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 3

A/N And just like that, here’s another chapter of Ginger Snap. This one has no Chef!Jamie (at least not in person, but he is the invisible third presence in the room) but read it anyway! He’ll be back in the next chapter, I promise.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my Ao3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I appraised my reflection in a plate glass window. Today was my thirtieth birthday. I’d spent most of the day at a fancy salon having assorted hairs waxed, plucked and uncoiled. Twenty minutes in the capricious October wind, and my sleek hairstyle was on the verge mutiny. I smoothed it down as best I could with my palms, mentally shrugged my shoulders, then entered the upscale restaurant.

“Happy birthday, darling.” Frank left a dry kiss on my cheek, careful to not mar my make-up, as he greeted me. “You look very beautiful with your hair straight like that.”

It was clear why Frank had chosen the Witchery for my birthday celebration. Nestled against Edinburgh Castle, it radiated history with its dark woods, tapestry-covered walls, burgundy banquettes and faux Tudor painted ceiling. Everywhere crystal and silverware reflected the bountiful candlelight. I pictured Jamie’s thick-soled work boots striding across the antique Persian carpets towards the kitchen and had to suppress a giggle.

Frank stood respectfully while the maître d’ pulled out my chair. He played the part of the genteel academic to a tee. Ten years’ my senior, he sported thick-framed glasses, a full head of dark hair and a trim figure that spoke more to abstemious habits than vigorous exercise. Still, he was wearing his best tailored suit and the tie I’d bought him for Christmas. I reminded myself that I was lucky to be in a relationship with a decent, courteous and dependable man who offered me the stability my tumultuous childhood had been sadly lacking.

We conversed quietly as we each perused the leather-bound menus, the noise of other diners a discrete background hum. Frank told me all about the history of the sixteenth century oak panels that lined the room, and I listened politely.

“It’s so refreshing to see an establishment buck the trend of those horrendous open-style kitchens,” he pronounced with a dramatic shudder.

“Oh, I don’t know. I rather enjoy watching the orchestrated chaos that goes into making my meal. It’s like dinner theatre,” I contradicted.

“Some things are better appreciated unseen, darling. It’s like that gaudy museum we visited in Paris. Ductwork and elevator shafts on display along with the art. It’s tremendously distracting, and not at all the point.”

He was referring to our visit to the Pompidou Centre the previous summer. I had found the juxtaposition of modern art and naked architecture fascinating. Frank much preferred the Louvre.

I was saved from having to defend my opinion by the arrival of our waiter. Using a well-manicured fingernail to indicate his choices, Frank ordered for us both.

“The lady will have your Grand Cru Mambourg. I’ll start with a Lagavullin 16, and proceed to the Chambolle-Musigny with my main course,” he said with conviction.

“Very good, sir.” The waiter collected the enormous wine menu and decamped, having failed to even look me in the eye. A little ember of resentment glowed in my belly.

“How did you know what wine to order when I haven’t told you what I’ve chosen as my main course?” I challenged once the waiter was out of earshot.

Frank looked perplexed, as though we were acting in a play and I’d suddenly said the wrong lines after countless perfect dress rehearsals.

“It’s your birthday, darling. You always get lobster for your birthday.”

I thought about this. He wasn’t wrong. I liked lobster. The first time we celebrated together in Boston, on my twenty-fifth birthday, it had felt like a sophisticated, grown-up choice. But I never intended for it to become my only option.

The rest of the meal passed without event. Frank was more animated than usual, reaching across the table to caress my hand twice and joking that his Angus steak tartare appetizer made him feel like a veritable red-blooded carnivore.

Once our plates were cleared Frank cleared his throat and squared his shoulders in a way that reminded me of the day he announced that we would be moving to Edinburgh. Now what? I wondered.

“Claire. Darling. I think you know how happy you make me, and how delighted I am that we’re building this new life together back in the UK. Your thirtieth birthday is such a special occasion, and I think it’s fitting that we mark it with something momentous.”

He reached across the table and took my left hand in his right. His skin was cool and dry against my oddly numb palm. I considered whether I might be going into cardiac arrest. My heart felt untethered in my chest, leaping towards my throat and then plunging into my gut. I concentrated on taking short, sipping breaths so that I didn’t regurgitate lobster all over the pristine white table linens.

Frank continued, unaware of my turmoil. “I’d like us to be married within the year. That way, our children will be born before you enter the high-risk years. A late-spring wedding sounds lovely, don’t you think?”

He looked at me expectantly, so it must be my turn to speak. The problem was I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I’m sorry, are you asking me to marry you?” I managed to ask around my stomach, which had joined my heart in my throat.

Frank chuckled. “Of course I am, darling. Isn’t this what we always planned?”

Strictly speaking, it was what Frank had always planned. He’d certainly never made any secret of the fact that matrimony and a family were what he saw in our future. So why was I blind-sided? It felt as though I had been driving a practical four-door sedan with an excellent crash test rating at highway speed, only to suddenly realize that nothing happened when I pumped the brakes.

I said the next thing that came into my malfunctioning brain.

“What about my licensing exams?”

“There really won’t be time, darling. Planning a wedding is a full-time job in itself, from what I hear. We need to get moving if we’re to have two children. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

I nodded weakly as though this made some kind of sense. Frank took the gesture as silent acceptance of his hyper-practical proposal, clapping his hands together in delight in a way that made me jump.

“Marvelous. Now, I know that you’re very particular about jewelry, so I thought it best that we shop for a ring together. But I wouldn’t dream of celebrating your special day without giving you something tangible. Happy birthday, Claire.”

He pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and slid it across the table. My fingers trembled and twitched as I tried to open the seal. Inside was a certificate printed with a familiar logo. I looked at Frank in shock. How did he know?

“I know how much you want to learn to cook. This place has an excellent reputation, despite their ridiculous name. They offer group lessons, but only at their location in Leith. I suppose the rent is cheaper there, but clearly that was out of the question. Fortunately, I was able to arrange something more suitable with the owner, so you’ll be learning at home from a private chef!”

At that moment our waiter reappeared carrying a bowl of dark, rich-looking pudding. As he placed it on the table in front of me, the spicy vapours of whisky assaulted my nose. With a flourish, the waiter extracted a long-handled lighter and ignited the liquor. Through the ensuing burst of purple flame, Frank’s familiar features transformed into something far more sinister.

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

59 notes · View notes

albdodaze · 3 years

Text

blooming. y.itadori

‘ew, ew, ew!’ (chapter one)

A/N: this is my first ever time posting on tumblr so this is weird but yeah pop off i guess. have in mind that english isn’t my first language!!

warnings: slight cursing

context: IN WHICH kami gojo, younger sister of certain powerful jujutsu sorcerer, meets an idiot who makes cold barrier around her heart melt.

The warm wind in Sendai blew the tall girl's white hair gently away. In her hand was the bubble tea she had recently bought and sipped every now and then, trying to cool down on this warm day, still unable to get used to such a sudden change in weather. Her other hand clenched tightly on the handles of the paper bags with clothes inside. The girl looked like she had been pulled straight out of the movies. Tall and slim, her eyes were covered by dark Channel glasses and pink gloss glistened on her lips. Her perfect skin glowed from the lanterns, and the highlighter on her cheeks only made it better. Her almost white skin was brought to life by the blush that settled on her nose and cheeks.

The girl walked proudly through the streets of Sendai, ignoring all the stares that were cast in her direction. Every now and then she would stop by a blooming tree, lit by the lanterns they had not long ago switched on, admiring how their pink blooms moved gently in the wind, dancing to the rhythm of the swish. As she stood beneath the cherry blossom tree, her phone beeped, signalling that someone was calling her. The white haired girl quickly pulled her phone out of her purse with the hand in which she held her bubble tea. As soon as the device was next to her ear, the girl rested her head against her shoulder, supporting her phone that way, and started walking again.

"Hello?" She asked, even though she knew who was calling and what for.

"Hurry up, we have to go to Megumi," she heard the voice of her older brother, who was most likely already waiting at the place where they were supposed to meet.

"What, why?" The girl furrowed her eyebrows but quickened her step, nervous that something had happened to her friend.

"Higher-ups got involved into this whole cursed object missing situation," he muttered, not very happy with the situation that was now happening.

"Oh, my God," the white-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Can I stay alone?"

"Absolutely not! Are you crazy, Kami! You don't stay alone at evening in a town full of complete creeps, I'm not going to be picking up your body later, cut in piece-"

"Mhm, I get it! I'm coming, hang up," she rolled her eyes once again and moved the phone away from her ear, tucking it into the small bag that hung from her shoulder.

Kami cursed quietly under her breath, unhappy with the situation. She didn't understand why her brother wouldn't let her stay alone, after all, she would have done just fine on her own. It wasn't like she was 11 years old and she wasn't a helpless little girl. And even if she was, she would still be able to handle herself just fine. After all, she was a jujutsu sorcerer! She fought curses on a daily basis, why wouldn't she be able to handle some pervert.

Kami arrived at the cafe in five minutes, seeing her brother from afar, who was hard to miss as he dominated everyone else with his height. When the man saw his little sister in the crowd, he walked up to her with three big steps, took her hand and started pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Gojo, bloody hell, I may be tall, but you still outweigh me by 20 centimetres and have bloody long legs. Your one step is my two, slow down a bit or I'll fall!" She complained to her brother, trying to hold her bubble tea in place so that nothing would spill out of it. "I totally get that you're full of yourself and all, but could you listen to me for once and slow down!" She groaned. "If you spill my bubble tea, I will personally kick your ass and make you buy it for me whole month!”

“Will you shut up already?”

"No!"

••••••••••

Kami walked slowly behind her brother, sipping her bubble tea, when she saw two figures in the distance. One of them was definitely Megumi, and the girl smiled at the sight of her friend. The other one was a pink haired boy, who was shirtless at which Kami raised an eyebrow.

'High school students really are built differently these days' she thought when she saw the abs drawn on the boy's chest.

The two of them seemed to have completely don't notice siblings, who stood behind Megumi and watched the scene.

"What's the situation?" Gojo finally spoke up, and Megumi turned towards him, puzzled.

"Gojo-sensei! Kami! Why are you here?" He asked the siblings, and Gojo raised his hand and smiled gently.

"Hey. We weren't planning on coming, but—man, you're roughed up. I should show the second-years," Gojo said, pulling out his phone, with which he started taking pictures of a battered Megumi, blinding him with flesh.

Kami pursed her lips and looked at the other boy, who looked very confused, and she snickered softly under her breath, getting his attention. As soon as she caught him staring at her, she winked at him and smirked, making the boy's cheeks go a gentle red.

"The higher-ups wouldn't shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing," Gojo continued. "So we stopped by while doing some sightseeing." He said, doing something on his phone. "So, did you find it?"

"Um..." the pink haired boy spoke up, raising his hand. " Sorry, but I ate it."

"For real?"

"For real," replied Megumi and the boy together.

"Ew? Absolutely disgusting. Horrendous! What the fuck were you thinking while doing it! Ew, ew, ew!" Kami said, sticking her tongue out and pretending to have a gag reflex.

Gojo muttered something under his breath and walked over to the boy, looking at him carefully. Then he laughed softly.

"Damn, it really did combine with you. That's hilarious. Anything off with your body?"

"Not particularly."

"Can you swap out with Sukuna?"

'There's no way he can do it.'

"Sukuna?"

"The curse you ate," Kami spoke up, pulling away from her bubble tea.

"Oh... Yeah, I think I can do that."

"Then give us ten seconds," Gojo said and began to stretch gently. "Once ten seconds are up, come back to us."

"But..."

"Don't worry, I'm the strongest."

"Uh, I think he meant that he doesn't want to be beaten up but whatever," Kami muttered under her breath.

"Megumi, hold on to this. Kami, don't you dare touch it," he pointed at the girl, who raised her hands in defence and moved next to Megumi.

"What's this?" Asked Megumi.

"Kikufuku from Kikusuian. It's Sendai's specialty, and it's super good. I recommend the zunda and cream flavour. It's not a souvenir. I'm going to eat it on the bullet train home."

"Behind you!" Shouted Megumi as Gojo continued to talk about what he had bought, followed by Sukuna appearing in the body of the boy who had eaten his finger.

Suddenly, Sukuna's face appeared in front of Megumi and Kami's faces, and Gojo was sitting on top of him.

Kami pursed her lips and pulled out a bag of Kikufuku from Megumi, who didn't even notice it, being too scared of Sukuna. Kami pulled out one treat and started munching on it, watching the situation that was happening in front of her.

'This is indeed interesting.'

34 notes · View notes

jcmorrigan · 3 years

Note

Blakeworther,,,but college

OKAY. I SAW THIS LAST NIGHT AND WAS THINKING ALL THROUGH LAST NIGHT AND THIS MORNING BECAUSE THIS HAD TO BE GOOD

Blakeworther: ORIGINS (hopefully actually canon-compliant?)

-Vincent didn’t want a roommate. But RMU has a policy that unless a first-year has an extreme medical condition that requires them to room alone, they have to double up due to high attendance rates vs. limited dorm space. So unfortunately, Vincent needs to stay in the same room as this “Victor Blake” person he’s never met before and probably won’t like.

-He opens the door to their room on the first day. Victor is already there, decorating his half of the room. And you think Victor is a flirt nowadays? This is a Victor straight out of high school, with lingering teenage hormones. He takes one look at Vincent, gives him a coy smile, and just goes “Hello, beautiful.” And winks.

-Vincent goes “Don’t talk to me” and starts setting up his side of the room.

-Well, that’s rude. Victor tries to engage in conversation a couple more times, but Vincent makes it clear he is NOT HAVING IT, so Victor eventually gives up and pouts. (Vincent really is pretty. But more importantly than that, Victor kind of wanted his roommate to be his friend. That seems like a requirement for the college experience.)

-Oh, well. If they can put up with each other for one (1) year, they can request new roommates for their second year.

-Vincent sets off for his 8 a.m. on the first day. Psychology 101. He gets going at about 7 because he NEEDS to make a statement by getting there first. Back in high school, he was valedictorian, and he must continue to show people how classy, smart, and punctual he is.

-He arrives at the classroom. Seemingly empty. He strides through the door -

-The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor. Someone has screamed. He thinks it’s him. He’s disheveled, his books scattered. What just happened?

-After assessing the situation and going over the split-second incident that is retroactively gelling in his memory, he realizes that he walked through that door, and somebody who was waiting on the other side of the wall, just around the corner and out of sight, leapt out and JUMPSCARED him the moment he walked in.

-He looks up at the perpetrator who stands above him, giggling his ass off. This asshole is wearing a bright pink shirt and he’s admittedly kinda cute but also this was unforgivable.

-Victor: “What the HELL was that for?” Pink Shirt Man: “I knew someone would come along who thought they were first, and I wanted to make it clear this is my territory. I was here for fifteen minutes before you.” Vincent: “Why the HELL were you waiting here for fifteen minutes - “

-He makes a point of gathering up his books VERY ANGRILY and stomping to the furthest corner of the classroom to sit as far away from Pink Shirt as possible. Then glares at him venomously.

-So. A word on Albert. He grew up an only child with very few friends. He’s got a roommate too, but the guy’s an introvert in dark glasses who barely talks, spends like all his time watching anime, and is visibly just scared of Albert. So that friendship is out the window.

-(Yes. It’s Winston. He has not had an easy life.)

-This leaves Albert, who has no idea how to appropriately interact with people but has way too much pent-up energy, trying to figure out how to get people’s attention so he can make friends. But when I say he has no idea, I mean he has NO idea.

-So he sits down in the front row where his stuff was previously and just turns and STARES AT VINCENT until the rest of the class files in. Vincent keeps his eyes turned anywhere but at this Pink Shirt Creep because who stares at somebody over their shoulder for ten solid minutes?

-Albert chalks this up as a victory. Sure, this dude hates him, but that’s more attention than he was getting before!

-For the rest of the class, Vincent is hoping they can just move on and have a normal day in which he knocks every question fired his way out of the park. But that’s not what happens. What happens is this PINK SHIRT ASSHOLE in the front row keeps answering questions without being called on, and not even seriously. With the most MORBID sense of humor.

-Prof: “What are the three ways to study the brain?” Albert: “Smash open the test subject’s skull, rip it out, and have fun.”

-Vincent KNEW the answer was “lesion, stimulation, recording” and he’s so mad.

-He leaves this class grumpy.

-He’s on an alternating schedule, so block A of classes one day, block B the next. His next classes for A day go well and he gets to show off a fair bit of his intellect. But then the last class of block B and it’s art.

-Guess who’s there? Not Victor, unfortunately!

-Vincent walks in the door and THE PINK SHIRT ASSHOLE is there and Albert just waves at him “Hello” and Vincent is in hell.

-Same thing. Albert spends the whole class being obnoxious and annoying, but in a way that gets the other students to laugh. And Vincent just stews.

-Over the next few days, Vincent spends a lot of study time in his room rather than in the library because it’s quieter. Victor respects that Vincent will complain if there’s too much noise and so wears headphones when he’s working because he likes music in the background.

-One day, he accidentally rips the headphone jack out of the laptop and the song he was listening to blares over the dorm. He fixes the volume, already going, “Well, sor-ry for the accident - “

-Vincent: “Actually, I like that song. Have you listened to the album or do you just like it as a standalone?”

-Victor: “I...I saw them in concert, actually.”

-They have the first real conversation they’ve ever had since they moved in together because they ended up liking the same song. And they’re happy to be talking about it. This is good! Maybe they can be friends after all!

-First exam in Psych 101. Vincent feels pretty confident. This is a test he didn’t really put too much effort into studying for because he’s confident he memorized everything from high school. Well...as it turns out, he didn’t. But he fudges it as best he can, sure he’s at least doing better than the simpletons of the class. He’s the only one who takes this seriously, after all.

-Exam results come back, and the prof reveals that he’s graded on a curve. One student and one alone got a 95% on the exam; the rest failed horrendously.

-Vincent is about to rest on his laurels when the prof says “And that person is Albert Krueger.”

-Who the hell is -

-PINK SHIRT ASSHOLE stands up and bows playfully.

-Vincent now has a name for his nemesis. ALBERT KRUEGER. He’ll remember that and not be happy about it.

-So he’s chatting with Victor a lot more now as they hang out. Victor has a problem one day because one of his econ courses has a particularly picky prof who’s failed every single one of his essays to date, and he’s afraid he’s going to actually fail his favorite subject.

-Vincent takes a look at that prof’s notes. To his eyes, it’s easy to see what arbitrary hoops the prof wants Victor to jump through. It’s also easy to see that Victor actually is doing what’s asked of him and grasping the material; the prof just demands these extra trappings, probably as a power trip.

-Vincent knows exactly how to write the next paper to make it fit requirements. And so he says, “If you don’t have a problem with plagiarism, I can get the next one to pass.”

-Victor: “Well, don’t make it too perfect, or they’ll catch on.”

-Vincent writes Victor a solid B- of a paper. And it’s graded with the expected B-. Victor is SO thankful and calls Vincent a genius.

-About time someone around here did. Since it strokes his ego, Vincent offers to do any paper Victor wants for him, free of charge.

-Meanwhile! In art class, they’ve been assigned a midterm visual art project. Vincent can already tell that his piece is...good but not great. You know who’s making a fantastic landscape painting that everyone else in the studio ahhs at every day he works on it? AAAAAALBERT KRUEGER.

-Vincent is trying so hard not to explode.

-Vincent and Victor decide to eat lunch together because they like each other now. They head on down to the cafeteria, load up their plates with food, go to get the last two puddings on the shelf -

-Somebody takes the last two puddings.

-GUESS WHO?

-Albert: “I believe it is they who snooze who must lose.” He didn’t even want two puddings. But while people can get temporarily impressed with his prowess, annoying people is the only way he can REALLY get lasting attention. Most people go “Albert’s painting is so cool!” and leave. Vincent, though? Vincent keeps on making a SCENE out of it and Albert likes that. So he made sure neither Vincent nor Vincent’s friend could have any pudding.

-Vincent and Victor sit down, pudding-less. Victor: “Who was that guy?”

-Vincent explains the whole thing. He rambles for almost the whole lunch period about how much he HATES Albert. Culminating in how he knows that Albert’s art project is going to get highest marks and make Vincent’s look so much worse by its very existence.

-Victor: “You know...I have a plan, but it’s not entirely legal. If you want to get back at him, though...” Vincent: “I’m listening.”

-They break into the locked art studio after hours and RIP ALBERT’S PAINTING INTO SHREDS. That’s, like, twenty hours of work just gone. They leave no evidence.

-The following day, Albert approaches the two of them at lunch: “I know it was you. You can’t lie to me about this. From now on, we are at war. You, Vincent, are my mortal enemy. And you, Vincent’s accomplice, I know were talked into this by him, but you’re on the thinnest of ice.”

-Vincent’s fine with this. Victor thinks it’s funny and doesn’t own up to having come up with the idea.

-Anyway, Vincent and Victor start hanging out more, so when there’s a school dance, they decide to go together. Just as bros, not as PARTNERS what are you even - no. Platonic. Heheheheh

-And they have a good time dancing! Vincent doesn’t normally like this sort of thing, but Victor’s into it, so they’re cutting a rug.

-A small throng of students is gathered in the middle of the floor, watching some spectacle. Victor wants to see what’s going on. So he brings Vincent over.

-Everyone’s watching a particular student just absolutely breakdance with the greatest of skill. And GUESS WHO?

-Vincent enters RAGE MODE

-Victor: “Oh, no, here we go.” (Secretly thinking to himself that Albert did have some sexy moves indeed.)

-Vincent storms in and CHALLENGES ALBERT TO A DANCE-OFF. Albert accepts. Victor calls himself a third competitor so as not to be left out, and Vincent rules that either he or Victor winning will be a victory for Vincent.

-Well, Albert gains more applause by a LANDSLIDE. Vincent and Victor are good dancers, but Albert is FANTASTIC. Vincent complains the rest of the night and Victor’s just “Look, I know he was gorgeous and he got all the attention but please pay attention to me”

-Things continue like this until the next semester, when classes are shuffled and FINALLY Vincent is free of Albert.

-You know who walks in to find Albert just staring creepily at him from the front row of his first class? VICTOR.

-It’s Biology. Right away, the class gets a partner assignment, and the prof sticks Albert and Victor together.

-Might as well make the best of this.

-So they get to just awkwardly chatting. Victor tries to keep himself level-headed. Albert still doesn’t know it was Victor’s idea to destroy his painting. So they’re just playing it cool.

-And...it’s actually kind of fun to talk to one another?

-Albert lets slip that he likes bio a bit better than psych, but everyone’s expecting him to take up the position at Krueger Health Corp. Victor’s just like “So fuck ‘em. Switch majors.”

-Albert then blurts “Have you ever wanted to dismember someone who wronged you?”

-Victor: “Yes. All the time.”

-So for the first time, somebody is giving Albert attention that is NOT rivalry and is NOT just marveling at his talents and antics. This is new. He’s not sure how to handle it.

-For the rest of the semester, Victor is technically on Team Vincent, but he still waves at Albert when they pass on the grounds.

-Vincent and Victor go off campus to a house party with alcohol! Albert doesn’t actually show up to steal the spotlight this time. And...that kinda pisses Vincent off. Where IS he? He usually shows up to these things -

-Victor tells him to pleeeaaaase stop obsessing about Albert, please. (But Victor also kinda wishes he was there and isn’t sure why.)

-Later in the night, some beefy upperclassman starts a fight and threatens Vincent. Vincent and Victor are both buzzed and riled up. Victor jumps in and decks the guy to protect Vincent. The guy decks him right back and HARDER. So Vincent tackles the dude because now HE’S protecting Victor.

-They both end up in the hospital with broken bones. Roommates, again. And when they look at each other across their hospital room, they realize something has changed. That they now know they would defend each other to the death, and each has to repay the loyalty of the other. They’re in this for the long haul, and most certainly not going to request new roommates.

-They get their classwork shipped into the hospital and have some nice calm chats with each other, away from the buzz of student life.

-Albert, however, suddenly has his archnemesis and his lab partner both MISSING and it’s driving him insane. Where are they where are they where are they

-When they get released from the hospital and finally go back to campus, Albert has to refrain from RUNNING UP TO THEM AND HUGGING THEM BOTH. HIS LIFE HAD NO MEANING

-Instead he says “Pity. I’d’ve hoped that you’d die and be out of my hair.”

-Vincent and Victor can’t really admit how much he was the missing piece of their lives either.

-It’s gonna be a few interesting years at RMU.

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #blakeworther #vincent the secret of myers #vtsom #therapy with dr. albert krueger #twdak

121 notes · View notes

all-seeing-ifer · 3 years

Text

I understand logically that it’s not delved into because Laurie and Amy getting married is one of the last things that happens in Little Women so there’s not exactly time to get into the ramifications of it BUT!! Today I’m thinking about the sheer untapped potential of Jo and Laurie being not just chaotic best friends, but chaotic siblings-in-law:

Anytime Laurie does/says something annoying or even just like. Tells a really bad joke or something like that Jo just looks him dead in the eye and is like “I Will convince Amy to leave you”

“How are you planning to do that?” “I’m her big sister she has to do what I say.” “Name one time when that’s ever worked.” “...Fair point.”

On the flipside, Jo after she does something minorly annoying and Laurie jokes about not wanting to be friends anymore: “Well you shouldn’t have married my sister then. March sisters are a package deal you’re stuck with me for life”

One time Jo and Amy were having an argument, probably not even about anything important just like a dumb sister argument and they asked Laurie for his opinion and the concept of having to pick a side between them caused him to freeze up for like ten seconds so now they’re constantly getting into fake fights which they then ask his opinion on just to fuck with him

Also these fake arguments keep getting dumber and dumber until it’s shit like “Laurie which of us do you think is right about what the best kind of soup is?”

Laurie just knows the most random things about Jo now, like embarrassing stuff from when she was a really little kid that Amy told him about. It drives Jo absolutely up the wall

“Teddy how do you know that I never told you any of that???” “Oh your sister told me” “Which sister?” “...The one I’m married to??”

Jo gets her revenge the next time she sees Amy and immediately greets her with Amy you’ve got to help me I need you to tell me about dumb things your husband has done now. Amy does the sisterly thing and doesn’t even ask for a reason she just sells him out with 0 hesitation

Every so often Jo will walk up to Laurie, swat his arm, and say something along the lines of “Hey I remember your wife being born!” and then walk off before he can respond

The next step up from this is her being like “You know Teddy you’re married to my little sister now...that basically makes you my little brother by association…” “Jo please I’m a year older than you” “Basically a toddler. A tiny baby.”

Also please consider Jo being cranky that they got married in Europe because she always thought if Laurie ever got married she’d be the best man!

“Wouldn’t you be one of the bridesmaids? I mean Amy’s your sister-” “You’re saying I can’t be both? Horrendous, now I truly know how it feels to be betrayed by one’s family”

Actually considering Laurie and Amy’s entire dynamic Jo now has the Ultimate Weapon because anytime Laurie’s being smug or bossy or anything Jo can just respond with “wow those are some bold words for someone who takes orders from my little sister” “Jo, I don’t take orders -” “Oh you absolutely do”

She keeps calling Laurie her “second favourite brother-in-law” as a joke and anytime he tries to call her out on that being kind of bullshit she gives an impassioned speech of How Dare You Laurie I’ll have you know Mr Brooke and I have actually formed a Deep and Close Bond I really appreciate a man who can speak Latin fluently until she can’t keep a straight face anymore

#little women #little women 2019 #jo march #theodore laurence #amy march #march sisters #ifer rambles #writing this out made me realise that man laurie REALLY needs to get friends who aren't part of his wife's extended family #like what if him and amy had an argument and he needed to vent to someone?#who's he gonna go complain to? jo??? she'd fucking deck him mate #brotp stuff

76 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Telling Tales.”

This story came as a suggestion from someone on the discord server, so I hope you all enjoy a break from some of the heavier stuff I have been doing lately.

The room was large and filled with noise, mostly the clinking of glasses and the clattering of voices, but on occasion the comm systems echoed with a cool female voice broadcasting announcements across the entirety of the station.

There were at least forty tables inside the room packed in close together, with a long bar at one end where men and women alike stood standing and chatting to each other as they took their drinks. Below that was the low rumble of music, and up on all four walls, large projection screens broadcasted earth sports in delayed time.

At the far end of the room a large viewing window looked out on a wide view of space and the rest of the station. The station itself was huge, stretching out for what could have been miles and miles of tightly packed corridors and branching rooms. The station itself was a mesh of Tesraki and human technology and had been built right here in orbit….. In orbit of the thing staring at them from out in the darkness.

A supermassive black hole ringed by a disk of bright light and a halo that cut across the middle.

Honestly as McCaster stepped into the room, he found the view very disconcerting, and had the sudden worry that…. Inexplicably they would start slowly drifting towards the black hole until they succumbed to a horrendous and terrifying death. Looking around though, it seemed that no one else seemed to think so, and he ushered himself inside and over to the bar hoping that a drink might calm him down.

He sidled up to the bar leading against the metal countertop and motion for the bartender with a hand.

She slid over to where he was. She was dressed casually, though the bearing of her chin told him that she was one of the soldiers working on the station and not just a civilian. He ordered something to drink, and he came back a moment later with a metal tankard. He took it surprised to find that he missed the bright amber liquid inside cool glass covered in a layer of condensation, but he supposed having breakable drinking vessels wasn’t going to do for a ship like this.

Still, the liquid inside his mug looked a sort of muddy brown rather than a pleasant amber.

He took another sip.

Still tasted fine though.

He turned to look around the bar watching as groups of people chatted to each other , drank and ate.

Not all of them worked here, some of them, like the crew of the Omen, had stopped by for supplies and to give their men and women some time to relax and have a little fun before they had to ship out again. McCaster felt this was really his only chance for a while, to meet people off the ship.

He sidled forward eyes scanning over the room and falling on a woman. She was pretty, young about his age with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Couldn’t hurt right?

Unfortunately, just as he was sidling up, some other gus seemed to have the same Idea, and he sat down at her table just as two others did pausing to stare at each other across the table.

McCaster looked at the young woman, “This seat isn’t taken, is it?”

She tilted her head at him in near amusement, “I can’t control where you sit.”

“Then I suppose you don’t mind if we join you.” The other man added receiving a glower from McCaster across the table.

“You work here.” The other man asked her

“Yes.”

“Well me and the boys here are just off from The UNSC Pioneer, finest ship this side of the quadrant.”

McCaster snorted into his glass, not trying to be a dick this time, but he knew THAT was a lie.

The other man glared at him, “What, you disagree.”

“Frankly, yes. Our ship is Objectively the best and that’s not even me bragging.”

“Oh really, and what ship is this.”

McCaster smirked, “The UNSC Omen, but I bet you’ve heard of it.”

There was a chorus of disbelief up from the other men.

“Right, and I bet you are personal friends with Admiral Vir too, right.”

McCaster frowned, “Maybe not personal friends, but I did fly with him once.”

More disbelieving booing.

He crossed his arms, “Don’t believe me huh well what about this.” he reached into his pocket to snag his ID card and then pulled it out, holding it up for the entire table to see, “See Lt McCaster of the UNSC Omen. I fly a Thunderhawk, and sometimes the shuttles.” This time the men could hardly argue, his iD said as much, at least as much about which ship he worked on and what he did.

THere was a light murmuring around the table.

“That’s right, so like ninety precent of my friends are aliens.” He was exaggerating just a little bit, he didn’t really interact with the aliens on the ship all that much accept for the Celzex that fixed the weapons on his jet, and the Drev he liked to play" pool with.

But the blond was looking at him with interest, so its not like he could squander this opportunity

He nodded glancing sidelong at the girl.

“Yeah, like I said, its not like the Admiral and I take lunch together or anything, ‘but’ the ship is small enough that I do run into him on a daily basis, cool guy, a bit weird though. I actually flew with him during the burg war on the Gromm home planet.”

A chorus of disbelief.

Behind him someone chimed in, “Bullshit.”

He turned to see that another table behind them had overheard his claims. There was a pretty redhead sitting there, and so he wasn’t likely to let go of his momentum. He raised his ID badge for all to see, “Not lying.” He raised his mug to his lips and took a long satisfied sip, “Disbelieve me all you wan’t but it’s true.”

“Well don’t just sit there all smug, tell us about it then.” Someone urged, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“Well, we had just been informed of the eminent Burg attack on the Gromm capital city below. I had been being debriefed by the Commander, at the time, and went with him to the bridge as we were debriefed. The Nexus was down and Burg ships were descending in swarms. They were unprotected on the planet below, and it was clearly up to our crew to stop the attack.”

His little crowd was drawing even more eyes, and he found himself with a small crowd of skeptics sitting around him listening to his every word.

He found himself speaking faster with excitement and nerves.

“I was on the bridge and watched him survey the scene, when out of nowhere he hands the captain chair over to one of his lieutenants and orders me out with him. They had orbital defences, but he knew that they had no chance in atmosphere since they didn’ have any fighter jets to push back the invasion.” he puffed out his chest, “Admiral Vir handpicked me to accompany him as his copilot and gunner.”

Another chorus of disbelief.

He shook his head, “Disbelieve me all you want, but it’s true. He knew my talents, and he knew I could keep up with him. And I tell you I have never seen a man or woman that could fly like he does.”

He had them now leaning forward in their chairs.

The best part is all of this was true…. Mostly.

“Of course, I was ready, solid as a rock, I have been training for just such situations for the entirety of my career, and I had no hesitations about what I was going to do. The Admiral was relying on me to be his copilot and damn straight I wasn’t going to let him down.” He grinned in a self satisfactory way, “He gave me charge of all the important stuff while he was flying combat…. And he made it sure in no unclear terms that if he couldn’t handle the flying, I was going to take over for him.”

Ok that was sort of a lie, but only a little one.

“I knew as soon as we were coming in that Admiral vir had an idea brewing. We didn’t go for an angled entry but instead piloted our jet straight down. I thought that the re entry was going to rattle my teeth out of my head. But as I said before I had no doubts about the Admiral. I knew we were going in, and I had inklings of what the admiral was about to do. I never questioned him.”

Also kind of a lie, but it's not like it mattered.

“We were plunging from the sky, fire spitting off our wings, going so fast it makes your insides feel like they are on your outsides. Picture the sky fading to blue behind you, fire is benign thrown off your wings like water from a waterfall, the G force is so powerful that it compresses your chest and makes it hard to breathe,” he was standing now gesturing wildly, “We plummet from the sky, and fire our guns exploding a burg ship just before it takes out one of our other fighters. We pull up right before the ground, must have been nine ten maybe even fifteen Gs.” Okay he was exaggerating, “But I stayed conscious through the whole thing.” That was also kind of a lie.

“We broke into combat with the burg drones, and I shot down at least three of them as the Admiral piloted. He said afterwards that he had never seen someone take the shots I did and make it.” Okay yes he had been passed out for half of this, but again its not like any of them were going to know.

What harm was a little exaggeration.

“I caught one burg as we were coming out of a sharp dive, my hand felt nine times heavier than it should have, but I nailed it in the engine compartment and it exploded into a ball of fire. I was still shooting them down when the Admiral orders me to take control of the ship. Of course I wanted to ask what was going on, but there was no time, I grab the stick and manuver us into a tight barrel roll. A ship explodes behind us. I have control of the jet now complete control and I pull us up into tight pursuit of another. I avoid two missiles and in a moment of genius, I drop all of our flares, which collide with at least four burg ships exploding on impact. What I hadn’t known is that the Admiral’s hand had cramped from all that earlier flying, and if I hadn’t been there he would have died. But at that moment I had no idea and proceeded to clear enemy skies over the capital city. I dived so close to the ground that we might have crashed if I hadn’t pulled us into an inverted upwards pull for the last few seconds”

He continued to speak and as he did the fight grew even more excessive and heroic. He detailed in exquisite and colorful imagery as he single handedly flew them to safety pulling off near impossible maneuvers, crack shots and many more outlandish happenings as he and Admiral Vir valiantly switched back and forth on the controls, equals in every way.

He was just describing their great and climactic fight scene where, he had to take command of the ship once again, when he finally noticed no one was really paying attention to him. He saw their eyes, looking past him.

His voice slowed, as he looked around eyebrows furrowed.

He turned where he stood and cut off mid sentence as his eyes fell on a familiar face in the crowd.

Admiral Vir sat behind him in a chair balancing on two legs, head tilted to the side. His eyepatch covered one of his eyes, but the expression on his face was one of great and abiding amusement.

He leaned forward in his seat, “Don’t let me interrupt you lieutenant. I believe you were just getting the the part where you pull an inverted double helix back loop and I pass out drooling in the front, you just manage to pull us out of that dive, and the two burg ships are so confused by the manuver that they crash into each other and explode catching the attention of all the other stunned burg in the area and allowing the other pilots a final push in clearing the sky?”

McCaster’s mouth opened and then closed and then opened again .

Admiral Vir continued to smile as McCaster stammered and gurgled like an idiot.

“So…. what actually happened.” Someone asked

McCaster plopped shamefacedly down in his seat. Admiral Vir paused tilting his head in the other direction as if thinking. A good portion of the room had gone quiet as they shuffled closer to hear the stroy. He stood after a moment and walked over to where McCaster was sitting placing his hands on the back of the chair.

“Well The first part of the story wasn’t wrong. I had been debriefing McCaster and the other recruits on a few aspects of my ship when we got the call in that the Gromm homeworld was being attacked. I DID give up command to the ship of one of my lieutenants, and I DID as McCaster to fly with me as copilot.” he smiled and easy smile that seemed to light up the room around him.

Everyone within a twenty foot radius shifted forward in an effort to be closer to the man and the magnetic nature of his personality and charming smile.

“McCaster was top of his class in flight school, and I wanted an extra pair of eyes, that is true. We did take a vertical dive into the atmosphere instead of an angled entry. Yes there was fire spitting off the wings, and yes we did pull out of a vertical dive after saving one of the other fighter jets. All of that is pretty accurate.”

HE smiled and McCaster wilted.

“He did embellish a few things.” he rested a hand on McCaster’s shoulders, “But what is a good story without a little bit of embellishment? I’ve certainly never told a story that didn’t sound about ten times better than it actually was.” There was a small laugh from the crowd, “Point being that I would certainly fly with McCaster again, he is a brave, talented, and honorable member of my crew even if he is a colorful storyteller.”

McCaster looked up at the Admiral, still leaning on the back of his chair, and watched as the man made subtle eye contact with the blond girl just a few feet away.

McCaster blushed As Admiral Vir pushed his chair forward across the ground to sit next to her.

She was smiling in some measure of amusement, and Admiral Vir winked at him as he backed away. Either that or he just blinked, it was hard to tell with the eyepatch.

He turned back to look at the woman who was looking at him in some measure of amusement.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“He seems to be one hell of a wing man, in and out of a jet.” She commented

He stammered stupidly glancing over his shoulder to where Admiral Vir had retreated to the bar, ignoring the eyes on him, hungry expressions from both men and women as he ordered a drink and sat down.

Bless the Admiral, number one for being a good wingman for sure, and two…. For not totally calling him out on all his bullshit.

Granted everyone probably guessed, but at least he could keep some of his dignity with plausible deniability.

He was able to work himself back into a state of cool suave composure, enough to learn that the woman’s name was Emily, and that she worked as a data analyst for the big black hole thing. It had a lot to do with math and physics which he totally didn’t understand, but certainly tried to because he knew she liked it.

Across the room, Admiral vir attracted ebbing and flowing waves of people coming to listen to his own stories which were mostly modest and self deprecating depictions of what really happened. Being the first person to fall flat on his face on an alien planet, how he had scared the shit out of the bran the first time he met them, how he ended up in a Rundi prison because he was being a dumbass.

There were a few times where he too tended to embellish the stories, only to preface later by saying, but what actually happened was this.

As soon as the man stepped into the room he seemed to change the whole gravity of it like a wandering star collecting satellites.

He supposed that’s what happened when you were famous.

Thanks to him though, it turned out he got along really well with Emily, and despite knowing he was a complete moron, she seemed to like him too, and he scored her number and a surreptitious invitation to accompany her on a walk to somewhere quieter.

As he was leaving, he turned back to look at the Admiral, making surprise eye contact with him as he did.

He raised his glass minutely to McCaster before turning around and continuing his story.

He grinned as Emily took his hand,.

“So….. tell me really, how many times did you pass out when flying with him.”

He snorted, “Please, I spent more than half of it passed out, like I can’t remember shit. I don’t even remember where the sky or ground was relative to each other for most of the time. The man can fly…. Like all that stuff I was telling you, just replace my name with his and you might have yourself a believable story.”

She laughed at his expense and he laughed too

Thank you Admiral Vir.

217 notes · View notes

missorgana · 3 years

Text

only waiting for this moment

pairing: loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 4272

warning: swearing, implied character death

summary: Loki is not looking forward to sitting next to a stranger on the way to faer older brother's wedding. But said stranger proves to be good company, after all. (meet-cute, human au, single dad mobius)

(yet after loki’s ended i still obsess about lokius my god..... anyway! i’ve been working on this silly au for way too long so finally it’s out there! is it stupid yes. most likely. but it’s based on this cute fanart so let me live! also loki goes by fae pronouns because :’)))) enjoy! ❤️)

read on ao3

Why does Loki find faerself on a stuffy plane to Venice in the summer heat with several suits and a ring in faer luggage, you may ask?

Because of faer stupid older brother, of course.

Now, don’t mistake fae, fae’s happy for Thor getting married. Seriously!

Faer brother is one romantic bastard, and fae’s seen his looks and smiles around Bruce, fiancee and future husband in about three days, it’s like he would be lost without him. It’s quite endearing, in an overbearingly annoying way. Loki’ll let him know it’s annoying, plenty.

But of course, fae agreed to be the ringbearer, it’s the least fae could do, and fae loves that big fool just as much as he loves faer, even though fae’ll never willingly admit that to anyone other than faerself.

Fae just doesn’t understand why they had to make everyone travel out to Venice to celebrate the wedding, when they could’ve just saved the trip for their honeymoon, but nooo, the ceremony had to be at “the most romantic location in the world”, as Thor dubbed it.

Absolutely ridiculous, but what can you do?

Fae’ll just have to strap faerself in for the nine hour long plane ride, dear god , hope the food isn’t completely horrendous and that their movie selection is decent.

The last part seems to be true, but alas, Loki’s bound to have trouble, considering fae’s found faerself in questionable situations many, many times before. Often Thor’s fault. Often fae’s own fault. Siblings you annoy the shit out of and siblings you would die for, simultaneously, of course.

However, Thor and Bruce arrived in Venice the previous day for arrangement, Jane and Brunnhilde are only leaving tonight because of Brunn’s schedule, and since Sif left earlier today, Loki’s alone. This fae doesn’t mind at all, appreciating peace and quiet, especially with an older brother as enthusiastic and energetic as Thor.

He’s not always annoying, he’s rather comforting, in that way. But times like this, fae could use a little break.

Until the passenger for the seat next to fae arrives, that is.

The person that comes into faers line of view is apologising profusely to a flight attendant for blocking their way, then nearly drops their bag in the face of a passenger in front of them, until they greet fae with decidedly way too much vigour.

They look to be a typical tourist, grey hair and moustache and a goofy smile and a pale blue button-up with fucking flamingos on it. Lord, have mercy. But it really would be fine, absolutely fine, if the person next to fae would have the decency to leave fae alone. Which they didn’t.

It’s clear to fae that they’re the sort of person to spark up a conversation with strangers, and Loki isn’t really in the mood. Rather, fae wants to plug in faers music and hopefully sleep through most of the flight.

“Hey there, buddy!” faers new companion says cheerfully, strapping themself in, apparently not noticing one earbud already in faer ear, “Going to Venice too, huh?”

Loki feels the well-known urge to roll faers eyes. But suck it up, you know… try to be polite, fae tells faerself. “Sure am.”

The passenger nods, satisfied with the short answer it seems. This is why fae is quick to plug the other headphone in before they can get the chance to change their mind. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, they’ll get the hint, surely.

But boy, fae is soon going to discover how wrong fae is. This is going to be a long trip indeed.

It’s about one hour after take-off that the trouble starts, more or less. Loki managed to nod off to sleep in an instant, thank the heavens, because… flying. Not great. Sleeping’s become fae’s number one strategy, if fae absolutely has to get on a plane, that is.

Fae made sure to give faers older brother shit for this trip due to that very reason, but Thor’s apologetic eyes and the convoluted three other ways of transport he desperately planned to specifically get fae out of that plane was too endearing, and also too much trouble. Fae loves him for it. Fae also hates carrying luggage, so this is definitely the least tiring option.

Soon enough, however, Loki’s stirred from faers slumber by the tinny voice of the pilot over the speakers, and faers new companion tapping the armrest.

On and on and on. Oh my god, they’re tapping their foot, too.

It’s fine, it’s fine , fae almost feels bad, but fae’s also antsy and groggy which is in no way a good combination.

Regardless, Loki figures fae might as well shake it off, for now. One hour down, eight left to go.

The tapping, combined with the sickening heat sneaks up on fae way, way too quick now. Fae nears the point of airing a snappy comment towards the person next to fae, which could potentially start an argument but who cares .

Perhaps luckily faers stream of thought is interrupted by the flight attendant from earlier, blonde ponytail and a slightly strained smile, rolling along a cart of coffee and soft drinks. Or rather, interrupted by their companion calling out for the attendant.

“Oh, excuse me? My apologies,” they say once they have the blonde’s attention, “My buddy here, they were asleep earlier. Didn’t know what you’d like to drink, heh.”

The last part obviously aimed at yours truly, Loki finds faerself furrowing faer brows. That’s… thoughtful. Fae could’ve surely asked for something faerself. Alright. Anyway.

The attendant nods, seeming to hesitate whether they should start listing all the drinks. Loki puts faer hand up in confirmation, “I’d appreciate some black tea, if that’s possible?”

“Of course,” they reply, hilariously chipper. Faer companion winks, which isn’t really a wink because they don’t seem to know how .

And now, that is what fae expects to be the end of a talk, once more, as fae thanks the blonde and sends them on their way. In fact, fae would grab faers earbuds again, immediately, if the person next to fae didn’t nod in faers direction and tapped the seat twice.

“Sorry to put you on the spot, there,” they say.

Loki tries to keep faer huff in, but to no avail. “Don’t worry about it.”

And faers companion flashes another one of the goofy smiles, such a suburban parent thing. They can’t be more than ten years older than fae, twenty years at the most. The grey hair suits them, Loki decides.

“Oh and how silly of me!” they nearly gasp, “I forgot to ask for your pronouns. I’m terribly sorry.”

Jot fae down as pleasantly surprised.

Fae’ll admit, faer is a little too quick to make assumptions. And given the generational gap, Loki had faer expectations at the very bottom, sadly.

Maybe this person isn’t too bad. Now, at least, whatever. They better be quiet soon, though, because fae’s not sure fae will last a nine hour plane ride with polite small talk, the thought alone is enough to get on faer nerves.

“That’s alright,” fae replies, and if fae returns the smile for just two seconds, it’s not like anyone else will notice, “I go by fae/faer. And you?”

Faers companion’s smile widens by about three sizes, which should be impossible, logistically. “Lovely! He/him for me. Argh, I’ll quit bothering you now, I fear that announcement woke you.”

Loki nods. It did. And he did. Whatever.

“What can you do,” fae sighs, trying to make it significantly less noticeable. “Thanks for the, uh, the tea.”

This man is a lot more pleasant than fae had feared, could definitely have and have had worse company. He’s frustratingly nice, actually. The annoyance will be bearable though, Loki concludes.

And so faer companion waves his hand dismissively, before picking up the magazine from his lap, “No bother. Name’s Mobius, by the way.”

“Loki.”

Mobius will soon prove to be interesting company, well, besides the horrendous clumsiness from earlier, which is just more than consistent.

The man has stumbled over Loki’s legs both times he went to the bathroom, dropped the lunch tray from the blonde attendant straight on the floor and had to get it replaced, and, of bloody course, couldn’t figure out the small television without fae’s help. It’s fine .

It’s not nearly as angering as faers brother at his most oblivious and annoying, but fae needs to sleep again at some point. Soon.

Loki would be lying, though, if fae claimed the sheepish smile from faer companion wasn’t just a tiny bit endearing.

Fae can imagine Thor wiggling his brows if he saw fae, now.

This Mobius is just so overbearingly polite and ridiculous, it strangely doesn’t bother Loki all that much. Fae’s not going soft for a complete stranger, though. How dare you even suggest such a thing?

And when fae attempts to fall asleep for the second time, for real, Mobius starts rummaging for something on his side and tapping his feet obnoxiously loud and adjusting the air conditioning when it was already perfect, thank you very much , Loki’s just about to put faer rule of politeness to hell and let the man know what fae thinks until-

Fae stops in faer tracks for a second.

Mobius is humming. Another reason to be annoyed, perhaps, only detail is that Loki instantly recognizes the melody, not from faer own playlist, but a place a bit further away in faer memory.

That’s Blackbird. No doubt about it.

Who is fae kidding, logistically, there’s probably only a tiny fraction of the human population that doesn’t know The Beatles. Regardless, it strikes Loki as… nostalgic.

Faer mother used to sing that song, in particular. It was her favorite, fae recalls. She even sung it to fae and Thor when they were very young. Long before she got sick. And… okay.

Loki shakes faer head at faerself. Not now .

But that memory’s been distant for a while, so it’s rather almost relieving to unlock it now, the revelation that it still exists, still tangible if fae digs it up from faer recollection.

You see, Thor talks about their mother a lot. He can deal with emotion, you know, unlike faerself, hence why faer older brother is the best shoulder to cry on. But don’t tell him fae said that.

For some reason, the words slip out of fae’s mouth before fae can stop them, “I love that song.”

The man next to fae seems to startle for a moment, but quickly collects himself. “Hm?”

“My apologies, uh… you were humming. Blackbird. ”

Mobius’ eyes widen, like he’s had the biggest revelation of his life, “Ah! Me too. Gave that one to my daughter, actually- she collects vinyl records, and that was her first.”

Loki finds faerself chuckling, fondly, in a way that seems uncharacteristic, even to faerself. Reminds fae of faer mother, again.

“My mother used to sing me that,” fae decides to tell, since the man has already shared some information from his life, might as well return the favor, “When my brother and I were little, growing up.”

And Mobius puts the crossword page of magazine he was occupying himself with before down, already engaged in the short conversation, that… is a little endearing, fae’ll admit it. “It’s a classic. Are you traveling with them? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Loki waves a hand, “You could say that, hah. My brother’s getting married tomorrow.”

This news only excites the grey haired man more, by several degrees. He’s grinning, at this point, and almost jumping in his seat, as if he’s been waiting for something, anything to celebrate. “Oh my, congratulations!”

Fae nods, simply, shortly. Hopefully it still conveys that fae is very much excited for the big day. Loki feels bad that fae doesn't quite express this that much, not… bursting with energy as many would, but that doesn’t mean fae’s not happy!

“Got stuck on ringbearer duty,” fae jokes, grimacing for good measure. Wait, fae’s joking with a stranger right now? What the fuck?

“Of course,” Mobius replies, getting the sarcasm, thank heavens. And when Loki asks the same question, he laughs, “Not nearly as exciting here, I’m afraid. My ex-husband and I split up a year ago, and I haven’t exactly had any vacation since then, so… flying solo.”

This is something that could make Loki flinch, almost.

First of all, embarrassing to ask something personal and the reveal of something that personal and that just makes fae feel all kinds of rude. Second of all, ex- husband , huh. Wait, wait, wait. That’s not shocking, fae means… it’s not like fae starts to think about the fact that the man next to fae is single or anything. What?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, don’t apologise. Peaceful divorce, no worries there.” This talk is… nice. Another sort of peaceful silence falls upon them and it isn’t even uncomfortable, Loki thinks. Fucking weird.

And fae guesses that maybe Mobius is attractive, his face is soft and smile annoyingly contagious and his hands are rugged, wonder what he works with- no, no , stop. Brain, shut it. Shut it down immediately.

Thor would be having a real field day if he could see fae, right now.

“One day, you’ll find someone to melt your heart, trust me!” he had assured fae - once again, older brother, such a romantic, they couldn’t be more opposite. Perhaps that’s why they get along so well.

And so their talk progresses, and it’s really not that dull small talk to fill the void as Loki expected. Most shocking thing all day, of the year, even, fae might just like this man’s company.

Turns out this Mobius has an extraordinary interest in watersports, particular jet skis, knows way too many facts about that, too. He’s also a history teacher, and likes pineapple on pizza, which is nearly unforgivable, but he also shows Loki tons of vacation pictures of him on said jetskis, and him with his daughter, and his dog, so fae will look past it.

Pity this is a chance encounter, in… six and a half hours, they’ll be on the ground and fae probably won’t ever see the man with the silver hair and moustache and horrendous flamingo shirt ever again.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

Good news! Loki finally managed to fall asleep again, fae was due for that, only to be awakened once more by shaking and tumbling.

Until now, fae’s been talking more and more with the man next to fae and noticing little things about Mobius which fae doesn’t want to consider too much why fae is noticing or why fae is finding him adorable and attractive and way too funny for his own good. Right.

Is Loki turning into faer brother, right? God forbid.

But the grey haired man’s jokes are good, fae swears. And he’s so goddamn polite and has apologised to fae for the smallest things, even going to the bathroom , so many times that fae’s lost count. Now, normally, a stranger next to fae being this unable to sit still or be quiet, but… at this point, Loki’s struggling to be mad about anything.

Mobius’ voice, even, is strangely soothing, huh. It goes even softer and almost to the point of a whisper when he talks about his daughter, which may or may not make fae’s heart warm. Just a bit. Listen. Listen.

He just sounds so caring, right?

Besides that, his hands. And eyes. Everything about him just exudes warmth, for some reason. Strangely enough, it makes Loki want to hold the man’s hand. Nuh uh, not happening.

Maybe that’s why fae somehow found it easier to fall asleep again, about halfway through the flight. A sense of safety, somehow. That is, until fae’s now awake once again, the seat feels like it’s moving, most passengers back seated and strapped in, the plastic cup of water on Mobius’ tray table looking awfully disturbed and fragile.

Shit. This is not good. Not good at all.

Granted this is probably just turbulence, right? Right. Most flight crashes begin with turbulence, though, don’t they?

Oh god. Why is fae’s companion so fucking calm right now? This is bullshit.

Loki feels like ripping faer seatbelt off and screaming at whoever is responsible for this, but no one is and fae’s legs feel frozen and hands are shaking way, way too much.

When the sky turned grey when they were younger, when they were home alone as their mother was in the hospital and their father was… God knows where, Thor used to comfort fae. Loki’s always been scared of lightning. Fae’s older brother loves it, fascinated by it for some stupid reason, but Thor also knows when fae needs him without even saying anything.

His presence alone helped, and he’d only hug fae when fae asked. What the fuck is Loki supposed to do now?

Fae is not about to cry in a damned airplane full of strangers because of turbulence. Absolutely not happening. But fae’s throat is almost closed up, now, Loki can’t do anything , even if fae wanted to.

It’s sort of like the world’s cracking and swallowing fae up. No, fae doesn’t really give a shit if fae sounds overdramatic right now, because fae’s freaking out, almost to the point of the tears stinging like needles behind Loki’s eyes, and if the tight feeling in faer chest is any indication, this is bad. No. No, no, no.

Thing is, Loki doesn’t quite realise how long the shaking’s been despite the pilot reminding them all to remain calm, or how long fae’s been stuck without being able to breathe, until a hand comes to rest on faer upper arm.

Fae can’t even turn faer head, but notices the touch immediately. Then, a whisper of unintelligible words meets fae, Loki doesn’t understand, so fae swallows thickly and gets a, “I beg your pardon?” out through clenched teeth.

“Is there anything I can do?” The question comes clearer now. Loki frowns, faer hands shaking even more than before.

“What?”

“To help. I know it’s scary,” Mobius says. He sounds eerily calm, but also as a fog of assurance and stability, distracting fae even if it’s just for a second or two.”

Loki sniffs, shakes faer head at faerself, “This is childish.”

“Fear isn’t childish, darling,” the man says, and when fae finally finds some way to look at him, a bearable way through the held in tears and the voice in faer head nagging fae to suck it and not be such a fucking coward, Mobius smiles, “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

So Loki considers this. That is, after all, what fae wants about 95% of the time.

However, embarrassingly enough, fae sort of has come to prefer the attention of faer companion. Fae hates him a little bit for it.

“Do you mind if I hold your hand?” Loki asks then, surprising faerself, and Mobius perhaps, but maybe he’s just hiding it. The request for affection sounds strange in faer mouth. “I just need a moment.”

And will you look at that, the grey haired man has already grabbed faer hand before replying. Softly, simply a hand moving down from faer arm and resting on faer knuckles. Loki decides to latch onto his hand, because screw it. Mobius doesn’t remove it.

“Not at all,” he replies.

This is, by all measurements, very uncommon.

Loki’s holding a complete stranger’s hand, a stranger who offered comfort and fae asked for comfort, a stranger who apparently could see past faer gritted teeth and realise just how scared fae was.

The turbulence feels like it’s never going to end. Mobius doesn’t say anything, or hum anything, or tap his foot like he did before. Just looks at his little screen and suddenly taps his thumb one time on the back of Loki’s hand, and while fae still can’t breathe, fae does nod to the man offering one of his earbuds to him.

The Beatles, typical.

When Loki counts the minutes of each song, it helps. Fae focuses on the strumming of the guitar and the warmth of the man’s hand in his until fae’s own has stopped shaking completely, and not long after the plane stops, too.

They’ve passed. The glowing seat belt sign is turned off. A two digit number of passengers rush for the bathrooms. The baby four rows down has stopped crying.

Loki sniffs once, breathes out like faer life depends on it, before realising and extracting faer hand from Mobius’. Fae held onto it for way longer than necessary. The grey haired man just smiles again, however, snaps his fingers and offers fae a piece of gum. “You did great.”

Fae accepts. Why does Mobius feel… safe, somehow? They’ve known each other for seven hours now, goddamnit.

Whatever. Maybe fae can catch sleep for the rest of the trip.

But then, fae only now realises what the man next to fae said earlier, or rather, what he called.

Darling . That’s a nickname. A nickname by a divorced dad who enjoys The Beatles and wears printed shirts and is passionate about jet skis and holds Loki’s hand when fae’s nervous. Alright, then.

To Loki’s and probably everyone’s surprise, those nine hours have suddenly passed surprisingly fast.

Soon enough, they’re preparing for landing and fae’s not feeling like the world’s crashing down and Mobius is chatting again, which fae doesn’t mind at all anymore. Damn that man.

But here they are, on the ground, and faer companion is grabbing his luggage and gestures for Loki to go first, such a gentleman, and he’s smiling so stupidly all the goddamn time, it’s exhausting. Almost.

In fact, Loki’s caught up with Mobius and his chatting and his gestures and faer own thoughts and smile fae can’t hide until a text pops into faer phone, from Thor. Over half of it is emojis, faer older brother is ridiculous, but fae reassures him fae has safely arrived, now fae just has to get to the hotel.

The rehearsal dinner is early in the morning, so fae better get unpacked.

Brunnhilde sends a group of selfies with Jane, too, because you know, couples. Loki being the only single person in their friend group at this point is in no way surprising, and it’s not like fae was eager to bring a date to the wedding, either.

Except… well.

Fae is tragically still staring at Mobius just a little too long when they pick up their suitcases, the conversation dwelled to a comfortable silence already.

The grey haired man must be talking on the phone with his daughter, if the, “I love you,” is any indicator, then he tells a puns that is just so bad fae can hear her laugh from the speaker. He also freaks out about his lost sunglasses until Loki nicely ( very nicely) points them out on the top of his head.

Okay. Loki’s about to do the stupidest thing in faer life. Here goes nothing.

“Mobius,” fae says as they exit the airport out into the street, fellow tourists bustling alongside them, “I have an… unusual preposition, if that’s alright. If you’re not in a rush?”

Loki finds the nerves bottling up in faerself, for some reason. Fae picks at faer black nail polish before the man turns back to fae with a raised brow and smile perfectly intact.

“I’m all ears,” he grins. Fae may feel a little like floating.

Fae also takes a deep breath before continuing, “Remember my brother’s wedding tomorrow?” It’s more a rhetorical question, but Mobius nods in certainty.

“Well, Thor- my brother, offered me a plus one, of course,” Loki starts out, trying to word it in a way that doesn’t sound absolutely absurd, “I don’t have one, uh… a date. And well, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

The grey haired man raises both his eyebrows now, seeming deep in thought.

Was that weird? It was weird. Can fae even save this, oh god, “I mean, you’re probably busy. Gosh, my apologies, that was stupid-”

“Loki,” Mobius interrupts, a hand on faer upper arm once again, grin turning even bigger and warmer if not just a tiny bit curious. He adjusts the sunglasses on his nose before continuing, “That was far from stupid, I assure you. I will say I’m probably not a good choice for that.”

Loki almost wants to scream. “What do you mean?”

Faer companion has this habit of laughing at himself. Loki still can’t decide if it’s most endearing or annoying.

“I’m just an old fool,” Mobius tells fae. That’s rather infuriating, definitely false, but fae can’t bring faerself to interrupt, everything about the man just signalling softness and familiarity and like an embrace of some kind that fae hasn’t even experienced, “Can’t imagine why someone as… stunning as yourself would want me around, is all.”

Loki softens faer irrational irritation several degrees. The compliment might even cause a blush to rise in faer cheeks, but you take that to your grave.

Fae likes this Mobius, that’s absolutely certain. An old fool, faer ass. Consider that faer new plan, to get to know faer new companion way more than this. Hopefully soon. Hopefully for more than just this vacation, maybe. One can dream.

“Excuse my bluntness,” Loki answers, already reaching out for the man’s hand the same way he did to fae mere hours ago. This is new, and yet, like coming back home. “But I don’t think I’d want anyone else.”

12 notes · View notes