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spotofimagines · 3 years

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Car Sick P1 ~ Dominic Calvert-Lewin

A/N: This is sort of carried on from this blurb I wrote a while ago, bc I loved the idea and wanted to write more for it, you should probs read that first to catch the vibes. This is for @footballffbarbiex writing challenge based on tv and film. I used this storyline from Modern Family with Gloria and Jay. Once again, no real timeline with this, just made up scenarios. I struggled with the next bit of this so I asked you how you wanted it and you chose 2 parts, here's the 1st. Enjoy :)

Warnings: pregnancy, kids, step parents, injury mention - reader is female

Summary: You thought you were just feeling car sick, turns out it's something else...

gif by @hishairmyweakness - gif by @delstroyer

You were dropping your daughter off at Dele's for a long weekend since he didn't have a match or training to attend. After she had squeezed the biggest hug out of her dad and trudged dirt in his hallway, she perched on the sofa with her ipad and juicebox, leaving you and Dele to catch up.

Dele had been showing you how he redecorated his kitchen so you accepted a drink and decided to stay a little while. Plus you figured the news you had for him should rather be said in person than over the phone.

"Hey, Del, I have something to tell you." You said nervously, leaning your hands on the kitchen island. He turned around and took a sip of the drink he just poured as he walked closer to the other side of the island opposite you. "Go ahead." He replied, his eyebrows knitted in concern at your worried tone.

"Well, remember when we stopped by last Friday since you were playing on her birthday?" you recollected and he nodded along. "And I had one of those herbal teas and a tablet because I was feeling car sick?" "Yeah..." he trailed off quietly, putting his drink on the counter between you. "Turns out I wasn't car sick," he frowned in confusion and looked even more lost than he did a moment ago.

You fiddled your fingers together and took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You knew you could trust Dele with absolutely anything. You'd been close since you were teenagers, grew closer when you started dating and left nothing in the way when you had a baby. Being so young when it happened meant a lot of things turned against you, a lot of people with a lot of opinions trying to dictate your lives and yet you stuck it through. You haven't been together romantically for a while, however your relationship with him never faultered, your connection of trust staying strong.

But it didn't make this any easier to say. It wasn't hard to see when Dele got hit by moments of gloom at the sight of the mini family you were creating with Dominic. While your split years ago was amicable, and neither of you would rekindle that flame again, more than happy with your close friendship, Dele couldn't stop that jealous bubble rising in him when he saw your daughter enjoy spending time with Dom as much as she does with him. Blame his stubbornness but facing change wasn't his strongest suit. This news was going to be a big step away from that picturesque life you both once envisioned together and you desperately didn't want it to drive a wedge between you nor push Dele away. You had settled into a good rhythmic system with him that suited your daughter and your schedules, you'd hate to tarnish that in any way.

So, yes, you hesitated to tell him.

You sighed and picked at your nails, needing to just get it out before it drove you crazy.

"I'm pregnant."

Dele's eyes went wide and his mouth opened a little from shock, the frown lines that creased his forehead disappearing. His breath was taken away. Nothing prepared him to hear those words come from your mouth and know that he wasn't involved. It was bound to happen but it still took him by surprise.

He tilted his head as he looked at you, nervously twiddling your thumbs like you always did, and it only took a few seconds for a smile to slowly grow on his face. "That," he cleared his throat and met your eyes with sincerity, "that's great. Congratulations."

He scuffed his socked feet along the floor as he walked round the counter to wrap you in a warm hug. He squeezed your shoulder and gave your cheek a quick kiss when he pulled away, a genuine smile on his face. No, he wasn't involved this time, but he knew how amazing it was to experience pregnancy and he was certain Dominic would take to it greatly.

"What did Dom say?" He asked, leaning over to grab his glass and take another drink. Your breath caught in your throat and that made Dele side-eye you mid sip. "You haven't told him, have you?" He questioned gently, and you shook your head.

Now it was his turn to sigh.

The glass clinked loudly in the quiet room when he put it back down, and he had a ton of questions he could have asked you and a ton of things he could have told you to do that he thought was right, but it wasn't his place. Not anymore. So he took a moment to think whilst you rubbed your hands down your front to straighten out your t-shirt again.

"Are you going to?" You tutted and looked back up at him incredulously. "Of course I am Del, think it'll be pretty hard to miss when I'll be bursting through my clothes!" You joked and he held his hands up in defence as he chuckled, realising it was a stupid question.

"Are you nervous, then?" He tried again, this time opting for something more reasonable. "More nervous than when I told you for the first time." You admitted. Dele whistled lowly and shook his head with a laugh.

The state you were in a bit under 7 years ago now when you told him you were going to have his child, it was something else. He still insists he hasn't seen someone so frantic, before or since. He could only imagine what was coming Dominic's way.

---

There were plenty of reasons for you to believe Dom would be happy to be a dad. He adored his young brother and truly enjoyed spending time with him when he was back home. He was thoughtful and attentive with all the people he knew so you know he'd be the same, multiplied by a million, when it came to a child that depended on him.

But the way he cared for your daughter above anyone else proved to you, without a doubt, how good he would be. Dom wasn't her biological father, but that never once stopped him loving her the way she deserved. Dom made sacrifices when he needed to and even when he didn't. He'd stay awake if she couldn't sleep, he'd ask to see her on facetime when he was travelling and he always asked her about school, he even did the afternoon pick up with you when he got the chance. If Dom would be such an amazing figure in the life of a little girl he had no obligation to be a part of, just imagine what he'd be like with his own child.

You wouldn't question his want or excitement to have kids with you at any time, having spoken about it before.

Any time except now.

Dom hadn't been himself the last week, and justifiably so. He picked up a knee injury in the Merseyside derby last Saturday that resulted in him hopelessly limping off the pitch with the physio under his arm to hold him up. A torn ACL was the conclusion after a couple hours in the hospital. While an injury was never welcome, a minimum six months out was tough to take. But with the upcoming England tournament he'd been called up for that he will now have to miss, alongside the rest of the Premier League season, it shattered him. His club and his country had important matches this year and it killed him to not be able to help secure some much needed wins for them.

Most of Sunday was spent doting on him, helping him relax and alleviating both his physical and mental pain, offering comfort through his favourite meals and hours of cuddles, something your daughter happily assisted with.

However, by the time Monday rolled around, his rest was stifled by your daughter's birthday party.

Despite how often you'd sat him back down, Dom wasn't used to sitting all day and had helped you decorate the house whilst your girl was at school. The balloons were littered in the front room, the buffet snacks laid out on the dining table, and the banners Dom had pinned on the ceiling blew from the gentle breeze coming in through the back door.

So by the time you pulled into the drive with a car full of young girls eager for sugar, Dom was working on half a bar of energy already. Yet he played along with the party activities and managed to dance, or more shuffle, to some Disney songs on his crutches inbetween sneaking mini sausage rolls and chocolate biscuits.

You could see him getting more tired as each kid left, but "she only turns 6 once, right?", so he persisted on keeping the party lively until your daughter was knocked out in bed, out of her party dress but still wearing the new bracelet she got from Grandma.

You trailed behind Dom with two cups of tea as he hobbled toward the sofa, barely managing to keep himself up despite it only being 9pm. He dropped heavily on the cushions in the corner and let his crutches fall on the carpet, not caring where they landed as long as they stayed within reach. The sigh that left him could have knocked down a tree.

Before you got comfortable, you put his mug on the table and put a random sitcom on the TV. Dom's eyes were closed and his legs were stretched out as best as they could be, his injured knee up on the couch in front of him with a cushion underneath and an ice pack held on top.

"I'm telling you, I feel way too old for this." He muttered just loud enough to hear. "You're only 24." You chuckled a little into your tea at his complaint.

"Yeah," he rolled his head your way, hair falling on his face, "but running after her makes me feel 70, she knocks me out," he spoke quietly but with the last tints of energy in his tone, "and with this peg leg too you gotta change that to 80."

You smiled at him sympathetically and loosely linked your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand as let his eyes close again.

He was joking, it was obvious. But a niggling part of your brain told you that he wasn't just being dramatic.

Admittedly it was a tiring evening with your daughter's friends running around, but with the lack of energy left in Dom, how could a baby be added to that scenario and it not be an issue? Maybe it was the wrong time. Maybe, no definitely, getting pregnant when Dom wasn't shrouded by an injury, when he didn't have frustration on top of frustration on his shoulders, when there wasn't a hyperactive 6 year old that needed attention too - that would definitely be a better time to have a baby. But that wasn't what life had handed you. Life was a little more complicated in its ways than to give you an easy run, you knew that well enough by now.

What concerned you most was how Dom would handle it. Whilst he had picked up parenting duties well over the past couple years, he hadn't been there when your daughter was a baby, nor had he seen how tough it was on you at the time. The thought of raising another was scaring you, so it would surely terrify Dom, doing it for the first time.

Even before the time came to hold them in your arms, being pregnant was no easy deal. So how could he possibly handle the stress of an upcoming baby, the stress of having to look after 2 kids in the future, the stress of a cranky pregnant girlfriend, the stress of prepping the house and himself, all whilst he's hobbling on crutches and having to watch his teammates from the sidelines too?

You sipped your tea and let the TV fill the room as your brain ran overdrive with questioning thoughts, sitting silent next to your boyfriend who's head seemed full of only the sleep he was dreaming of, oblivious to the changes that were coming his way.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin x reader #dele #dele alli #dele imagine #dele x reader #football #football imagine #my fic #oneshot #my og post

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infernalrevenge · 3 years

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Lady D confronting Y/N who is going to College and has a lot of anxiety and fear(Weird request,lol)

This isn't weird at all! I think everyone who went to college, especially those who had to move far away, would have liked a bit of comfort from someone about going into a new environment. I don't know if this was what you felt, anon, but I hope the comfort of Tall Pseudo-Vampire Lady would suffice.

Side note: I wrote part of this while drinking wine soooooo yeah. Maybe I made some parts to be a little too emotional.

Placed under read more for length (yes I definitely got carried away with this one, again.)

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

Alcina had been keeping a close eye on you the past few weeks, especially since she was aware of your eventual departure.

You were frazzled and a bundle of nerves, to put it lightly. You constantly went over your flight details, checked the school website whenever you had internet access with a mix of wistfulness and dread on your face, you visited the Duke often for supplies you "might need, just in case" -- plenty of things that might have set off the alarm that you weren't doing so hot mentally.

The Lady was feeling similarly, though she wasn't sure if it was because your energy had rubbed off on her or that these thoughts had always been there but they were coming to light now that the inevitable was going to happen.

She was as excited as you were when you got your letter of acceptance, and even threw a little celebration for you with her daughters. She knew how hard you had been working toward this goal, and to see things finally unfold after months of anticipation and anxiety made it all worth it.

She was already aware that you had to move away from them for a while, she had accepted this. Or at least, she thought she had. Because as much as she trusted that you would do well for yourself there, wherever you may end up, she was still worried.

Mostly for your safety and well-being, but also (rather selfishly) for herself. She couldn't be with you while you went through with this new chapter in your life, and for some reason that didn't sit right with her.

At first, she did try to talk to you and convince you to go somewhere a little closer to home. She wanted to be able to visit you and check up on you instantly. She was going to miss you, and she didn't want to miss out too much on this part of your life.

She had the comnections anyway, she could pull strings to get you anywhere you wanted within the area. But you were put off by it -- you worked hard to get to where you wanted to go, not only would it feel like a waste to put it off but also disingenious to take up her offer of networking to get somewhere where others had to work for too.

Surely Alcina, a woman of her own making, could understand that, right?

If you're adamant and insist on going to your choice of college, then she might relent. She'll be petty about it for a few weeks but she will eventually accept that this was your wish.

But seeing you now, barely able to sleep weeks before your trip to the new area and campus, it didn't help quell her fears.

Part of her thinks this will pass; after all, if you were stubborn enough to stick to your guns about going to your college of choice, then she should trust your judgement... right?

She watches you in silence for a few days, seeing how you deal with this new stressor. She listens when you start to rant lightheartedly about how many classes you're going to have to take, which electives you want to take up, how big the school is and how you hope you won't get lost.

She also offers a comforting gesture every now and then when you start to ramble, perhaps a hand to cup your cheek or one placed on your knee, just to ground you. And it helps. Sometimes.

Three nights before you were going to leave, you found yourself staring at your acceptance letter and registration details, when you were already supposed to be asleep. It was nearly three in the morning, but your mind was more awake than ever.

It brought forth all your insecurities and fears about going to some place new -- what if you don't make friends? What if you flunk out on your first year? What if this letter wasn't even meant for you and it was all a mistake and your planning would have been all for nothing once you got there? Why did you even bother?

All of them came crashing down on you and finally... you sob. You crumple the letter in your hands and cry into it, soaking the paper with snot and tears. The voice in your head telling you you shouldn't go was ringing louder than ever before. This was a mistake, this was a mista--

Alcina placed a gentle hand on your back, crouching next to you on the chair you sat on. You feebly rubbed at your tear-stained cheeks and inhaled loudly, your vision slightly blurred as you tried to stop the corners of your lips from pulling down any further.

"Darling, come to bed. Let's talk." Her tone didn't leave much room for argument, but you were also too tired to anyway. Feeling like a child, you let her take your hand to make the short trip to your shared chambers.

Once you got in, you barely had to be prompted before you started voicing out what had been tormenting you the past days -- or at least ypu tried to. Apparently, all Alcina understood in between your sobs and sniffles was "shouldn't go", "mistake", and "lost". It was enough to confirm her suspicions of your second thoughts.

If this had happened weeks ago, she would have taken the chance to convince you again of going somewhere nearby instead. But she hated seeing you like this, not after you spent so long fighting for what you wanted.

She knew you still wanted to go, it wasn't like you to back out so last minute when it was already within your reach. She made sure to tell you this once you had calmed down enough so you would understand her. The stress was getting to you and it was doing a terrible number on your mental health.

All the while, she kept physical contact with you. Suddenly being so small wasn't so bad with your hand completely enveloped by hers.

You took deep breaths, eyes puffy and red, drowsy and barely able to think anymore. You think you got what Alcina was trying to say, but you didn't have it in you to process it all yet.

She quietly settled beside you and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you drifted off.

The morning after, you two talked about it again over breakfast in her private study. Her daughters were a bit confused as to why you two didn't join them but Alcina only explained it was a private matter.

She reiterated what she said last night, about your hard work and the mental toll of the new burdens you may have to face. You talk, she listens, and vice versa. It feels very... productive somehow, despite the fatigue from last night still being fresh in your mind.

She mentioned that she was always there for you. You knew that. Sometimes it was hard for you to believe (through no fault of her own) bit hearing it from her helped alleviate that, even for just a moment.

You spent the rest of the day not doing anything related to your departure at Alcina's behest. She saw you were extremely meticulous in the week leading up to it so she was sure you were more than prepared. You needed to relax and let your mind think of something else, lest you implode. Wouldn't want our future college student burning out before the semester even starts, right?

The day you were going to leave, Alcina and the girls unfortunately couldn't leave the village. However, they still bade you goodbye and gave some parting gifts. Daniela was sure to remind you of your promise to return during the holidays, especially since they may not be able to reach you.

You turned to your lover, a small smile on your face as you thanked her for everything. The talk from a few days ago helped. It didn't completely ease your worries, but it was enough to calm you and help you think clearly again. You thanked her for reminding you of your ambitions and dreams.

"You built those dreams all on your own, who would I be if I didn't support the person I love on their pursuits? Even in times you don't believe in yourself, just know that I do. I believe in you always, my love."

Alcina was quite teary-eyed herself, giving you one more tight hug and a kiss to remember her by. It was only going to be a few months, but still a few months too long.

But it was comforting to know you had a family back home waiting for you.

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #college reader #anon #inbox #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #headcanon requests #alcina dimitrescu headcanons

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justasimptm · 3 years

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The Bride C17

The voice rings clear and stern, tone filled with rage and disbelief. Heisenberg stands a few feet away, leaning on his hammer, watching Moreau hesitant in front of me. It’s kind of funny to me, watching him panic, it’s like he’s hitting all the stages of grief at the same time. His mouth flaps like a fish, which is even funnier given his ugly other form, but to give him credit, he doesn’t back away. Heisenberg barely twitches a finger, but the knife he was holding flies from his hand, banging loudly on the support beam behind us. I feel both relieved and tense still as he steps closer, knowing I’m not alone but unsure how he’s going to deal with this situation.

“Mother wanted me to do another test! I’m making progress!” Moreau whimpers, matching his steps moving backwards, only stopping when he bumps into his little table and trips, falling to the ground with a nauseating wet slap. Heisenberg doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the dolt that’s trying to skitter away from him. “You should-you should go! Let me finish my work!” Heisenberg scoffs at the effort, twisting his fingers slightly to pull the needle from my arm, letting it ping to the ground before sliding the bucket that had started collecting my blood over to him. It sloshes slightly, and I realise he had already started draining me before I woke up.

“I think, you have plenty. And I also think if you ever try something like this again, I will tell Mother Miranda about your betrayal, because that’s what this is, and she’ll cast you out for it. Let her out of your filth.” He hisses, leaving no room for argument or discussion. Within seconds I feel the sludge holding me up release, which is both a relief and a shock, because without it I feel a million pounds heavier and I tumble forward into Heisenberg, who with all his grace, manages to catch me before I hit the ground.

Without so much as letting the other creature breathe a syllable in reply, Heisenberg turns, and promptly stalks from the mines, resurfacing through the hut before walking us slightly downstream. He sets me down carefully on one of the bigger rocks, letting me adjust myself before fully releasing me and sitting down next to me. Part of me wonders how he found me, but part of me doesn’t want to ask, wanting instead to break down slightly and thank him for saving us again, even after our last encounter had been so cold. I scramble for the words to say to break our silence, even a simple thank you not feeling good enough. My buffering seems to register with him, so he fortunately takes the initiative and speaks first so I don’t have to.

“Do you need blood? He got a lot before I got there.” He asks, eyeing me up and down before looking out at the running water. The concern in his voice shocks me for a split second before I reply, humming thoughtfully as I focus on my body to see if I can get it to wake up. He must’ve really taken a good portion of what I had running through me because even now, out of his slime and out in the light, my body feels like it could drop into a coma at any second.

“I will. Before I go home if I can manage it. Thank you for coming, Lord-” I start, watching him from the corner of my eyes so I can look without staring directly. Before I can finish my miniature praise he cuts me off with the waive of his hand.

“I wasn’t gonna let that Fish Chum kill you. And I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Karl.” He states, turning to face me head on, but keeping his attention low as he shrugs off his jacket and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. My brows furrow at his movement and I have to force myself away from staring at his now exposed arm and flexing biceps as he moves them. “I know I’m probably not preferred dinner, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get anyone fresher.” He mutters and it suddenly strikes me what he’s planning. Before I could protest, both at the intimacy of it and the idea of drinking from him and hurting him, he pulled a thin knife from his belt and made a small cut across his arm. Not so deep as to cause much damage, but enough to make his blood sing in the air. “Don’t even think about saying no. Can’t have you dying’ on me yet, Doll. I still gotta make you like me.”

His words barely register on my mind as I reach for him on instinct, he pulls me closer to his side, running his fingers through my pinned hair and letting it fall fully loose from it’s half destroyed bun. It’s interesting as I latch on, not biting really, more like suckling, the conscious part of my brain trying not to cause too much harm. What’s even more interesting is that instead of tensing, like most would under the fang of what could arguably be considered a vampire despite our real creation, he relaxes into me. Sighing as my lips close on his skin and I apply the first light pressure of sucking, not flinching as my tongue swipes over the cut he made, tasting him for the first time.

He tastes like the best treats you could imagine. Like a fresh strawberry, dipped in rich dark chocolate, both sweet and bitter, but a perfect combination of both. He tastes like nothing I’ve had before, something I can only imagine could be compared to having your favorite meal at the end of a long week. My eyelids flutter close at the first drop that I pull into my mouth. Trying so hard not to be greedy, but wanting so desperately to bite and drink until I can’t. I think I hear myself whimper slightly, but I’m quickly soothed by his gentle shushing as he runs his fingers through my hair, scraping slightly along my scalp. The paired sensations of his coarse fingers on my head, his calm voice telling me it’s okay and to take what I need is almost too much to handle.

It makes me not want to stop, even though I know I need to. My body feels alive, humming with strength and more energy than I’ve had in years, and I fight every single nerve I have as I pull my stained lips away from his arm. When he asks me if I’ve had enough I almost laugh. No, I want to say, I need more, I need everything, but I say yes, because I am sated, belly full and happy, warmth flowing back to my fingers and my cheeks. His face is tinged red, just so slightly, a thin layer of sweat along his forehead, and for a split second I’m terrified I took too much. But as smoothly as he had rolled it up, he tugs his sleeve back down, nodding to himself. We sit in silence for another minute, letting both of our breathings steady before trying to return to conversation.

At first our conversation is light, he asks how I ended up in the mines, I ask how he knew I was there. Both of us give half truths, evading what we think will embarrass ourselves, but walking on eggshells grows tiresome fast.

“Are you scared of your mother?” He asks out of the blue, making me choke slightly on the breath I was taking. I can’t stop myself from looking around at who might have heard him, but we’re alone, just as we were when we came down.

“My mother is...a very complicated woman.” I start, treading carefully, but he scoffs at my statement, making me smile lightly. “Maybe a bit more than complicated. She’s always wanted what she thought was best for me. For her, really.” The sadness in my voice sobers him quickly. As I find the next words he gently pulls his glasses off, putting them to the side on his jacket. I started explaining that we were both sick, her and I, but she wanted to be cured, leading into her magical find, the thing that would keep her alive for ages. He knows what I mean without having to say it. “She came home that night different. Physically, mentally. She looked like my mother but she didn’t exactly act like her. I was terrified, if I’m going to be honest. She changed me though, even though I…” I can’t finish that sentence, but I don’t have to, judging by the look on his face he already understands. “It took me a while to accept this, and when I finally did she really wasn’t my mother anymore. She was twisted up, and if I’m going to be honest, yes. I am afraid of her. I think everyone should be, really. She has no remorse for anything she does, wanting only for us all to love her. Me, my sisters, Miranda. That’s the only thing that drives her anymore.” What he asks next sends a spear of shock through my gut.

“So why haven’t you left?”

Why haven’t I left? God, that’s a very good question. I can go outside, I can fend for myself quite easily. So why not? The answer is much harder than anything else I could say.

“Because if I leave, I die.” His mouth drops at the bluntness of my response, and I have to fight to keep my voice steady. “My pendant is burned into my chest. If I try to leave, my mother can break the charm on it that keeps the silver poisoning from spreading, and kill me. I stay with her because I’m sick of dying. I’m sick of living. I’m sick of not having a choice on which I do. So I choose to stay, because it’s the only choice I have.” He doesn’t have a follow up question, and the silence that was once comfortable now feels suffocating. “Thank you for helping me, Karl. I need to get back now. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Without so much as another beat of my heart I swarm, quickly finishing the ascent back up to my home, not reforming until I’m firmly inside the doors.

Heisenberg's POV

When I found her, mounted to the wall like some goddamn experiment, it felt like my entire world stopped moving. She was alive, but the white sheen on her face told me that wouldn’t be the case for very long. I know for a fact that this oaf didn’t ask Miranda if he could do this, so that was my opening, and thank god it worked. I was able to get her out of there before something bad really happened. Out in the sunlight she seems more calm, but she’s still too pale. It strikes me that she needs blood, to replace what he took. I start to scramble mentally, not sure where to find her something to eat, not wanting to leave her to do it.

The thought breezes through my head in a split second. If she needs blood, I think, she can drink mine. Then I think about the parasite infecting my body and I grimace, I doubt she’ll really want that. Still, however, I offer, and a warm tingle goes up my back when she agrees. When she starts mouthing at the cut I made on my arm I fight every fiber of my being to stop myself from shivering. The feeling of her tongue swiping over it, the deep but gentle sucking and the blissed out look on her face is almost too much for me. Almost too much but somehow not nearly enough.

The moment is over almost as soon as it starts. She releases my arm from her hands and pulls back, her breath still ghosting over my skin. I want to tell her she can keep going, just to feel it again, to see her like that, but I know she stopped for a reason so I don’t push it. After steadying our breathing and calming down, I decided to break the silence and try talking to her.

Our conversation is airy, but I can’t stop myself from asking the question I’ve been dying to know the answer to for ages, ‘are you scared of your mother’. When she says yes my blood boils. She tells me how her mother came back fucked up and forced the change onto her. She didn’t want this life either. She tries to keep her voice stable but I can still hear the hints of it shaking. The next question falls from my mouth before I can stop it.

“Why haven’t you left?” I propose. This seems to stump her for a minute, but she pulls her shoulders back and her face droops in resignation. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, but she does before I get a chance.

“Because if I leave, I die.” She tells me, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the throat. She explains how the pendant she has is burned into her body, which explains why I never see it move, and that if she leaves her mother will take the charm off of it and let her die. It’s silver, the same material used to stab her those weeks ago. If I look close enough I can see small back veins around where the pendant sits, evidence that it would kill her. Before I can say anything else she’s gone, whisked back to her tower, far away from me. When she’s gone it feels less warm in the sun, everything somehow dimmer. I’m going to find a way to save her, I think to myself, and nobody will ever hurt her again.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy @inesalexandra1995 @loveboldlywingedangel130

#karl heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #resident evil 8 village #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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valdomarx · 3 years

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Number Theory

On another version of Atlantis, John is a mathematician who is better with numbers than with people. But he's going to have to learn to get on with his team and their bossy leader, Rod, if he wants to survive here.

Stargate Atlantis, McShep, mensa!verse, 9k, rated E.

Also on AO3.

Dr. John Sheppard straightens his glasses, pulls his lab coat around himself, and makes one final, futile attempt to tame his hair.

He takes a last look around the SGC, bustling with scientists and marines and boxes of supplies, and wonders how everybody seems to know their place and what to do already.

Then he steps through a wormhole and into another galaxy.

Atlantis is stunning. Terrifying, and dangerous, and liable to kill them all, but stunning all the same.

He protests that there’s no need for a mathematician on an offworld team, but the head of science insists. John sourly suspects this Rod guy enjoys watching him wheeze and stumble every time they have to run for their damn lives.

But it turns out it’s useful for a field team to have someone around who can crack codes and work computers. And John hates field work less than he expected to, despite the unpredictability and the peril and all that awful running.

Sometimes, like when he breaks the encryption on a Wraith code in the nick of time and diverts an enemy ship away from its path toward Atlantis, he even feels a tiny bit like a hero.

Other than his team duties, though, Atlantis isn’t that much different from Caltech or MIT or the Air Force base at Wright-Patterson, or any of the other places he’s worked.

Everyone knows each other, except for him. Everyone bands together to look out for each other, and he stares in from the outside. Eating in the mess hall is like being catapulted back to high school.

So he makes himself at home in his lab. It’s quiet there, and there’s a plentiful supply of coffee, and there are only a couple of other mathematicians who occasionally pass through and largely leave him alone.

They’re next door to the noisy, boisterous science labs, where all the cool civilians hang out. But that’s fine. He gets used to ignoring them the same way he ignores the marines.

It’s just him and his numbers.

And sometimes, inexplicably, Rod or Teyla or Ronon, who will come by and sit at his desk and drink his coffee. He never understands what they’re hoping to achieve, but he doesn’t mind as long as they don’t touch anything.

Teyla appears in the doorway, staring at his whiteboard. It’s covered top to bottom with equations, and he’s had to stick up bits of paper around the walls to fit more on.

“Rod requested that I see how your work is going,” she says, voice giving nothing away.

He grits his teeth against the annoyance of the interruption. “It would be going faster if I could work unimpeded.”

She ignores the petulant note in his voice, squinting closer at the whiteboard. “What is this?”

“This is number theory. It’s the underlying basis for mathematics.”

Teyla raises an eyebrow. “And this is different from what Rod does?”

He sneers. “Very different. That’s just theoretical physics.”

“You do not respect Rod’s chosen field?” She seems genuinely curious.

“It’s fine, for, you know,” his lip curls, “an applied science.”

“I see. So this work can help us locate Wraith hive ships?”

He shifts his weight. “Well. I might need to, uhh, collaborate with Rod on that. I provide the conceptual models and he does the,” he waves dismissively, “practical calculations.”

“It seems that you two accomplish more when you work together.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he’s useful as an assistant, I suppose.”

When they learn there are three Wraith hive ships on their way to destroy the city, there isn’t much time for personal conflicts. They have a long-shot strategy: They’ve sent an emergency distress message in the vague hopes of rescue from Earth. But the Wraith ships are almost here and they need a plan now.

“Use the jumpers,” John suggests, because it’s obvious.

Rod snaps his fingers. “Yes! Put a nuclear warhead on board, fly the jumper right down the hives’ throats, and detonate.”

Elizabeth blanches. “That’s a suicide run.”

“No, no.” John thinks out loud. “Not if we can remote pilot the jumper.”

“Using the control chair!” Rod chimes in. “Sheppard, you’re a genius.”

John is so focused on the threat he forgets to preen over that.

It doesn’t take long for them to hook up the jumper to the chair and start running tests. Just as well, because death from above is coming imminently.

He knows something is wrong the moment Rod’s face falls while he’s poking at the cables running to the chair.

“McKay...” he says, voice low but insistent.

“I know! I know. Just give me a minute.” Rod disappears back into a bundle of cables. “I can fix this.”

Everything is suddenly, startlingly clear. The remote control won’t work, at least not in time. Someone will have to fly the jumper personally.

He and Rod both have the ATA gene, and both the same dubious piloting skills. But there’s not much skill required in flying directly into a hive, is there?

One of them has to do this.

“So long, Rod.” He turns and runs from the chair room to the jumper bay, not bothering to notify anyone of his plans.

“Sheppard! Sheppard!”

He hears Rod yell after him but he can’t think about that now. He has a job to do.

He gets beamed out by the Daedalus at the last moment. The battle is ugly, but the city and the expedition makes it out mostly intact.

Afterwards, Rod drags him into a conference room and yells at him for an hour about his reckless behavior.

John couldn’t give a shit. He has no regrets about his actions.

He gives an insouciant shrug. “Why the earful? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Because I am your team leader, and you didn’t even ask me for permission before nominating yourself for a suicide run!”

“That’s what this is about? Your precious chain of command? Grow up.”

Rod rounds on him and gets up on the balls of his feet. “There are people here who care about you, you dick!”

John blinks at the non sequitur. The idea that anyone would care more about him than about the city and everyone else in it is laughable. “Then they’re idiots,” he snaps and walks out.

Rod can write him up for that in one of the reports he so enjoys filing.

It would be nice if he could say that he learns and grows. That he makes friends. That he gets accepted by his peers and makes a home in the Pegasus galaxy.

But that’s not how this story goes. Not yet, anyway.

He does manage to make himself useful. He invents a new cryptographic algorithm to keep their computers and communications secure from Wraith interference. Elizabeth even gives him a grateful nod when he presents it to her, and says thank you.

He makes some progress on a quantum chaos approach to the Riemann hypothesis, not that anyone here understands that or how profoundly ingenious his work is.

And it turns out that many of the Ancient systems here are based on binary, just like computers on Earth, so he’s able to help Rod parse some of the more complex code. The two of them spend hours poking through the Ancient operating system, Rod fluttering around and theorizing aloud while John sits quietly in the corner, chewing on a pen and thinking.

It’s more fun than he would have expected.

And then, inevitably, he fucks up to a new and truly epic degree. He and Rod find the Ancient’s Project Arcturus, their great hope for extracting vacuum energy from subspace, and he convinces himself he can get it to work.

He’s self-aware enough to know he’s making poor choices, but not mentally strong enough to do otherwise. Because yes, of course virtually unlimited power is tempting, and of course discovering the last great experiment of the Ancients is thrilling. But he's a cautious person. He's not one to take unnecessary risks.

And yet the moment Rod turns to him with that look of delight, saying he's impressed, clapping him on the shoulder like he's done something wonderful, John is just gone. He ignores safety limits and all common sense, and he pushes and pushes and pushes for them to power up the generator, as if his wishes for it to work could make it so.

He wipes out most of a solar system with his hubris, not to mention nearly killing them both, and he's furious down to his bones because he can't figure out why he would have done something so stupid.

Bad enough to fail so spectacularly at your work that you devastate an entire star system, worse to have burned whatever credibility you may have built with your team, but worst of all to have to walk every day among people who know all about your inadequacy.

He's in the queue for the mess and a couple of the marines behind him are sniggering, one of them making a not-very-quiet crack about Sheppard’s ego being a weapon of mass destruction. John is staring straight ahead and pretending to ignore them, but the blood is pumping furiously in his ears and he's gripping his tray so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“You got something to say?” Suddenly Ronon is there, all six-foot-three-million-pounds of him, glaring down at the sniggering marine like he might crush his skull with his bare hands. “If you’ve got something to say to Sheppard, you can say it to me as well.”

The marine backs away, hands held high and spluttering apologies.

Ronon throws an arm around John’s shoulder and walks him to a table so they can sit and eat.

John stares down at his food and wills the panic to subside. “Thanks,” he mutters once his breathing has settled.

“No worries, bud,” Ronon says and steals a piece of carrot off John’s plate. “So, how’s that bomb design you were working on coming along? You know I love a big boom.”

John tells him how his models have predicted the highly energetic variety of naquadah they’ve discovered could be harnessed into more efficient field explosives, and Ronon nods along as if this is all fascinating.

In that moment, John knows he would die for this man without hesitation.

Perhaps the worst part about the Arcturus incident is how unbearably nice Rod is about the whole thing. He tells John that it was both of their decision, that he doesn't blame him, that sometimes these things happen when dealing with advanced technology.

But John can see the disappointment in his eyes and hear the judgement in his voice. He gets a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it, and that must be Rod's fault.

Rod picks a bad time to come visit the lab.

"Sheppard," Rod leans against the door frame. "I need your report on the Arcturus mission."

The sick feeling in his gut deepens. He hasn't written the report yet. "Bet you’re enjoying making me catalogue my failures."

"What? No. I just need you to submit a report so I can turn it over to Elizabeth."

"I see. You're looking for someone to blame, right? Going to write about how I pushed you and it's all my fault?"

"Of course not," Rod steps closer and there isn't enough air in the room. "I wouldn't do that. What's going on with you?"

He can't bear the look of concern on Rod's face, which he surely doesn't deserve and will surely evaporate soon enough. "Maybe I've had enough of you reminding me of my screw ups via the excuse of paperwork."

Rod's voice sharpens. "Don't blame me because you're feeling guilty. I can't deal with that for you."

The reminder of his lacking emotional skills stings and he lashes out. "Don't try to therapize me. You're hardly in the position to be doling out life advice." It's a mean, petty thing to say, but he's feeling vindictive.

Rod's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

John's pulse is notching up and his face is getting hot, the last of his short temper fraying away.

“You’re a people pleaser, Rod!” He realizes he’s yelling. He doesn’t care. “Everything you do is to make other people like you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Rod puffs up. “I try to be a decent human being. I try to think about others and support them. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s fake! It’s all bullshit. Do you even have a personality of your own, or do you just reflect whatever the last person who smiled at you wants?”

Finally, the cracks in the facade of nice begin to show. “Making an effort to treat those around you with consideration isn’t demeaning!” He gets up in John’s face, waving a finger at him. “Not that you’d know, because you never consider anyone other than yourself.”

“At least I’m honest,” he spits, and it’s venomous. “At least I know who I am. Do you? Do you have any idea who you’d be if you weren’t so absorbed in distracting everyone from your flaws?”

He sees the barb hit its mark. Rod stumbles back like he’s been physically shoved, his face crumpling.

“God, you’re an asshole.” It’s not even angry. It’s small, and quiet, and John is suddenly acutely aware of how much taller he is than Rod, how much he towers over him.

Rod turns on his heel and walks away, and John knows that means he’s won. But he doesn’t feel the usual curl of smug satisfaction he gets when he puts someone in their place.

Instead, he just feels empty.

Whatever. It’s not his problem that Rod is having some kind of breakdown. Why should he care that Rod is skulking around the base looking small and miserable? He only said what they both know to be true.

If Rod wants to be a dick about it, that’s on him. If he’s going to remove John from the team, that’s fine. There’s nothing that John can do about it anyway.

He gets back to work, running simulations of ZPM power levels and how long they can expect to sustain the city under different circumstances, given that they won’t be enjoying unlimited power any time soon. He likes modelling, and he knows this work is important.

But for some reason he can’t focus. His gut keeps churning and his temples ache and he’s haunted by the word worthless, worthless, worthless.

When his lab door chimes at well past midnight, he’s ready to tell whoever it is to fuck right off. In fact, the excuse to yell at someone sounds great right now.

But when he opens the door to find Rod standing there, twisting his hands anxiously, he’s too shocked to even be snitty. He’d assumed that Rod and he were done, that it was only a matter of time before he was kicked off the team.

But here Rod is, mouth downturned and saying, “You were right, okay?”

John notes the sad wobble of Rod’s chin and bites back the urge to say something dismissive. “About what?”

“About me. I do try to please everyone. I do want everyone to like me.”

It sounds pathetic, said out loud like that, John thinks but doesn’t say.

Rod is still going. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not some ego trip. When I was younger, I used to be -” He lets out a huff of air. “- very different. I said whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted, and I didn’t care if everyone hated me for it.”

John tries to imagine an angry, mean Rod. His brain can’t picture it.

“I pushed people away because I was afraid they’d reject me. I was always alone and I got very good at telling myself I liked it that way.”

An uncomfortable feeling of familiarity crawls up the back of John’s spine, and he ruthlessly quashes it.

“That changed when I went to the SGC. The people there… They believed in me. They wanted my help, and they wanted to help me. I learned that if I was going to work there, to do important work, then I was going to need connections. And to make connections, I had to think about others, and try to be what they needed. It wasn’t only about me any more.”

Something in the preachy tone of Rod’s voice sets John on the defensive, and his shoulders begin to rise, counterarguments springing to his lips.

“Wait, stop -” Rod lays a hand on his shoulder, and all the aggression leeches out of him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to explain.”

The earnest look Rod is giving him makes his skin itch.

“I care about everyone here. Including you, John. Perhaps I try too hard sometimes, but that’s only because you all matter to me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Rod is talking in plurals, but John gets the impression he’s speaking to him personally. It’s too weighty, to be handed that kind of sincerity without warning.

“I do...” He coughs and looks at his feet, “I do care about the people here as well. I might not be demonstrative about it but I’m not…” he searches for the right word, “... indifferent.”

He doesn’t say the other words he’s thinking, which are cold, callous, heartless, the things people always call him.

Rod’s hand is still on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and he squeezes gently. “I know you do. I just wish that sometimes you’d let other people see that too.”

John tries. He really does. Ronon tells him that he needs to get out of the lab more, so he resolves to make time to socialize. He doesn’t really know how to do that, but Teyla quietly slides him a copy of the city’s social activity schedule and suggests he goes through the list.

Painting with Major Lorne - no.

Choir with the medical staff - sounds awful.

Extra combat training - absolutely not.

Mensa club - now there’s a possibility.

“Join us for FUN and FRIENDS,” the tiny advert reads. “All welcome (as long as your IQ is over 150).”

That he can do. He joins the club.

It's him and Kusanagi from R&D and Parrish from botany, plus a couple of the gate techs and one of the nurses from medical. Every Thursday night, they get together to solve puzzles and play chess. It's dorky and awkward but it's kind of nice, actually, and the people there don't seem to dislike him.

He thinks maybe he's getting better at this whole people thing.

And then Rod leaves, and everything goes to shit.

It starts off with a crisis, like there always is around here, exotic particles exploding out of a containment chamber which isn’t containing anything. There’s chaos, but there’s also data, so it doesn’t take long before he and Rod are turning to each other as the explanation clicks for both of them at the same time: An experiment to generate vacuum energy being conducted in a parallel universe.

“We can’t do anything from this side,” John reasons. “The bridge is one-way.”

“The inhabitants of the other universe might not even know what the effects here are. We need to go there directly and get them to shut it down,” Rod says, firm and sure. “It’s the only way.”

“But how could we-”

Rod snaps his fingers. “The Ancient shield. That’ll protect whoever travels there.”

“Right. Let me run some calculations.”

His head is buried in his computer when Rod comes running back in with the shield in his hand.

“Fire it up whenever you’re ready,” Rod orders. “I’ve got the shield to protect me.”

John’s head whips up. “You? You’re going?”

“Of course me! Come on, the chance to visit an alternate reality? Who could resist that?”

Icy cold water settles at the pit of John’s stomach. “That’s a one-way trip.”

Rod shrugs, like that’s nothing. “If that’s the cost to save our universe, it’ll be worth it.”

Something like rage explodes inside John’s head. “Absolutely not! I should be the one to go.” He searches desperately for a reason. “You’re needed here.”

Rod gives him a small, sad smile and says, “So are you.”

“That’s bullshit, McKay, and you know it. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Tell you what, let’s flip a coin for it.”

And that’s about as reasonable as he can hope for, so he turns his back to dig a coin out of his lab coat pocket.

That turns out to be a mistake.

“Be safe, John,” Rod says, then he activates the shield and steps into the containment chamber.

That bastard.

He spends three days thinking that Rod is gone for good.

He can’t… He can’t think, and he can’t sleep, and he’s angry all the time. When Zelenka asks for his help running calculations on the spacetime tear above the city John bellows at him, calls him incompetent, and says they might as well just accept that the city is going to be torn apart. Then he stays up all night doing the calculations anyway, because it’s better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for another interminable evening.

He doesn’t bother eating, or showering, because what’s the point if they’re all going to die within a week? There’s a restless, raging scratching under his skin and it’s not like he hasn’t faced the possibility of death before, but this feels bleak and empty and insurmountable in a way he simply can’t deal with.

And then the rift mends itself, and Rod returns on a beam of light, and everyone acts as if they’re back to normal now and that brush with annihilation was just one of those quirky things that happen in the Pegasus galaxy.

But it eats at John, that feeling of powerlessness, that rippling anger of a problem he couldn’t solve.

Rod slides back into life in the city like it was nothing but another mission, and everyone rushes to say how brave he was, what a hero, how selfless he is, and John’s blood boils.

Rod swings by John’s lab with his usual breezy demeanor.

“Hey Sheppard! Wanna grab some dinner?”

The incongruity of Rod in his doorway, smiling casually like this is just another Tuesday, sends something hot and sharp spiking through his brain. “No,” John snarls. “Busy.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Busy then too.”

Rod gives a self-deprecating little smile, and John wants to wipe it off his face. “Too busy to make an hour for your team?”

“A team?” he spits. “Is that what we are?”

Rod pales, finally taking in how furious John is. “Of course we are. I thought, since I’m back now, we could -”

“Oh, so you stride back in and decide to grace us with your presence, and we’re supposed to be thankful for that?”

“John, what -”

“You left!” he explodes. He’s shocked by his own vehemence. “You left us all. You weren’t planning to come back and you just left.”

Rod takes half a step forward, his face doing something complicated. “John, listen. I never wanted to-”

“Go fuck yourself!” He shoves at Rod’s shoulders, hard enough to keep him at a distance. He needs space; he needs quiet; this is all too much. “We don’t want you here anyway. You should have stayed in that other dimension. I’m sure it was great there.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up, McKay.” He tunes his voice to the iciest, most dismissive tone he has. “You should have stayed gone.”

He enjoys a mean spark of satisfaction at the way Rod’s face falls, then he storms out of the lab.

Fuck that guy anyway.

Everyone on the base keeps looking at John like he’s volatile, as if he’s about to blow at any minute. Even his team starts handling him with kid gloves, like he’s fragile, and he hates it so much he could scream.

He meticulously constructs the bubble of hostility which has long been his go-to when he needs people to leave him alone. He snaps and snarls, and perfects a glare so hostile that no one dares approach him.

It’s restrictive inside that bubble, but at least it’s stable. At least he gets to decide the reason why people are going to hate him.

A few days later, Teyla strides into his lab wearing her patented “take no shit” expression.

“John,” she says, and the false cheery brightness of her tone has him scared already. “You will join me for tea.”

This is not, he recognizes, a request. He begins to mumble excuses but she cuts him off without hesitation. “You will come to my quarters, and we will drink a mug of tea together.” She crosses her arms. “Now.”

There are battles you can win, and ones you cannot. This is most certainly the latter, so he meekly follows her as she sweeps out of the lab and back to her quarters.

Once inside, Teyla forces him into a chair with an excessively firm hand.

“Sit,” she orders.

It’s easier to do as she says.

She carefully prepares the tea and warms the earthenware mugs, strong hands making practiced, confident movements. John watches the motions as she pours the tea and slides a mug over to him.

“Drink,” she orders, and again it’s easier to obey.

The tea is soapy and bland, but he fears her retribution enough not to mention that. He sips as they sit in silence. She regards him heavily over her mug.

Eventually she reaches some kind of conclusion.

“You are a valued member of our team, John.” Her face is impassive but her words are warm. “We would not see harm come to you.”

“That’s. Uhh. Good.”

“But your behavior of late has been,” she narrows her eyes, “ill-advised.”

John opens his mouth to defend himself, because it’s not as if Teyla could understand what’s been going on. But she holds up a hand which stops him short.

“I do not care to listen to your justifications. But you should know that if you continue on the path you have been on, it will be to the detriment of us all.”

John feels like he’s been pulled into the principal’s office to be scolded like a schoolboy. He didn’t care for that shit when he was ten, and he certainly doesn’t care for it now.

“If that was all,” he pushes the mug away and gets to his feet, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Teyla’s hand shoots out with a warrior’s accuracy and closes around his wrist. “I am concerned for the team, yes. But I am also concerned for you. I would like to think that we are…” she tilts her head, “friends. And I should like for you to be happy.”

John is embarrassed to find a lump forming in his throat. He’s never truly had a friend before, and that someone of Teyla’s stature and courage would consider him as such has him flabbergasted. He suddenly wants, very badly, for her to think well of him.

“I’ll try harder,” he says. “I’ll try to be better.”

She releases his wrist and gives him a generous smile.

“That is all any of us can do.”

He starts small.

He saves up a few of the precious Earth-imported cookies they get for dessert in the mess sometimes and brings them to the next Mensa club night. Kusanagi beams and says that was very thoughtful of him, and Parrish splits a chocolate chip cookie with him while they speed-solve sudokus.

The next day he types up a report about the team’s most recent mission with as much detail as he can remember, and he makes special note of how brave Rod and Teyla and Ronon were.

He saves it to a flash drive and takes it to Elizabeth himself.

“What’s this?” she asks as he hands it over.

“Mission report,” John says, eyes fixed on a tapestry hanging behind her desk.

“Submitting a report without having to be asked five times first? Who are you and what have you done with Dr. Sheppard?”

Anger flashes for a moment, because he’s trying here and she doesn’t need to remind him of his past failings. But he looks down and sees she’s smiling. It’s a joke. She’s joking around with him.

Huh. Okay. That’s unfamiliar, but he doesn’t hate it.

“Maybe I’ve slipped in from an alternate dimension,” he says, and even though that’s not very funny Elizabeth laughs anyway, and that makes something glow inside him.

He grudgingly admits to himself that there does seem to be a pattern developing: when he makes an effort to connect with people here and, god help him, be nice to them, then they are happy and so is he. When he yells and pushes people away, they are sad and he is angry.

It’s sort of obvious, really, and he would be embarrassed that it’s taken him so long to figure that out, but humans are bizarre and complicated and not at all like numbers.

He has a hypothesis and now he needs to test it. He should try being more considerate to those closest to him and see if that improves everyone’s moods. If only he could figure out how to do that without the entire experience being mortifying.

He’ll work on Ronon first, he determines. Ronon has always looked out for him and they have a sort of unspoken bond. Finding something nice to do for him should be simple enough.

He decides on a data-driven approach. He takes to following Ronon around, looking for inspiration, trotting after him with a small notebook in hand to record his observations. Ronon finds the whole thing hilarious.

Ronon spends approximately 40% of his free time in the gym, which certainly is a lot, and a further 30% in the mess. Another 10% of the time he goes running around the city, and the remainder of his time is spent visiting with Teyla, stopping by the science labs to tease Rod, or visiting John.

“You like people,” John observes one day, when Ronon is warming up for a combat session with some of the marines. He’s added up the figures and plotted the data into neat hand-drawn scatter plots and histograms. “You spend almost all of your time around other people.”

Ronon’s lips tighten for a second, and then he relaxes. “Yeah, I do. For a long time it wasn’t safe for me to be around anyone, and I hated it.” He looks around the bustling gym and nods. “Now I don’t have to be alone any more. I’ll never fail to appreciate that.”

John squints and scribbles that down in his notebook too. “You like spending time with people even if they’re -” He glances over at the marines, loud and bossy and distastefully laddish, “- strange? Or mean?”

Ronon grins at him. “Even then, yeah.”

“But you go running on your own. Is that what you prefer?”

Ronon stiffens slightly. “No. It reminds me of running from the Wraith. But it’s important to stay fit, and no one here likes running with me.”

Ahah! The perfect opportunity. John bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. It sounds fun.”

It is not fun. Running is brutal, and he is terrible at it, but Ronon smiles the whole time and he keeps telling John what a great job he’s doing.

By the time they’ve completed one lap of the route, sweat is pouring off John and his lungs are fit to burst.

“Go get some rest,” Ronon says, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “I’m going to do another couple of laps.”

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks between heaving breaths.

“You really want to do this again?”

“You run every day, right? So I will too.”

Ronon stops for a moment, then hauls John into a giant bear hug, apparently not caring that he’s sweaty and gross, and says, “Thanks, man.”

John is a little awed by how easily he expresses his approval, and how much it means to be on the receiving end of it.

He’s noticed on trade missions that the Athosians greatly value textiles, which they weave from plant fibers and dye bright colors. On his next trip to the mainland he slips away to ask the village elder Charin about the rugs which are spread throughout her tent.

She seems surprised by his interest but happy to show off her collection. She tells him how Athosians give rugs as gifts to celebrate relationships and achievements, and then she shows him how they're made.

He trades a whole month's worth of credits for supplies, and when he returns to Atlantis he spends hours each evening delicately weaving yarn through a wooden frame, building up a soft, textured rug. When it's done it's a little lumpy, but it has four clear bands of bright color running through it to represent their team.

He carries the rug to Teyla's quarters and fidgets outside her door.

"John." Teyla squints at him as she opens the door. "You appear nervous."

"I made this for you," he says and thrusts the rug at her. "Charin told me you're supposed to make them for family. This one has stripes for the four of us on the team. Sorry if it's not very good."

Tesla takes the rug and presses a hand to her chest as she examines it. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

"It is beautiful. You have my thanks, John. This means more to me than you know."

He has an uncomfortable flutter of emotion and he can't quite meet her eye. He focuses on the wall behind her instead.

"You are as family to me as well," she says, and steps forward to press their foreheads together in the Athosian way.

The frank sentimentality of her manner makes him squirm, but he sort of likes it.

Rod is trickier. He is not a person who cares much for stuff, and he always waves off supply runs from Earth, saying he has everything he needs.

But he has been complaining lately that the unstable nature of Lantea's sun has been interfering with some of his measurements. John has an idea that can help with that, even if it does involve working with grubby experimental data.

Once he's ready he invites Rod to join him in the control chair room.

"I did some modeling," he says quickly when Rod arrives. He doesn't bother with a greeting. "To predict solar influence on the Lantea system and help with your experimental readings."

Rod's eyes light up. "You modeled a star for me?"

"I thought it might be," he shrugs one shoulder, trying not to look too anxious about whether Rod will find it weird, "useful."

He plugs a flash drive into a socket on the chair platform and guides Rod into the chair.

"How does it work?" Rod is bouncing with excitement, the same look of delight on his face as when he finds a new piece of technology.

John indulges in a small, proud smile, and says, "Think about where we are in the solar system."

Rod leans back in the chair and its power hums on. Overhead, the holographic display bursts into life showing Lantea and its star, along with all the other planets and comets and asteroids filling the system, with notations on their size and mass and trajectory.

Rod whips the model around, running it backward and forward through time, watching the orbits of the planets dance.

Then Rod zooms in to see the sun up close and gasps. John has linked the model to the city's long range sensors so the display can simulate the star's fluctuations in real time, and as they watch its surface bubbles and releases a tendril of plasma which reaches out into space.

The display follows the plasma as it propagates out through the system, moving first through the asteroid field and then meeting the planet, interacting with the magnetosphere and lighting up the planet's atmosphere with an aurora of dancing colors.

The soft lights of the display are reflected in Rod's eyes, wide and joyful and curious, and the sight makes something like pain but not twist in John's chest.

"This is incredible." Rod pokes further through the interface, looking at zipping comets and distant moons. He sits up and the chair's power fades off. "Thank you."

Heat creeps across John's cheeks, and he busies himself unplugging the drive. "I wanted to do something… nice."

Rod stands and walks over to him, taking the drive from his fingers. But he doesn't let go, keeping hold of his hand. "This is very nice," he says, startlingly close.

And then something very strange happens, and Rod is leaning in and kissing him. John is distracted from the soft press of his lips by absolute bafflement at this turn of events and he freezes up.

Rod steps away and John stares at him, desperately trying to figure out how to respond. "You kissed me," he ends up on, which does have the merit of being true.

Rod rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I thought that's what you were going for. Was it not?"

John's brow wrinkles. His thoughts are whipping past at a million miles an hour.

That hadn't been his intention - he'd assumed that Rod was straight, not that he'd given it much thought - not that someone like Rod would be interested in him even if he wasn't - but there's something compelling about the concept, something intangible sitting on the edges of his perception. He can't quite see the shape of it.

"I need more data," he decides. "Kiss me again."

Rod breaks into a charmed smile. "I can do that."

This time when Rod leans in he's ready for it. Their mouths meet carefully, tentatively, and he angles his head so they line up better.

Oh. Interesting. The data is looking positive.

"Hmm." John draws back to breathe and consider. "Yes. That's good. Let's do that some more."

“An excellent plan," Rod says, putting his arms around John's waist to pull him closer and kiss him deeper.

Rod tastes incredible. Or maybe he just tastes of stale coffee and power bars, but John’s senses are so heightened that every sensation feels earth shattering, and he's starving for more. His hands scrabble at Rod’s collar, at his arms, at the hem of his shirt, trying to touch everything in a mad dash. He’s determined to get as much of whatever this is as he can before it comes to a crashing halt.

“Hey. Hey,” Rod’s hands are on top of his own, and he’s pulling away like John knew he would. John folds into himself, ready to turn his back as he listens to this is a mistake or we both know this isn’t going to work out or I’d never feel that way about you.

“If we’re going to do this…” Rod is giving him one of those lopsided smiles, soft and genuine. “I’d like to do it properly.”

John, still braced for rejection, has no idea what that means.

“Let me take you to bed,” Rod says, wobbly and uncertain and hopeful, of all things.

“Oh.” He could do that. They could do that. An ocean of unexpected possibilities opens up, glittering and unfamiliar and enticing. “Okay.”

Rod takes his hand and leads him back to his quarters. John’s palm is sweaty but his steps feel light as air.

Kissing Rod is excellent. Doing so while lying on Rod's bed is even better, and at some point they both lose their shirts and then there’s even more skin to explore and the comforting scent of Rod all around him.

It's what's next that's stressing him out, because while he's aware of the theoretical steps involved in sex, he doesn't exactly have practical experience to draw on.

There's the ever-present worry that he's missing something, that there's something he ought to know, like there's a handbook for this which everyone got a copy of except for him.

"You good?" Rod is looking at him with those very, very blue eyes. "You went away there for a minute."

His cheeks are blazing, but it seems important to set expectations. "I've never done this before," he admits.

"You mean with a man?"

He squirms. "With anyone."

He waits for Rod to laugh at him, but he merely looks contemplative. "Were you not interested, or…?"

"It never seemed that important, you know? Just another of those things that everyone else did except for me, like going to parties, or having friends, or spending Christmas with family."

Rod's face softens with sympathy.

"And even if I wanted to sometimes, it didn't matter, because who would want this?" He indicates himself with a disparaging hand. He knows what he looks like: too thin, too lanky, messy hair that will never keep a style. He's no one's ideal. "I'm not even sure why you’d be interested."

"God." Rod reaches for him and takes his face in his hands. "You really have no idea, do you?" Rod carefully removes his glasses, sets them aside, and says, "You're gorgeous," like he really means it.

Taking off his glasses makes John feel more vulnerable than taking off his clothes. Suddenly his shield is gone and there's the world, and Rod, and it's all very close and immediate and a little disorienting.

"Hey." Rod pets his face, soft and gentle, "It's okay. We can go slow."

He makes an effort to pull himself together. "I won't be very good at this."

"You don't have to be good." Rod traces his lips with a finger. "You just have to be you."

And that’s mystifying, frankly. But he’ll give it a go for Rod.

They kiss some more, and he relaxes into it, lets Rod take the lead, lets him explore his mouth until he’s boneless and breathless. He breaks for air and is lightheaded, the room almost spinning, but he wants more.

Then Rod is kissing along his jawline, and down his neck, and oh, when Rod’s lips brush against a spot near his throat his entire body tenses and twitches, and Rod makes a curious, happy noise and does it again. It’s a hair away from overwhelming but he likes it, he likes it a lot, and then Rod gently runs his teeth over that spot and John’s hips twitch off the bed entirely of their own volition.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but Rod doesn’t look put off. In fact, he just grins, says, “Don’t be, I like it,” then pushes John back onto the bed and mouths at that spot some more.

His skin is hot all over and he’s shaking, and god, this is all going to be over embarrassingly fast and they haven’t even gotten all of their clothes off yet.

“Rod,” he says, and it comes out as a whine. “Will you -” He gestures vaguely at the bulge in the front of his jeans and hides his face in the pillow, too bashful to let Rod see him.

Rod pauses from his engrossment in John’s neck to breathe hot words into his ear instead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and John is fit to burst already. How is Rod so good at this?

“Please,” he says, mumbling into the pillow. Everything is too much and not enough, and he wants, he wants, he wants. “Please, Rod, please -”

“Okay, of course I will, it’s okay.” Rod strokes his flank, petting him like a skittish horse, and that should be mortifying but it’s exactly what he needs. “I’d like to see you though,” he says, and reaches over to touch John’s chin.

John lets himself be turned, lets Rod roll him over so they’re facing each other and their eyes meet. That’s almost overwhelming too, but Rod looks so pleased he thinks he might be able to manage it, and then Rod is kissing him and unzipping his pants and oh, oh, oh.

Rod wraps a hand around his cock and John just melts, like every brain cell he possesses has decided to pack up for the night. He can't even bring himself to blush because Rod is touching him right there and it’s so good, it’s so good, and all he wants is more.

Rod handles him confidently, exploring what he likes: a bit faster, a bit slower, a bit more pressure, a bit less. If John could speak he’d tell him that it doesn’t matter, right now he likes everything, anything, whatever Rod wants to do to him he’d take it happily.

But Rod is a scientist, and he loves his data just as much as John does, so he does some experimentation and finds the ideal speed John likes, and the angle, and then he squeezes gently around the head and John’s orgasm explodes behind his eyes like bright, white light.

He floats for a while, like a spring that’s been twisted and twisted and finally bursts free, and he’s vaguely aware of Rod stroking his face. It’s nice, every muscle in his body slack and comfortable for once instead of clenched down tight.

“You good?” Rod asks, and John can’t help but smile.

“Very,” he mumbles, mouth lax and lazy.

Rod drops a kiss on his temple, and there’s something so casual and caring about that it makes John’s heart squeeze.

“You mind if I get myself off?” Rod asks and heat races up the back of John’s neck. He does not mind that one bit.

“Should I. Um.” He ought to offer, right? That was the polite thing. But, “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits.

Rod smiles softly at him and says, “How about you kiss me?”

And yes, John is definitely on board with that, he can do that. He puts an arm around Rod’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then kisses him: carefully at first, peppering soft pecks to his lips, and then deeper, lips sliding over each other as they grow more heated, and then finally wild and messy, slipping his tongue into Rod’s mouth while Rod pushes his pants down and works himself over.

He feels Rod’s fist bumping up against his thigh, faster and faster as he speeds up his hand, and John can’t help but glance down. He watches in fascination at the way the head of Rod’s cock peeks through his hand on each stroke, red and hard and leaking from the tip. Reflexively, he licks his lips.

Rod is making these soft groaning noises which have John entranced, like he wants to spend every spare minute he has learning how to coax them out of him. And then Rod is biting his lip, and twitching, and staring at him open-mouthed and breathing hard.

“Can I come on you?” he asks, and something in John’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” his mouth says for him. “Rod, god, yes.”

He can’t stop staring at the movement of Rod’s hand and, emboldened by a force he didn’t know he had in him, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Rod’s. He lets Rod guide their movements, adding a soft pressure from his fingers so they can bring him off together.

“John,” Rod sighs, full of warmth and contentment, and then he’s relaxing and coming. Fluid splatters across John’s thighs and he did that, he made Rod feel good, and that feels like the best gift of all.

Rod is soft around the edges now, smudgy like a charcoal painting, and when John asks, “Was that okay?” he pulls him closer and nuzzles into his neck, covering both of their bodies and their clothes hopelessly in come, and says, “That was perfect.”

John wakes up sticky, rather too hot, and filled with a roiling, anxious feeling. The bed is too small and Rod is too close, and his heart rate picks up as he looks fuzzily around the room.

He should go. He should just go, right now, before Rod wakes up and they have to talk about this and he says something wrong and ruins everything.

He’s squinting and patting at the bedside table, looking for his glasses, when he feels movement behind him.

“Morning.” Rod drops a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then he rolls over, John’s glasses in his hand, and opens them up and pops them onto his face. He slides them up John’s nose, smiles, and says, “There you are.”

And oh. All that panic seems further away once he has the armor of his glasses back, and now he can see the pillow crinkles imprinted into Rod’s cheek. He seems less like an agent of impending judgement and more like Rod, just Rod, Rod who knows him and has seen him at his worst and still, for whatever baffling reason, seems to like him.

“Hi,” he manages, and Rod beams like that was exactly the right thing to say.

“Coffee?” Rod offers. “Or shower first?”

As rare as it is for John to turn down coffee, he really is unpleasantly sticky. Deal with that problem first, he decides. “Shower,” he says, grateful that he’s not required to string together more than single words.

“Sure.” Rod gives his ass a cheeky pat as he rises, then throws him a towel.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but as he steps out and wraps a towel around himself he spots a purpling bruise on the side of his neck in the mirror. He stops to trace it with his fingers, remembering the feeling of Rod’s mouth there, hot and demanding.

“Ahh.” Rod stands in the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he looks nervous.

John tilts his head, looks at the mark from another angle. There it is: incontrovertible evidence that he's wanted. What a fascinating concept. “Don’t be. I like it.”

“Oh.” Rod’s eyes go very round and the blush deepens. “That’s good. That’s. Ahh. Very good. I’ll just -”

Rod drops the towel from around his waist and makes for the shower, and John gets an eyeful of his half-hard cock, and then, as he walks past, an ass he has the sudden urge to sink his fingers into. A heat that’s beginning to feel familiar creeps up his neck, and he wants -

What the hell, he thinks, and he tosses his own towel aside to follow Rod back into the shower, delighting in his yelp of surprise when he slides up behind him.

“Shep! Think fast!”

John manages to get his hands up just in time to prevent the power bar from hitting him in the face.

“Thought you might want a snack before the mission,” Ronon says with a wink. “Just in case we have to run anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m getting better at that! I’ll catch up with you one day.”

“Sure you will.” Ronon checks the straps on John's tac vest like he always does, then says, "Looking good, buddy," and ruffles his hair.

John used to hate that, but he's given up trying to tame his hair and now he lets it stick up in whatever direction it wants. It's weird but it works.

Teyla bumps her shoulder against his as they walk toward the gate room. "What do you have for us today, John?"

“Remember that strange energy signal Major Lorne’s team picked up last week? I was able to map its topography through space and pinpoint its likely origin, and Rod took a look at the electromagnetic readings and he thinks it might be a power source -”

“So we are going to investigate the signal on P2X-884?”

“Bingo.”

Rod is standing in front of the gate like he belongs there. He claps his hands. "Ready for another thrilling adventure in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"Maybe we'll get to hunt some Wraith," Ronon says, entirely too cheerfully.

"Or discover some hideous alien parasite," Teyla joins in with a gruesome smirk.

"Or accidentally blow something up," John supplies, because that's usually how their luck goes.

"Sounds delightful." Rod grins and yells up to the gate techs, "Dial her up."

As the gate engages with a whoosh and a glow of blue light, Rod reaches out to graze his fingers against John's: a reminder, and a promise. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches his smile.

He stands a little taller, knowing his team has his back, and steps through the wormhole.

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #i will NOT shut up about mensa!john i LOVE him

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

The Temple- Chapter 3

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes, @quietstorm-73, @ladymac82

Read Chapter 2 if you haven’t already, and let me know if you want to be tagged. Don’t forget to check out my Masterlist!

CW: smut

Word count: 4231 “Hello, my prince. I am Aisha.”

The words sounded like a prayer on her lips. Aisha.

“N’Jadaka.” The prince gingerly grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it, causing her to giggle at the tickling feeling.

“I am aware. This is your first visit?”

“That obvious, huh?”

Aisha full on laughed this time, a melodious siren call. He wanted nothing more than to let her drag him into her waters and keep him for eternity.

“Painfully so. No worries, I’ll ease you into it.”

N’Jadaka’s ears perked up at her forwardness.

“‘It’ being…?

“The reason we were called to each other.”

He leaned in to whisper into her ear, just loud enough for her to hear him over the crowd.

“And what reason is that, beautiful?”

The prince’s arm went around her waist, and he felt her place a kiss just under his collarbone. N’Jadaka just about melted right then and there, so Aisha grabbed his hand and led him through the crowd in the opposite direction from the entrance. Instead of another large door, this part of the temple was only separated from the rest by an ornate purple curtain, and when she drew back the curtain his eyes travelled to the winding staircase before them. Vibranium lit the halls as his eyes took in the artwork on the wall, some different stories of Bast and others scenes of sexual pleasure featuring the oldest Daughters of Bast from thousands of years ago. After staring in awe at his surroundings, the prince’s eyes fell to Aisha’s ass. It was by no means the biggest ass he had ever seen, but it was the perfect size and shape for his hormones to go crazy.

“How much farther?” He asked, pulling her back towards him and placing his nose in the crook of her neck, taking in her sweet natural scent.

“Not much farther, my prince. I promise.”

“I like when you say that shit.”

“My prince?”

N’Jadaka grinded his erection into her lower back and she reached back to grab him by the balls, making him release a whimpering sound in her ear.

“Not yet...my prince. There is much we must do before I let you experience Bast’s blessings.”

He pulled back and tilted her face towards him, staring into her light brown eyes.

“What else is there?”

Aisha chuckled darkly and pulled him along once more, hand never moving from her warm cradle between his legs. He followed with his bottom lip wedged perfectly between his teeth, trying not to bite down as hard as he wanted to.

__________

He swore the temple was bigger on the inside, or maybe it was just his raging hormones making the walk seem impossibly long. Once they arrived at what N’Jadaka assumed was her door he felt like they had been walking for forever. She opened it and motioned for him to enter.

“After you, your highness.”

N’Jadaka stepped in and took in his surroundings once more. The room was dimly lit and the lingering smell of incense greeted him before anything else. The only window was stained glass with a large kaleidoscope pattern that N’Jadaka was sure would look amazing in the sunlight. He took note of the massage table in the middle of the room, and then he noticed a bed as well as a chair over to the side. He could barely hear faint instrumental music playing in the background.

“So you’re a masseuse, too?” N’Jadaka asked Aisha.

“We are all well-versed in many physical arts, including massage.”

“So you’re good with your hands?” he asked with a devilish smirk.

Aisha smiled knowingly.

“Yes your highness, I am.”

“Well let's get to it then.” He rubbed his hands together and walked towards the massage bed, He stopped when he noticed the hole near the middle.

“Wait, is that for my dick?”

Aisha giggled.

“Yes, my prince. Some find it uncomfortable to lay on an erect penis during a back massage, and others enjoy it as part of a kink. We will see which one you are. Either way, you will be receiving a full-body massage in every sense of the word. Would you care to lay down?”

“Yes ma’am.”

N’Jadaka laid on his stomach, awkwardly placing his dick through the opening.

“Feels weird just hanging like this…”

“It always does at first, but if you wish you do not have to utilize it.”

“Nah I’m curious.”

“Are you ready to begin, my prince?”

“Uh yeah, let's do this” He said, trying to mask his nerves. He was instantly calmed down when she placed her hands lightly on his head to feel his energy and slowly trailed them to his feet, touching everything in between and acquainting herself with his body.

“Lavender or eucalyptus oil?” Aisha asked the prince. He pointed to the lavender bottle and she pumped some into her hands before rubbing them together.

When her hands came up to knead at his tense shoulders, her strength surprised him. He had never felt anything like that before. Her thumbs beat the shit out of his tension and the heels of her palms ran it out of town.

Aisha’s hands moved to his lower back and he let out a moan that he wasn’t expecting, before clearing his throat.

“It’s ok, you know? Moaning, expressing yourself in that way. If it feels good it feels good.”she told him.

N’Jadaka nodded slowly, not trusting his voice at the moment.

Her strong hands made their way to his backside and he giggled.

“Sorry, I guess I’m ticklish.”

“Plenty of people are, it’s a very sensitive area.”

She continued to knead his glutes and he tried to speak through his giggles.

“So- aha, how long have you be-been doing thi-sss?”

“Just two years. I got the call young so I started studying anatomy, massage therapy, reiki, and acupressure. When I hit adulthood I began my training to be a Daughter of Bast, and after three years I was able to officially call myself a Daughter.”

Her hands moved to the backs of his thighs, which was no better for him sensitivity-wise and he felt a stirring in his loins. He could feel his dick hardening and being pulled down by gravity herself the more it grew.

“Three years? That’s a long time.”

Aisha smiled at his attempt to make conversation.

“Yes, but it flew by. It takes time to learn the physical arts, even with my background.”

“I like that y’all call sex ‘physical arts’”

“Not just sex, my prince, but intimacy. What we are doing now is intimate, yes?”

“Hell yeah it is,” he said with a smile.

“Everybody comes here for different reasons,” She began as her hands moved down to his calves. “Some require sex, some just need us to lend an ear, some need the relaxing environment, some need to be held...it varies from person to person.”

“Makes sense. So what do I need?”

“Everything I just mentioned. Life was not kind to you, and that much loneliness doesn’t just disappear with talk therapy. Humans require intimacy not just for survival, but for our mental state as well. And I don't mean just in terms of sex. No, I mean familial relationships, romantic and platonic relationships. Even the intimacy that comes from community. That love and support and closeness can come from anywhere, you just have to be open to it. But it is difficult if you’ve never been given that chance before. After all, a child not embraced by their village will burn it down to feel it’s warmth.”

A lump formed in the prince’s throat as he thought back to the scorched Garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb.

“I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“I’m sure, it is a very old proverb.”

Aisha massaged his feet and he felt his body respond to her touching the corresponding pressure points. He felt a rush of blood and his dick immediately jumped.

“How are you feeling,” Aisha asked, already knowing the answer.

“Relaxed and horny. Yo this upside down glory hole is kinda nice though, I might have to get a bed like this...”

“May I pleasure you like this or would you prefer a different position?”

N’Jadaka froze as if he had forgotten why he came here.

“Uh yeah, this is good…”

Aisha crawled under the massage table and sat on a pillow, cross-legged under his raging erection.

“If it pleases you, I will start with my hands.”

“Oh, it pleases me…”

She pumped some unscented oil into her hands before bringing them up to his dick. It was sensitive to her touch and he winced as she grabbed the base with one hand and massaged the tip with her other hand.

“My prince, there is no pride or ego here. When you feel the need to release you do so. Do you understand?” “Yes.”

“I did not hear you.” She said as she squeezed a little tighter around the base.

“Y-yes!”

“Good.” Aisha smirked and her focus returned to the task at hand. She used her fingertips to tease the underside of his dripping dick, watching with joy as it tried to twitch out of her grasp only to be pulled back in by her soft hand sliding up and down his shaft. His foreskin pulled back more and more as his dick grew in size and thickness the more she worked it. When she reached for his balls again he nearly lost it, letting out a loud guttural moan.

“Looks like I found it,” she giggled to herself.

She added more oil to her hands and coated his sack with one hand while working just under his head with the other, causing the vein under his dick to throb more and more until he released on her face with a growl. Each time his hips jerked, more spilled out and Aisha couldn’t help but get a taste. She swiped her finger across her face, gathering his cum, and brought it to her lips to sample the salty goodness. She brought the flat of her tongue to the underside of his already sensitive dick and ran it along the length to the tip, pressing her tongue into the still-leaking opening of his urethra hoping to catch every last drop. When she took him into her mouth, the prince stopped her.

“Hold on babygirl, I want to watch you suck my dick.”

Aisha crawled out from under the table and he stared at her cumstained face in awe. She looked even more beautiful than before. He slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table before looking around the room.

“We doing this here, or…”

“Where do you want me, your highness?”

Aisha watched his dick twitch at her words and smirked at her power over him.

N’Jadaka motioned to the high-back leather chair near the stained glass window and she grabbed his hand to lead him over to it. He sat down and she stood between his legs. They stared into each other's eyes before he pulled her in for a sloppy kiss, not caring that her face was dripping with his essence. Their arms snaked around each other and she caressed the back of his neck while he gripped her ass tight. He pulled back to admire her body, taking in her deep brown areolas, and bringing his tongue out to taste the sweet saltiness of her skin.

His tongue worked one nipple while his fingers kept the other company. He alternated between the two, lazily tonguing and sucking and nibbling her erect buds causing Aisha to let out a moan that was more music to the prince’s ears. It was one of those deep, low moans that starts in the gut and travels up the spine before loudly breaking free. Her nipples were extremely sensitive to his touch and as she came down from her high he peppered light kisses around her chest.

“My prince…” Aisha said between breaths.

“Yeah, beautiful?”

“It’s your turn again.”Aisha said while sinking down to her knees before him. She began to drool at the sight of his already hard and leaking dick, throbbing because of her. She stuck out her tongue and opened wide before taking him inside her mouth to the hilt, tongue swirling around the bottom of his ever-thickening dick.

“Fuck! Girl y-you better suck the fuck out this dick.”

Aisha swallowed and sucked his dick like her life depended on it, cheeks hollowing and spit dripping down her chin.

She removed herself from him with a loud pop, and a thick string of saliva connected her lips to his bulbous head. She traced her tongue along the underside of his dick from his frenulum to his ballsack. She brought his balls into her mouth one at a time and worked them on her tongue while lightly suckling on them. Her hand never left his dick, pulling back his foreskin and stroking along his shaft.

“Babygirl, if you keep that up I’m gonna come.”

“No holding back, remember?” She took his balls out her mouth and looked at him with a devilish smirk before placing her lips around his head, and hollowing her cheeks to suck him hard and sloppy. Her tongue came out to massage his dick and he let out a stuttered moan before he burst inside her mouth.

Aisha made sure to clean her plate, sucking him dry and licking up anything left behind. He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her closer, smacking a kiss on her juicy, cum-covered lips. He loved how he tasted on her.

“Do you have one more for me, your highness?”

“Of course babygirl, how do you want me?”

She didn't answer verbally, choosing to push him back and straddle him instead.

“Oh so it’s like that?” He secretly loved her brief flashes of dominance.

Aisha lowered herself onto him, sliding all the way down until they were connected pelvis-to-pelvis.

“M-my prince, you are v-very big.” She struggled to get the words out, distracted by the way his dick stretched her out.

“Yeah and you got that tight, pretty pussy babygirl. Lean back, lemme watch your pussy swallow my shit.”

Aisha did as she was told and planted her hands on his thighs before leaning back and allowing him a view of her treasure trove.

“Ooh, fuck. That’s right, take my shit deep.” N’Jadaka.

“Your highness, it’s so deep.”

“You like that shit?”

“Mmm, yes sir.”

“Bounce on it then” He said as his fingers dug into her ass.

Aisha used her thighs to lift her body, then gracefully slid back down his pole with her hips circling like wind in a tornado. He was caught up in her storm, eyes intensely glued to hers. Her hand came up to grab his chin and hold him in place while her other hand sneaked into his messy dreads. Without breaking eye contact, she leaned down to kiss him and lightly snuck her tongue in his mouth. The kiss was soft and sweet as she grinded her hips slowly into his. They moaned into each other's mouths and climbed towards their peaks together.

“Mmm you feel so good your highness. How do I make you feel?”

“Like I’m on cloud nine babygirl. You got some strong juju in this pussy, I can feel it.”

Their foreheads leaned against each other and she picked up her pace, slamming her ass down on his lap.

“Keep that up and Im cumming in that pussy”

“Please, my prince. Cum inside me.”

At her command, his body convulsed and he released his seed deep inside her. She pulled up and only rode the tip of his dick, making him release a whine-like moan into the crook of her neck while his dick throbbed once more, pushing out the very last bit of semen his body could provide. Aisha’s pussy clenched and she let loose a deluge of her juices onto the prince before sinking back down and relaxing onto him. Their bodies still connected, they stared into each others eyes and took deep breaths in and out until they calmed their heart rates down.

“How do you feel now, my prince?”

“Call me N’Jadaka.”

“Alright, then. How do you feel, N’Jadaka?”

He paused to think about it, leaving them in silence for a minute. Still inside her, his fingers aimlessly traced patterns into her hips while her fingers lightly ran through his hair. She laid her head against his chest and he placed his chin on top of her head. He had never been held like this before. So calm, so close.

“Lighter. Open. Tired.”

They both laughed at that last one.

“Lighter and open how?”

“I don't know how to explain it, I just- don't feel as heavy and closed off in my spirit.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, I just-,” N’Jadaka began to tear up and Aisha brought her hand up to wipe them away as they fell. She gave him the time to let it all out. When he was able to talk again, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

“How what could, N’Jadaka?”

“Living.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and they continued to talk for a few more minutes before they finally parted. Aisha walked N’Jadaka back though the temple to retrieve his clothes and when they said goodbye neither wanted the other to leave.

“I am sure I will see you again, my prince?”

“Come on with that ‘my prince’ shit.” he said with a smile, causing her to send him one right back. He pulled her in for a hug and they both took in each other's scent.

“Be safe getting back, N’Jadaka.”

“I’ll see you around.” He kissed her cheek and turned to leave, nearly tripping over a black ball of fuzz.

“Isa? Hey lil mama, what’s good?”

The cat purred and rubbed on his legs.

“It looks like she likes you. You know what that means?” Aisha leaned down to pet Isabis, too.

“Nah, what?”

“You’re pure of heart-”

He looked at her and his eyes got misty before he noticed a smaller black fuzz ball making it’s way over to him.

“-and she finds you worthy enough to care for one of her babies.” Aisha answered with a smile.

“Aww, Isa.” He said as the cat moved to lick the kitten on it’s head before turning back to the prince. He reached out to greet his new friend but was beat to it by the kitten jumping into his large hand.

“It looks like she’s happy with her mama’s decision.” Aisha looked on with pride. This man had transformed right before her eyes and she couldn't be happier for him and his progress. “Do you have a name for her?”

He looked at the little black kitten intently.

“Nah, she’ll tell me what it is eventually.”

The two smiled at each other and exchanged kisses on the cheek once more before the prince was off to the palace with his new fur baby.

____________

“Someone seems to be in a good mood,” Shuri teased the moment he walked in the door.

“Hello to you too, beanstalk.” N’Jadaka threw it right back at her, and fully expected her to make some jab at his scars but the kitten distracted her.

“Bast, she’s adorable! Where did you find her?”

“The temple.”

“Ohhhhh, I’ve heard they have kittens everywhere!”

“Yeah you still got a couple more years before you get to visit all these cute little guys. Isn’t that right….” N’Jadaka paused, thinking a name would come to him. “Damn, nothing.”

“What's the problem?”

“I can’t think of a name. I don't want to just be like ‘hey cat come here’, you know?”

“I get it, but once she shows you her personality it’ll be easier to name her.”

“Name who?!” Nakia rounded the corner with a scowl on her face.

Without a word, the prince held up his new kitten and her face softened. She immediately grabbed the kitten and sat down with her on the couch.

“She’s the cutest! Did you get her from the temple?”

N’Jadaka cleared his throat, not necessarily wanting to go into details with these two. Especially with Shuri’s young ears around.

“I did. There’s a cat that fosters the kittens-”

“Isa? Oh how is she?”

He chuckled at Isabis’ popularity.

“She’s fine, she pushed this one on me and now here we are.”

“I understand, T’Challa and I have two that run our lives. Once this baby gets here I fear we will be outnumbered.”

“What’s T up to anyway? I want him to meet his new little cousin.”

“He’s in his office getting some work done”

“Bet. Can I have my child back please?”

Nakia kissed the kitten’s head and reluctantly handed her back to N’Jadaka.

“Thank you!” He waved goodbye as the kitten climbed up his arm to lay on his broad shoulders. Neither of the three of them could contain their ‘awww’s.

The prince made it to T’Challa’s office on the business side of the palace. The guards saluted him and after he saluted back he noticed their ear to ear smiles. He felt a tug and realized they were smiling at his kitten trying to play with his hair.

He walked in, interrupting what appeared to be a meeting on the screens in front of him. He recognized several of the faces as Avengers.

“My bad…”

He tried to slip back out the doors, but T’Challa stopped him.

“Nonsense, you should join-” The king paused at the adorable sight before him. “Actually, meeting adjourned. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

As the Avengers screens went black, N’Jadaka sat in the chair across from his cousin. As soon as he got close, the kitten leapt from his shoulder to the king’s desk.

“So I take it your time at the Temple was fruitful, umzala.”

“Fruitful? Nigga I almost fell in love and I came home with a child.”

“Love?”

“I mean, I know it's nothing because they do this all the time but damn she was something else.”

The kitten had taken to T’Challa, naturally, and began to climb up onto his shoulder.

“You’re correct that they are professionals, but that doesn’t mean a spark wasn’t felt. Our grandmother was a Daughter of Bast. She chose to leave the temple when she married our grandfather, but that was how they met.” The king explained while play-fighting with the kitten on his shoulder.

“I didn’t think that was possible...so they're not married to Bast or something like that?”

“No, they are free agents. Some of them stay Daughters after marriage or children. Several leave and come back. Bast is the goddess of pleasure, and how unpleasurable would it be to force everyone into the same box?”

N’Jadaka nodded slowly, trying to wrap his brain around the new information.

“So have you named her yet?”

“Nah, I figure it’ll come to me. I can already tell she’s a handful.” He said as they watched the kitten jump down and begin chasing her tail, falling over in the process.

“So back to the temple. Who did you see?”

“Aisha.”

“I can’t say I know of an Aisha, I haven’t been in so long. Every time I go, Isa tries to push more kittens on me, and I hate denying her.”

N’Jadaka chuckled at the thought of Isabis and the king’s interactions.

“So this Aisha, are you planning on seeing her again?”

“Hell yes. How soon is too soon to go back?”

“You can go back whenever, but I would suggest waiting until you feel it is the right time.”

The prince thought over it for a moment before responding.

“I saw her before I met her. In a daydream. Then when I saw her in person I felt this warm pulling in my stomach like-”

“Like a chain pulling you towards her. Yes, I am familiar.” A goofy smile appeared on T’Challa’s face as he thought of his wife.

“So you get it?”

“I do, but does she?”

_______________

On the other side of Wakanda, Aisha lowered herself into a fragrant bath and thought over her day. She had told herself it would be an off-day, but then when she saw the prince she felt something in her gut tell her to go to him. When he kissed her hand ‘hello’ she nearly melted at the touch of his skin on hers. She wasn’t used to experiencing those feelings from patrons.

When she caressed and massaged his body, she could feel the pain melt away. When she rode him she could feel his soul opening up and she gladly stepped through the door. She could feel his emotions and she opened herself to him, allowing him to feel hers. When they came together, she saw constellations in his chestnut eyes.

She stayed in the bath, daydreaming about Prince N’Jadaka until the water ran cold. When she emerged from the water, she air dried her body and covered herself in cocoa butter before lowering herself to the floor for her nightly prayers to the goddess.

Aisha pulled back her sheets and slid in naked. She laid there for an hour, mind racing over all the possibilities, before sleep finally took her in for the night.

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #the temple #n'jadaka x oc #n'jadaka #erik killmonger #black panther fic

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imaginaryari · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Show

Part One

The prisoner looks up as her least favorite cop comes into the interrogation room. Officer Warren has awards for rounding up the enhanced, people like Silver. He walks and talks like a man the people respect and fear. Talks to the enhanced like they’re close on first name bases and revels in the fact that he put them in their cells. What she would give to lay one finger on him. That’s all she needs. Unfortunately, her hands are gloved and bound because officer Warren also knows that.

“To what do I owe the pleasure officer.” She asks.

“How would you like to get out here?”

It’s a trap. Silver knows this. The enhanced don’t get second chances especially not from officer Warren.

“Wasn’t I supposed to rot in here? Just as you said?” Silver asks.

Officer Warren gives her a sick grin. “I thought you would be interested in parole but if you aren’t...there’s plenty of you in here. “

The promise of seeing the outside world again would sway anyone.

“How can I trust you?”

Officer Warren beckons one of the guards. “Remove her cuffs.”

“Sir?”

“Now, please.” Warren orders.

Silver immediately rubs her wrists when the cuffs click open. The relief is almost overwhelming. She quickly reminds herself not to do anything stupid, no matter how satisfying it would be to knock Warren’s lights out.

“There’s a group of enhanced kids going around and robbing people. Messing with their heads. You’re fond of doing that so I thought this would be the perfect way to end your sentence.” Warren had said as he escorted her out.

Silver squints. Nothing about that story adds up. Robbing civilians while common isn’t a team effort especially if you can mess with minds and memory. A group would actually draw more attention and a tight knit one wouldn’t take the risk of losing a member to officials.

Unless your Silver’s ex. Hm. Things are starting to make sense.

“You’ve tried to catch them before.” Silver states.

Warren doesn’t even look ashamed admitting his failure. “Physical powers are one thing. Mental ones are harder. But from my experience you can catch ‘em with a little trust.” He begins to walk away, leaving Silver at the gates. “You have three weeks.”

—

It’s no fancy hotel, barely a motel, but it’s a place and it’s furnished. Officer Warren had said it was hers for as long as it took her to finish her task. Silver won’t complain, before she was arrested, she was constantly couch surfing. Never out staying her welcome and never spending too long on the streets. She had made friends this way but contacting them was out of the question. Getting caught means getting blacklisted. A means of protecting themselves. Well, Silver had been thrown under the bus. Semantics. She won’t see them again and hopefully they’re doing okay.

She shakes her head, never mind that. She has a job to do and extraordinarily little to go on.

The neighborhood is different. She didn’t expect it to be quite the same after lock-up but the changes are more than jarring. New buildings going up, less of the spots her old friends used to hang. Silver is so sure the neighborhood has been purged of the enhanced until she decides to hit up one of the cafés. She stares at it; upset she can’t remember what it used to be and then enters reading the weirdly named drinks on the menu.

“Are you new around here?” another patron asks.

“Not exactly,” Silver says with a shrug, eyeing the stranger. He’s handsome even if he looks like he should have taken a sip of his drink before speaking. The bags under his eyes scream exhaustion but he still sounds awake. And happy about it. “It’s just a while since I’ve been round here.”

“Ah, try the mint hot chocolate. It’s a crowd favorite.”

“Is that what you’re having?”

He chuckles. “No…this is way too caffeinated for the masses.”

“Is the inevitable crash worth it?” She asks.

“Always.” He says as Silver is called next to order. “See you around.” The stranger says exiting. She thinks about the encounter for hours afterwards. The enhanced were still around even if they were muted.

—

She finds what she’s looking for the next day, right before the sun sets. It’s a large tent set up in a nearby park. Big enough to draw attention but lacking the actual necessities to pass as a real circus. No animal trailers, no confection stands. To anyone paying attention there’s no possible way it could have been set up so quickly. Definitely the work of the enhanced.

Civilians flock to the tent with the promise of entertainment. Silver by-passes the line and taps a potential viewer on their shoulder. “You don’t really want to see this show, right? I can take that ticket off you.” The man blinks and then hands over his ticket. Silver quickly takes it and makes her way to her seat.

The spotlight lowers, illuminating what has to be the ringleader. He’s barely dressed for the occasion. Top hat donned but instead of a blaring red jacket, a black T-shirt with a tuxedo print and black jeans contrasting nicely with white sneakers.

“Hello everyone. Welcome to your wildest dreams. I’ll be your guide. Whenever you need me you can shout More!” Silver snorts at the corny introduction but still applauds with the crowd. It takes a moment but she recognizes him. The man from the café with the over caffeinated drink. Interesting. So far he’s just the host, maybe the leader of this whole operation, but Silver can’t place an ability just yet.

“Please give a round of applause to our first act, Mirage, master of illusion.”

Silver is willing to bet he’s the one responsible for the tent. His set isn’t too extravagant; he just has smoke and card tricks. It’s what he does with them that counts. Shifting the smoke to look like a bird that soars over the crowd. It lands ever so gently on the empty seat in front of one of the viewers. The spotlight shifts to them, a young boy, and he offers a nervous smile, not prepared for the attention. The guest looks to Mirage who gives a cocky smile. “Blow it away.” He instructs through his mic. With a shrug he does. The smoke dissipates to reveal a real bird. A stark white dove. The young boy reaches for it face lit up in wonder, but it takes off landing right on Mirages shoulder. He pets it to prove its real and the dove seems to love it. However, it then dissipates into smoke after Mirage blows on it. That confirms it for Silver, the dude simply makes illusions.

“I need a volunteer for my next trick.” Mirage says.

He and More look around at the audience and More locks eyes with Silver. There’s a connection, a shock of understanding, and something else she can’t quite place before he says, “You, cutie with the hood. Would you like to help Mirage?”

Silver nods unable to break eye contact.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple card trick.” Mirage says, a deck of cards pulled from his pockets. Silver keeps her head down and her hood on as she walks into the ring. She wasn’t supposed to draw attention. More finally backs away giving Mirage the stage.

It is a simple card trick, with a lot of flourish. Silver selects a card, memorizes it, puts it back in the deck. Mirage is skilled making the cards seem to dance, shuffling and tossing them even pulling some from behind Silver. Sleight of hand can be learned, however,

“Is this your card?”

“It sure looks like it!” Silver says, and the audience applauds. Her choice in words don’t go unnoticed by Mirage. He smiles, like he just learned a juicy secret and gestures for Silver to return to her seat.

More passes her on his way back to the stage and gives her a similar smile to Mirage’s. She can’t help but feel she shouldn’t have done that.

“Our next act goes by Charlie. He doesn’t say much but he’s loads of fun!”

Silver immediately understands how the next act earned his name. Charlie dances out, encompassing Chaplin’s energy. He dons a similar top hat to More, and shirt except his is white instead. More comments on this with a laugh. “Clearly one of us has to change!” As corny as Silver finds More, she can’t say she’s not amused. Charlie looks More up and down, and then gets into a stance. He’s posed like a batter on home base and leans back and forth on his toes. He swings and More ducks, his top hat flying across the ring as if a real bat had hit it. The trick ears them impressed gasps and amused giggles from the audience. From Silver it earns a disbelieving stare. She’s never seen an enhanced like Charlie yet.

Charlie continues, his set like any traditional mime. Tripping over objects that aren’t there, pushing invisible walls, overexaggerating his facial expressions. Except Silver thinks, knows, he isn’t. There is a wall the audience can’t see. Silver can’t prove it, and wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining Charlie to officer Warren.

“Give it up for Charlie everyone!” More says shaking Silver from her thoughts. Charlie leaves the stage with the same comedic swagger and a wave.

“Now our next act is unfortunately our last. But we always go out with a bang! Please welcome to the ring, Star!”

With the snap of More’s fingers the lights go out. Another snap and they’re back, along with a woman sitting on a trapeze. She’s beyond beautiful, it could be the lighting, or the slight shimmer she has, but she’s captivating all the same. Her hair is pulled into two puffs and her smile dazzles the audience. Silver notes that there is no apparent netting beneath her, that should be concerning.

The music starts, a haunting melody punctuated by a bass that Silver feels in her chest. Star is flying above the audience on her trapeze. She hangs by her legs and lets her arms hang. If Silver focuses, she can see what looks like dust, her charisma spills off of her, entrancing the audience. She makes another mental note, three out of four isn’t bad. Maybe she wrong about him being enhanced. He could just be the fall guy if this all goes to shit. Authorities like Warren wouldn’t keep a powerless civilian. It’s smart. The doubt lingers. She knows what she felt.

Silver almost misses the end. Stars trapeze returns to the ring and she waves before letting go and falling to the ground. The audience gasps bracing for an impact that never comes. Star vanishes in a puff of smoke that settles all over the ring. The applause is stuttered out, the crowd is impressed and worried.

When the smoke clears the applause picks back up as all the performers are safe, taking their bows.

“Thank you all for coming!” More says. The lights go out. When they come back on the group is gone. Well, that’s one way to end things.

“Like the show?” A voice comes up from behind Silver. She’s just as dazzling up close and silver can see how she captivates the audience. The charisma wisps around her like smoke.

“Sure did. Wasn’t expecting to be part of it though.”

“Yeah, More can be a bit impulsive,” Star says apologetically. She steps closer to whisper. “But his guess was right! You are like us.”

“All of you? Special?”

“Yup!”

“What gave me away?”

“You didn’t immediately fall for my charm.”

“...really?”

“That and More caught you using your gift to get a ticket.”

“Also caught her struggling to order at the café,” More says rounding on them. “We should stop meeting like this.”

#mine #short story #circus story #writing #a story in 3 parts #its rough idc

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bi-dazai · 3 years

Text

okay while we're on the subject of eating healthy and exercising, I want to vent/talk about weight loss. This is gonna be a rly controversial, very personal and extremely long post but I do want to make a point. I'm not going to discuss every fucking nuance of haes or my EDs. But for clarity, know that my eds are complicated and were mostly osfeds - minor anorexia osfed in high school and bed osfed when I was 18-19. after i realised how fat i was the minor anorexia came back and over the pandemic it became full scale anorexia nervosa.

I'm 5'3. The healthy weight range I should be in is in the high 40s-low 50s. I went up to TWICE that by the time I was just nineteen years old. It wasn't fun being fat. I consumed as much fat acceptance, fat activism content as I could, I pretended I was confident and happy even when I was fat. But I wasn't. Because people don't just get obese accidentally. A little overweight, yes. But obese? No. You get obese from depression, from giving up. You don't want to move so you don't. You're sad all the time, and the body positivity circles say eat comfort food, whatever and as much as it makes you feel better!! Do you know what that is? That's encouragement of BED. Do not say that. Because I did that. I ate sugar and junk food, I was still depressed.

I was reading these posts that were claiming fat people shouldn't be weighed at the doctor, that your weight shouldn't count, that BMI is incorrect and doesn't matter, etc etc. There were posts saying that they got "perfect bloodwork" (what even is that? I knew that was wrong, I've had chronic iron deficiency for a decade!) even though they were fat, so they had to be healthy, right? I got shown pictures of obese ballerinas and obese weightlifters blah blah blah. And I grew and grew, and I got to almost 85kg on the fast track to 100kg before reality smacked me in the face and I realised I was shortening my lifespan by decades.

Here's what it was like being obese!

- joint pain, constantly

- could barely walk anywhere without feeling out of breath

- couldn't find any fashionable, good quality clothes (plus size stores either carry unfashionable clothing, or fashionable but cheap quality clothing. I don't like to waste money on cheap clothes)

- more acne than I'd had in years

- oily skin

- more difficulty feeling "full"

- JOINT FUCKING PAIN

- rashes from skin rubbing against skin!

- even larger chest, making me MORE dysphoric

- back pain!!

- snoring - this is not just embarrassing. This is potentially deadly.

- DYSPHORIA

- KNEES. JOINT PAIN.

- DYSPHORIA

this was just things I felt physically, noticeably! The things that my fat was doing on the inside was even worse. Fat isn't just this layer of packing peanuts that appears on top of you. It coats your organs. It gets everywhere. It makes your entire body run worse.

Fat also makes it much more likely for you to not just GET cancer, but it it also makes it harder to FIGHT cancer. Being obese makes almost every single goddamn sickness on the planet worse because when you have THAT MUCH fat tissue the hormones and shit it secretes fucks EVERYTHING up.

Yes there are obese bodybuilders. Yes there are obese ballerinas. Let's talk about those two.

There are plenty of drs and dieticians who have pointed out the obvious - if an obese person was really, actually eating healthily and exercising every day, they would not stay obese forever. Its not magic, it's thermodynamics. CICO done right works for everyone. If you are eating healthy, appropriate portions for weight loss at your TDEE and exercising it would literally be IMPOSSIBLE for you not to lose weight!! Even more the heavier you are because when you exercise you carry around a lot more weight.

Obese weightlifters are still obese. They are not proof you can be obese and healthy. They are still going to die younger if they do not lose weight.

Let's talk about fat ballerinas. The only ones I've seen are trainee ballerinas, not professional ones. And their performance looks impressive at first, until you look closer. You notice their balance is never quite perfect, their control can be amazing and the best ever but they'll still be off. Why? Because fat moves around with your movement, and it displaces your balance and your line of movement. It's simply not possible to do something like ballet dancing as a fat person without risking major injury as well. En pointe is already stupid dangerous for the skinniest ballerina. Going en pointe at anything above 60kg is going to get progressively suckier the heavier you go. And god help your ankles because falling down will always end in a major injury.

I'm so fucking done with "fat acceptance". I'm tired of "body positivity" being a movement about obese middle-upper class white women and not about scars and disabilities etc like it was focused on in the start. I have no problems with Health at Every Size - every person should feel happy to workout, to eat healthy. I have no problem raising issue with people bullying others for their weight as well. That's wrong. But pretending that it's Healthy at Every Size is a fucking lie, and it's one that could've sentenced me to an early death. Healthy at Every Size said I was condemned to joint pain and oily skin and depression and exhaustion for the rest of my life based on cherrypicked sentences from studies that didn't agree with them. That "95% of diets fail" sentence in particular drives me up the wall. You don't need a diet to lose weight, you need healthy CICO, you need to eat below your TDEE, you need to eat healthy, and you need to exercise. All you have to do at first is go on a 10-20 minute walk, whatever pace you like, a few times a week.

You can BE fit, you CAN lose weight! You are not sentenced to having joint pain and an increased risk for cancer and a less effective COVID vaccine for life. You can change your body in incredibly ways. You have no idea what you are capable of.

There's this myth that weight loss takes keto and shakes and diet pills and crash diets etc. It doesn't. All it is is making sure you eat less than your TDEE, eating HEALTHY calories, and getting your heartrate up by exercising at least 175 minutes a week.

The human body is not meant to be obese. There's no such thing as a set point weight. There's CICO, there's nutrition, there's making sure your muscles dont atrophy. Weight loss and fitness isn't some magic thing that youre just born able to do. I was lazy throughout my entire teens. I thought fitness was something the popular girls did. It's not. It's for everyone. and everyone, especially in places with an obesity epidemic such as the US, UK, and Australia, should make use of it. It's a good thing. Walking is one of the best things you can do for your body, and it's incredibly rewarding in every way. Eating healthy and not eating until you feel like you're going to burst is rewarding in every way. And it's not like you can't ever have junk food again, you just have to limit it to a treat, a once or twice per week thing. And honestly, it makes it much more enjoyable that way.

Now I want to talk a little about my anorexia. My weight loss journey came to anorexia. This is because it was an eating disorder I'd had for a long time. I did not see a trainer or dietician, and I consciously decided to push myself too far. I consciously decide to eat less and exercise more when I am starving. This is not something that just happens because someone is eating at 1200cals. It happens because you have an eating disorder which you are born with. Saying people who eat 1200cals of healthy food a day and exercise right are "anorexic" is so fucking insulting to everyone involved. It's ableist and ignorant. 1200cals is also a pretty generous amount for anorexic ppl to eat. That's close to a binge in ED standards, so that should give you a reference for how offbase saying 1200cals is "anorexic" is.

My anorexia is healthy habits pushed into eating disorder territory. I eat healthy, yes, but I don't eat enough. I exercise, yes, but I often push myself too far when I'm already lacking energy. The advice I give people for health is correct, and I'm never going to go around saying "eat less than 1200cals" as weightloss advice. Eat less, sure, but there's a limit. Calorie counting is a good thing to do, tracking your macros and nutrients is good. But I do it too much.

I know what's healthy, a lot of ppl with restrictive and purgative EDs do. People with EDs can give some awesome health advice, we just can't follow it because we have a mental disorder. Believe it or not people with EDs discussing their EDs are not "pro-ana", pointing out that anorexia and people with anorexia are real and not some boogeyman you use to justify not losing weight and eating healthy is not pro-ana. Anorexia existing is not pro-ana and anorexics being anorexic has nothing to do with fatphobia.

this post is a rambling mess but i rly had to get some stuff clear on how I feel abt this stuff because it's getting concerning how much unhealthy shit, and then straight up ableist shit, that the fat acceptance crowd spews out.

A little exercise won't kill you, eating healthy won't kill you. You are not sentenced to ugly plus size fashion and joint pain and being out of breath for the rest of your life. Leave the Healthy at Every Size death cult and join the Health at Every Size movement. Let the doctor take your weight (it IS medically necessary). acknowledge that you are obese and it is affecting your health. It's scary but it can be the start of a new, healthy beginning. It was for me.

Losing 15kg has been the best thing in my life. Sure, the anorexia is there enjoying it for one reason. But the reason I truly enjoy it is because I've discovered what a healthier body feels like. I've discovered the joys of exercise, I've discovered the joys of eating healthy. I can fit nice clothes now. And I'm still overweight! I'm 66kg, that's 4kg away from the barest minimum acceptable healthy bmi. But I feel so so much better. I look better. I have a jawline! Good skin! Energy! It didn't fix me but it sure made me a hell of a lot better.

Please please try and eat healthy, eat an appropriate amount, go for walks. It's so so good, and if you do it right you WILL lose weight. You'll live past 50. You'll get to explore the world in a way you couldn't when going up stairs had you out of breath. You'll fit into that nice skirt you've been looking at. Your skin will clear up. You'll have energy and your mental health will improve.

It's so so fucking worth it to put effort into your health, like I cannot emphasise this enough. Please do it, I wish I could tell myself this when I was binging on junk because the FA crowd told me it was valid to comfort eat until I hurt.

#long post #this is mostly a vent but yeah #basically my decision is that im not touching any fat activism fatphobia etc with a ten foot pole #esp on this blog except to discuss my personal experience with it ie this post #personal #ok to rb #sorry for not putting it under a readmore im on mobile

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years

Text

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 8 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7)

Nixon - March 1944

The new year saw no improvement to Emily and Nixon’s relationship despite his fumbled attempts at reconciliation. Nixon felt that he went out of his way to make small talk with her, to be friendly (especially in the mornings) and to be enthusiastic about her work. Emily was outwardly friendly, to an appropriate degree, but Nixon could sense the barrier she had put up between them. When they had first met, she had been so open and warm, bordering on desperate for his friendship. Now, she made polite small talk and performed her tasks with a new rigid professionalism. Nixon couldn’t help but feel that this behavior was exclusive to him. He saw how she interacted with the men in the pub, in the mess, and on the rifle range; she didn’t seem to have a problem with any of them.

On more than one occasion Nixon found himself complaining to Winters about Emily’s insufferable behavior.

“Didn’t you find her attitude obnoxious before?” Winters asked.

“Yes, but I got used to that. Now she’s changed it up on me again! It's annoying is what it is,” Nixon said.

Winters dipped a spoon into a bowl of soup and brought it to his mouth, patiently waiting for Nixon to continue, “its the unpredictability, the mood swings! Women.” Nixon scoffed.

“Well,” Winters ate another spoonful of soup, “you were a jerk.”

Nixon’s brow furrowed, “not enough of a jerk for her to give me the cold shoulder for three months.”

“Has it been three months?”

Nixon didn’t answer. “You two still talk, I’ve seen you,” Winters said, “maybe she’s focusing on her work. It has gotten busier.”

“Yeah we talk, but not like before. And she seems to have plenty of time to talk to Harry or George Luz.”

Winters’ mouth crooked into a small, thoughtful smile, “why do you think it bothers you so much, Nix?”

Nixon caught his friends smirk, “Oh no,” he shook his head, “its not like that at all. She’s a kid. Besides, I’m invested elsewhere in this boring town."

Winters cocked an eyebrow, “so this really is just about friendship?”

“Friendship, friendliness - I just want things to go back to normal!”

Winters nodded and turned his attention back to his soup, “maybe this is the new normal.”

Nixon was running out of patience and hope. As March crept along he decided that he would simply have to come to terms with the impersonal working relationship that Winters called the new normal.

“Morning,” Nixon entered the intelligence HQ room with a manila folder already in hand. He was flipping through the aerial photos inside.

“Good morning, sir,” Emily said, barely looking up from her typewriter.

“We received some aerial photos this morning. Here look at this,” Nixon said, stretching out a black and white print to Emily.

She took it, “what’s this of?”

“Undisclosed,” Nixon said, “but we’ll be getting a lot more. Our office needs to piece the photos together and start building sand tables of the geography.”

Emily blew air out of her cheeks, “Wow, so this might be..”

“Yeah,” Nixon caught her gaze, “this might be it.”

“Okay, yeah we’ll get started on this.”

“Great.” Nixon shut the manila folder firmly and threw it on Emily’s desk. “Let me know what you need.”

  “Will do, sir.”

Nixon waited until his back was turned to roll his eyes. He hated it when she called him sir. No one else would hear it, but he could hear the contempt in her voice. She wasn’t saying sir out of respect. He knew that she was doing it purposely to annoy him. Sure, he couldn’t prove it, but he knew it.

Nixon dropped into his desk chair just as Vest entered the room with uncharacteristic hesitance.

“Uh, Miss Rooney?” Nixon’s dark eyes flicked over to Emily. An unexplainable feeling of dread grew in his stomach. It grew stronger as he saw Emily’s face change. She was sensing the difference in Vest’s energy just as he had. Vest made his way over to her desk with a letter in hand.

“A letter for you,” Vest cleared his throat, “from the war department.”

Nixon sat straighter in his chair as Vest made his awkward retreat from the room. Emily ripped the edge of the envelope with trembling hands and slowly pulled the typed letter from its folds.

Nixon watched her eyes run across the ink-black lines. His heart beat in his ears in anticipation for her reaction. Finally, Emily let out a shuddering breath and the letter dropped from her hands. Fat tears began rolling down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her mouth in an attempt to squash her sobs, her body folding in on itself as if to guard her from the world around her. Jolted into action, Nixon stood abruptly from his chair and was beside her in two strides. He positioned his body on the edge of her desk, blocking her from the curious looks from the other intelligence staff.

“What happened?” he asked in a low voice.

Emily shut her eyes tightly against the tears, she shook her head indicating her inability to speak. Instead, she held up the letter. Nixon took it and read,

Dear Miss Rooney,

The following information is provided in regards to your fiancee, Corporal John Elliott. Your fiancee sustained significant wounds of the left leg and arm and on 11 March, 1944 was reported as being in a naval hospital in London, England for further treatment. You may be sure that he is….

Nixon stopped reading as confused relief softened the knot in his stomach.   “Wounded, wounded in action,” he said.

Emily nodded. She ran her finger tips under her eyes. Her cheeks were sopping wet with tears, her eyelashes heavy with salt.

“Here,” Nixon handed her the handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s clean. Well, cleanish.”

Emily accepted it and swallowed hard, doing her best to compose herself. She patted her cheeks dry with the fold of the linen cloth.

“You okay?” Nixon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. This was their first physical interaction in months, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it. It was such a natural action considering the circumstances.

“Yeah,” she gulped, “I’m alright.” Emily exhaled, “it took me by surprise is all.”

  “Naturally,” Nixon rubbed her back.

“I don’t know why I’m such a mess,” Emily’s voice cracked with emotion.

“You don’t need to excuse your reaction,” Nixon murmured, “this is big, scary news.”

  “I thought- I just thought that it was going to say he was dead.”

“I know, I thought so too.”

“Lew, I - I was,” she hesitated.

“What?” he encouraged her.

“Never mind,” she screwed her face up as if thinking against what she was about to say. Her lips were swollen from crying, her lipstick slightly smudged from the press of her hand. “If he’s wounded I have to see if I can visit him.”

Nixon nodded, “absolutely.”  

“Do you think we could find out where he’s at?”

Nixon grimaced with uncertainty, “uhm, I mean it’s not our branch. But I’ll see what I can do.” Nixon was conflicted; this seemed awful personal for him to get involved with. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get involved with Emily’s business considering how things had been between them lately. Then again, this could be his chance to make amends, to show her that he meant well by her.

“Lewis, thank you!” her voice was full of gratitude and looking down at her red rimmed gray eyes, Nixon prayed he would be able to find the hospital easily.

A few days later Nixon interrupted Emily at lunch, which she was once again spending with Welsh.

“I found him,” Nixon announced. He expected Emily look more excited.

“Oh thank you, Nix! Where is he?” Emily asked.

Okay, back to some version of a nickname, Nixon observed. That was a good sign. “Worcestershire.”

“Who’s this?” Welsh looked between Emily and Nixon.

“Worcestershire? I thought he was in London?”

“He was. He was originally with an evacuation hospital but has since been moved to a convalescent hospital in Worcestershire.”

“Ah, okay,” Emily said.

“That’s a good thing,” Nixon said, “he’s on the mend! And Worcestershire is only north of here.”

“Who’s this we’re talking about?” Welsh asked again, this directed just at Emily.  

“Right, I guess I should go up this weekend,” Emily spoke more to herself than the men. “I guess I’ll have to make sure…” she trailed off lost in thought.

“You’ve got my permission. That’s all you need,” Nixon said.

Welsh opened his mouth again but didn’t have the chance to speak before Nixon interjected, “her fiancee Harry, we’re talking about her wounded fiancee.”

“Ah,” Harry looked down at his plate suddenly uninterested in the conversation.

“Get the train Saturday morning and plan to be back by Sunday night, okay?” Nixon rapped his knuckles on the wooden dining table. “Okay, I’ll see you both later,” and he walked off without Emily’s confirmation.

The Friday before she was set to leave Emily was a ball of nerves. She was constantly tapping her foot, or getting up to walk around aimlessly. Her restlessness was grating on Nixon’s nerves, which was the last thing he needed with the headache he was nursing.

“Would you relax?” he finally snapped.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emily stilled her foot. But then only a few minutes later her fingers began drumming against her desk. The rigid tension between them had relaxed slightly since the letter had come but Nixon still felt like he was walking on eggshells. He was worried about being too harsh with her or of saying anything insensitive. The last couple of days he had been careful to be extra kind to her. The stress of seeing her fiancee again for the first time in at least a year, and knowing that he would be both physically and mentally different than he had been, was a lot to carry. Nixon knew this. He had taken it upon himself to offset her edginess but boy was he finding that particularly difficult at that moment.

“What’re you gonna be like when we get to the continent huh?” Nixon demanded, “that’s gonna be stressful too, are you gonna be able to handle it?” So much for not being too harsh or insensitive.

Emily scowled at him from her desk, “leave me alone, Nixon. I’ll be fine when we get to the continent. Will you? Gunfire isn’t great for a hangover.”

Nixon narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t say anything more. Finally, they made it to dinner and she excused herself early due to her early departure in the morning. A peculiar sensation came over him as he watched her leave. Seeing her walk away in her woolen skirt with pieces of her dark, red-brown hair flying away from where they were pinned down felt like some sort of goodbye. An anxiety that she was leaving to join her fiancee never to come back tickled at the back of his mind. Beside him, Harry Welsh was looking after her in just the same way. Nixon couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for both of them.

Nixon didn’t have plans for the weekend. He had a loose arrangement with a beautiful young local woman but didn’t feel particularly motivated to call after her that Saturday. His mind was with Emily, worrying if she had made it to the hospital safely. He squandered the day away in bed, then the pub and during a brief window of sunshine, walking around the outskirts of town.

England was beginning to defrost into Spring. When Nixon looked out at the rolling hills of Wiltshire, he could almost pretend he wasn’t there because of a war. He might have been there to study, or to visit family friends. There was a peacefulness in the open plains that surrounded the town of Aldbourne. Every stone, field, and building held a storied past that seemed to look past the impending events as if to say I have been here before and I will be here after.

Later that night Nixon excused himself from a game of poker for a cigarette outside. It was chilly out, but he was grateful for the fresh air while it wasn’t raining. He was stood just in front of the steps leading ups to the HQ building when he spotted a figure making its way up the driveway, suitcase in hand. It was a woman’s figure and Nixon’s first thought was another nurse was coming to join the ranks. But it was such a late hour for a new member of staff to check in. As the figure grew closer he recognized her.

“Emily?” he asked in confusion. Her features became clearer as she stepped into the dim light coming from the building. There was a bizarre expression on her face. Nixon didn’t know what to think of her. “Emily?” he repeated, “what’re you doing back?”

She didn’t smile, but her countenance was calm, serene even. Her eyes were wide and bright despite the limited light. She parted her red lips and with the intonation of surprise said, “I’m free, Lew.”

#band of brothers #fanfiction #original character #as far as friends go #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #harry welsh x oc #george luz x oc #dick winters #harry welsh #george luz #hbo band of brothers

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

Text

Of Fangs and Fright

AO3

Masterpost

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

Now, being dead came with a few more complications than one might expect.

Or, well, being half dead, if you wanted to be less morbid.

Now, it wasn’t all bad. There were the cool powers. Like invisibility, flying, possession, phasing through objects, being able to convincingly look sicker than a zombie…

Anyway.

Many of these powers ghosts shared in common. So long they weren’t ghosts flickering out of existence, they possessed (heh, ghost joke) these abilities. However, simple powers weren’t the only thing ghosts shared in common.

All ghosts had some green on them, it was their ectoplasm. They all had a core of their powers, and all sentient ghosts had at least one obsession. Plus a couple of smaller traits, mostly physical.

Also, they all had fangs.

Luz had to find that out the hard way.

A loud beeping noise woke Luz from her slumber, jerking her awake as she fell off her bed. The girl groaned, sitting up and rubbing the back of her head as she blindly reached for her clock on the bed stand and turned off the alarm.

“Ow,” She whined, feeling that she’d bitten her tongue in her fall. She felt around her mouth a bit, tasting blood until something made her pause.

She gently poked her tongue around the top of her mouth, and sure enough, two teeth felt...sharper.

It pricked the tip of her tongue again and Luz grumbled, pulling herself to her feet. She figured her teeth had just gotten a bit too sharp from some wear and tear. It’s not like she was averse to biting into some weird-tasting ghosts and objects. Don’t ask.

She stepped into the bathroom and paused, looking into her mirror. It always unnerved her to look into a mirror. The dark circles around her eyes, the way she slouched, the dullness to her skin, all of it. None of it was inherently creepy, but it somehow worked. To Luz, and everyone around her, something about her seemed off. Like she was floating through the motions and was not at all there and maybe never was.

Luz shook off the existential horror of wondering if she’d be unnerving for the rest of her life and stood in front of the sink, yawning.

She froze, her mouth still hanging open.

There, resting in her mouth, were two sharp teeth.

They weren’t remarkably noticeable, in fact if she wasn’t looking for little odd things about her every other day (learning ghostly things about yourself in the middle of a fight was not fun) she never would’ve realized. But she was sure her canines weren’t that pointy before. She leaned forward, curling her lip as she inspected her teeth.

Her tongue had ceased bleeding, it was only a small mark anyway. And she could see flecks of blood still on her left tooth. She shuttered and pulled back, closing her mouth.

This was fine. A bit of sharpness to her teeth was fine. It couldn’t be all that bad.

Three days later, hunched over in her bed with an ice pack pressed to her face, Luz realized, with much regret, that she had jinxed herself.

Her teeth ached. It felt like her gums were being pushed apart from the inside, which, come to think of it, they probably were.

“Show me again,” Willow said, sitting on the bed beside Luz.

Luz sighed and took the ice away and opened her mouth. Willow squinted at her teeth for a moment before stepping back onto the floor, where Gus had a bunch of papers spread about in a weird sort of discussion board.

Luz put ice back over her mouth and watched as Willow muttered under her breath and picked up a picture of one of the ghosts, Adegast, if Luz remembered correctly, and inspected it.

“I really think this is just a regular ghost thing,” Willow said after a moment, showing the picture to Luz. “Every other ghost you’ve fought has some kind of fangs, it's not that big of a stretch to say you’d get some, too.”

“And normally, I would agree,” Luz said, wincing and holding the pack tighter. “Fangs are cool. But not when I’m human!” She exclaimed. “Er, in my human form, I guess. Is that what it's called?” She hummed, staring off in thought.

“Well, you may get lucky,” Gus piped up, taking the picture of Adegast trying to attack the camera and bringing up smaller ghost pictures. “They may just look a little abnormally sharp and that would be the end of it. There are plenty of people who have sharper canines, not everyone's teeth are flat.”

Lux relaxed with a sigh, leaning forward as she crossed her legs.

“But there’s also a possibility you could end up with teeth as long as fingers,” He said, bringing up a picture of a ghost with teeth like a saber tooth tiger.

Luz stared at the picture for a moment before groaning and falling back onto her bed. She grabbed her pillow and covered her face with it, ice pack discarded at her side.

Willow lightly smacked the back of Gus’s head.

“I’m sure it won’t get that noticeable,” Willow assured her. “Aren’t Eda’s natural teeth normal looking?”

“They’re still a bit sharp,” Luz muffled around her pillow. “The gold tooth is, and I quote, a ‘misdirection.’ Like a magician's cute assistant, you know?”

“No idea how that works, but I think I get it.” Gus nodded.

“Well, it’s not like suddenly getting pointy teeth is an immediate correlation for being a ghost, or even Phantom.” Willow insisted. “Worst case scenario, everyone thinks you're becoming a vampire, which actually would be pretty normal at this point.”

“Please be aware there is a group of goths in this school,” Luz said, tossing the pillow aside and sitting up. “And Jerbo is convinced I’m a ghost. Even if nobody believes him, people are going to ask questions about the fangs, and I’m a terrible liar! You know this!”

“I mean, you managed to hide your Phantom,” Gus pointed out.

“That’s because everyone in this town is a moron.” Willow deadpanned.

“Okay, but you have to put this into perspective. Half-ghosts aren’t a commonly known or expected thing.” Gus reminded, pushing his pictures into a pile.

“Neither are regular ghosts! Or werewolves! Or talking bone dogs! And yet, people notice that! Or at least recognize it's not normal,” Willow exclaimed, exasperated. “And only Jerbo has noticed something is off with Luz.”

“I was already pretty weird,” Luz offered, flinching and rubbing at her cheek.

“I can’t win,” Willow sighed, her shoulders sagging.

“This was never a winning situation for anyone,” Luz said matter-of-factly. “Now somebody give me the nail filer on my desk.”

“Do not file down your teeth! Why am I even telling you that?”

“My tongue is going to be so scarred--ow,”

“Maybe refrain from talking?” Willow advised gently as Luz stuck on her tongue, revealing it was lightly bleeding after she had accidentally bitten it. Again.

It had barely been a week and Luz’s growing-in fangs were proving to be more trouble than they were worth. If they were worth anything at all.

They had gotten larger, not to a scary degree, but were certainly abnormal. And she’d even begun to get two small fangs on her lower jaw,

And maybe talking about this in the school hallways wasn’t the best idea. But the group wasn’t known for their intelligence, and Willow was fried.

“Well, either her tongue will get stronger or she’ll learn how to not bite her tongue,” Gus shrugged as Luz shut her locker. “Eda managed.”

“Eda is three decades older than--ow,” Luz whined, covering her hand with ther mouth.

“What did I just say?” Willow sighed.

“Hey, four eyes!”

The group recognized that voice, and you could physically see them deflate as Luz dropped her hand. Willow sighed and mentally prepared herself.

“Here we go again,”

The sound of snickering drew their attention, to where Boscha and her A-Listers, or whatever they called themselves, was passing right by them, smug smiles plastered to their faces. Well, aside from Amity, who looked a mix between bored and mildly concerned. She caught Luz’s eye and smiled ever so slightly.

“Heard a ghost wrecked your pretty little garden recently,” Boscha said, her eyes narrowing in that sadistically gleeful way. “Aren’t you lucky Phantom decided to grace you, huh?”

Luz visibly cringed at that, giving Willow a guilty look. She’d insisted she could help Willow replant that garden, but she had declined. Numerous times.

“Things happen,” Willow shrugged, turning away and checking over her books boredly. “At least I don’t lie about seeing Phantom every other week.”

Luz and Gus glanced at each other with shared concerned looks. They subtly backed off a bit, deciding they’d rather not get involved in the weekly brawl.

“You wanna speak up, fern girl?” Boscha growled, already beginning to take a step forward.

“Leave her, Boscha.”

Amity broke from the group and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, lightly holding her back as she looked at her with a half-lidded expression.

“She’s not worth the energy. We have class soon.” She said calmly.

Boscha muttered and stepped back, shrugging off Amity. The rest of the group quickly stepped aside as Boscha stormed through, throwing a ‘you’ll be sorry!’ over her shoulder for good measure.

“I’m gonna bite her,” Luz muttered under her breath.

“You have no idea how much it pains me to tell you no,” Willow replied.

“Sorry about that,” Amity mumbled, suddenly appearing in front of the trio. Or maybe she was always there, Luz couldn’t remember.

“We’re used to it,” Gus said simply. “Honestly, I was expecting a better insult than ‘fern girl.’”

“Yeah, she's off her game,” Amity agreed as Luz giggled.

“One could say she’s…off her A game--” Luz winced, bringing her hand back up to her face.

“Boo, bad joke.” Gus shook his head distastefully.

“Are you alright?” Amity asked, frowning at Luz holding her hand up.

“Yeah! Yeah, just, uh,” Luz chose her words carefully and slowly as she quickly pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. “Bit my tongue is all,”

“We should head to class,” Willow cut in quickly, appearing next to Luz and grabbing her arm. “Like you said, it’s going to start soon and lord knows how bad our grades are already.”

“Oh, right!” Amity shook her head like she was clearing it. “I’ll see you later, guys.”

“Yeah, bye,” Luz echoed, giving a smile as Willow tugged her away.

Amity watched the three leave with a smile of her own for a moment before her eyes dipped for a moment on Luz. Her eyes widened and she did a double-take, a moment of concerned horror flashing on her features.

Luz, having a guess on what she noticed, suddenly picked up speed and darted around the hallway corner, accidentally yanking Willow with her.

“Whoa, whoa, what happened--”

“How do my teeth look?” Luz cut off Gus, opening her mouth wide. “Do they look worse?”

Willow and Gus recoiled slightly, minorly concerned as Luz worriedly shut her mouth again.

“You have...blood on your teeth,” Willow said carefully. “It, uh, kinda makes you look like…”

“A vampire,” Gus finished for her, unhelpfully.

Luz was about to poke at her teeth with her tongue, but thought better of it. She rubbed a finger instead at one of her fangs and drew it back, noticing that there was, indeed, blood on them.

“I’m going to die of blood loss at this point,” Luz groaned.

“Can you even die again--”

“Not in the mood for an existential crisis, Gus.”

“What, no witty comeback, Phantom?”

The halfa yelped as Roselle’s snarky remark was enunciated by Dottie slamming her against a building. She growled and curled her lips back, shaking the rubble off her as she rose into the air, her green eyes flashing.

Roselle’s smug look fell. Normally Phantom would be happy to see that, but typically that smug expression isn’t replaced by that of gleeful surprise.

“Phantom,” Roselle grinned, and even Dottie paused for a moment to see what her partner was pointing at.

“Don’t,”

“Phantom are you growing your baby fangs?”

“They sure don’t feel like baby--ow,” Phantom winced, sticking out her tongue as she bit it for the umpteenth time.

“Aw, wittle Phantom got her baby fangs.” Roselle cooed

“How cute!” Dottie agreed as Roselle placed her hand on her shoulder.

“I liked you better when you were trying to rip me apart,” Phantom huffed, her face glowing with blush as she crossed her arms and legs, hovering in the air.

“A word of advice,” Roselle said sweetly. “Mouthguards do wonders, if you can find one to steal. Pain medication still works on you, right?”

“Yes, yes, thank you for the words of wisdom, granny.” Phantom grumbled, giving the ghost a glare and a sneer. “Can I go back to--” Phantom flinched, fangs pricking her tongue again.

The teasing grins on both of the ghostly womens faces only widened and Phantom sharpened her glare, electricity sparking through her.

“Can we fight now?” Phantom drawled out slowly, as to avoid biting her tongue again.

“Right, yes, of course,” Dottie said, nodding as she waved her hand. “Where were we, dear?” She turned to Roselle.

“I believe you were trying to throw her into a stop sign?” Roselle hummed, tapping her chin and frowning. “Or was it a pipe? One of the two.”

Phantom rolled her eyes at the two conversing and uncrossed her arms, a ball of green lightning slowly forming above her open left palm.

“No, no, I think you were--”

Lightning crackled and shot right between the two ghosts, striking the wall of an old building behind them.

They slowly looked at the indent on the wall. Then, just as slowly, they looked back at Phantom, who had landed on the ground and was in a fighting stance, another ball of electricity already building up.

“I think I remember where,” Phantom paused and curled her lip again at the pain. She threw her hands in the air. “Or for the love of--”

The lightning flew from her hands, hitting the street a good ways behind her. It exploded and shook the ground, setting off a few car alarms.

Phantom visibly shrinked at the explosion, her shoulders tense.

Dottie opened her mouth, about to say something. Phantom raised her hand quickly and silenced her.

“Not a word,”

“Kid, I don’t know what to tell ya. This is pretty natural for ghosts,”

“It is ruining my life.”

“Your dead,”

“Eda,”

“Right, right,” Eda raised her hands, stepping away from the couch Luz was dramatically laying across on her back. “Existential crisis and whatnot, my bad.”

“I’m wearing a mouthguard,” Luz growled, though it came out like a lisp. “I look like a werewolf.”

“So do I,” Eda reminded her, sitting on the end of the couch where Luz’s feet were. “And I’m doing great.” She said, curling her upper lip and flashing her non-gold fang, which was nearly as long as her golden one. The only difference was that the gold fang was crooked and hooked out of her mouth.

“You live in a shed by an abandoned brewery,” Luz lifted her hands, gesturing to the Owl House, as Eda liked to call it. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t call this the lap of luxury.”

“Eh, who needs luxury?” Eda shrugged.

“Yeesh, you give the kid a taste of the other side and suddenly your scoundrels,” King muffled, poking his head out from under the couch.

“I have been to Amity’s house once.” Luz hissed, snapping her jaws shut when she realized it came out as an actual hiss.

“Aw, now that was adorable.”

“Shut up,”

“Wait, hang on, I was talking about that time you spent in the Guys in White’s fancy van you’ve been to Amity’s house?” King whirled around, staring up at Luz in surprise.

“...I’m suddenly deaf,” Luz lisped, her voice slurred as she lay her head back against the couch armrest. “Words? I don’t know them.”

“You got into a rich girls house and you didn’t steal anything?” Eda gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “I’ve never been more betrayed in my life.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” King deadpanned.

“I’m not stealing from Amity!” Luz gasped, glaring across the couch. “She’s my friend! Go steal from her parents yourself,”

“I was given permission!” King pumped a fist in the air. Paw? Claw? Whatever you call the hands of a ghost dog with opposable thumbs.

“Now, now,” Eda grabbed King by the scruff before Luz could protest, pulling him up and holding him like that. “Be nice. Luz has to make a good impression on her crush. You don’t get a rich girl every day, you know.”

“Crush?” Luz yelped, jerking up so violently she shocked herself with her own stray lightning and fell off the couch with a thud.

“Oh right,” Eda snapped her fingers. “That’s another topic I’m not supposed to mention.” She grinned knowingly, dropping King on Luz.

Luz doubled over when King landed on her stomach, wheezing. King just looked up at her curiously before Luz lifted her head, her freckles beginning to glow green as electricity sparked around them.

“I do not have a crush on Amity! I tell you this all the time!” Luz exclaimed, feeling her face and grumbling when she was shocked again. “And now I lost my mouthguard,” She muttered, looking around for where it fell out.

Eda and King glanced at each other, mirroring the same disbelieving tired faces. But they didn’t say anything as Luz picked up King and set him aside, looking for where she spat out the mouthguard.

“Alright, we’ll drop that obvious lie for now,” Eda relented, walking up beside Luz and putting a hand on her shoulder. “But wearing a mouthguard is only gonna do so much. Sure, it’s nice to wear every now and again, but the more you get used to talking and eating with these ol’ pointers, the easier it’ll get for you.”

“But I’m a fast talker,” Luz protested. “Even if I get used to talking normally, I’m still not used to talking fast. And then I just keep on talking, and talking, and then I keep biting my tongue and then I start bleeding and--ow!” She yelped, recoiling mid-talk.

“Bit it again?”

Luz whined dramatically and turned, thunking her head against Eda’s chest. Eda stared at her for a moment before sighing and smiling as she rested a hand over Luz’s back and head.

“I know it's not fun, but that's just how life, er, this limbo we’re in is gonna be.” She said, patting her back.

“Pros and cons,” Luz muffled into her chest. “Pros, ghost things. Cons, ghost things.” She said, her words slow but enunciated.

“Welcome to my world, kiddo.” Eda chuckled.

“You don’t even fight--” Luz hissed, scrunching up her face before continuing. “--other ghosts,”

“No, but they’re still annoying.” Eda agreed.

“Oh, hey, I found the mouth thing!”

“King you better spit that out!”

In hindsight, sticking to the bottom of the Witch Hunter’s hoverboard, aka, a young ghost hunter known for not liking her, was probably not the smartest idea.

Then again, Phantom’s plans are pretty hit-or-miss.

Phantom crawled up the bottom of the hoverboard, peeking up. The dark purple coloring of the Witch Hunter’s suit nearly blended in with the night sky above her, and she clearly wasn’t paying attention.

With a mischievous grin, Phantom slowly gripped the front end of the board and leaned up, laying her chin on the end.

“Hey,”

The Witch Hunter yelped, whirling her head down as the hoverboard skidded to a stop. Phantom wasn’t prepared for that and went flying out from underneath the board, hitting the flat roof of a building and rolling right off the edge.

But hey, at least the metal trash cans broke her fall.

Phantom groaned, attempting to peel herself out of the trash bags and pulling a banana peel off her head in disgust. She heard a snort and looked up.

The Witch Hunter was crouched on the edge of the roof, peering over. The black plastic screen over her face on the suit hid her expression, but Phantom just knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Alright, so maybe I deserved that,” Phantom relented, kicking away the last of the trash and floating up.

The Witch Hunter quickly leaned back as Phantom placed her hands on the edge of the roof, leaning on it slightly as the rest of her body was suspended by nothing in the air.

“But still, you gotta get better at noticing when I’m around.” Phantom chuckled with a grin, shaking her head.

In a flash, an ectogun was being pointed at her face, right between her eyes.

Phantom’s face dropped slightly, her eyes crossing as she looked down the barrel of the gun. Her eyes then went back to the Witch Hunter, who was still on her knees, but holding the ectogun in a way that said she wasn’t afraid to use it.

“I can never have a single moment of fun with you, can I?” Phantom sighed.

“And yet, you still succeed.” The Witch Hunter said, putting a finger on the trigger.

“I appreciate you trying to put a stop to that. You took the job everybody wanted but nobody was brave enough to try as diligently. Bravo,” Phantom nodded solemnly.

“I wish you luck,” She blinked, a smirk growing.

The Witch Hunter stared at her for a moment. Then another. She glanced around slowly before looking back to Phantom, who was still in the same position as before.

“Okay, two things,” The Witch Hunter said. “One, what am I waiting for?”

“What?” Phantom looked down at herself, inspecting her hand.

“Oh,” She deflated, looking back up to the Witch Hunter sheepishly. “I still haven’t mastered the whole ‘invisibility on command’ thing.”

“...I genuinely can’t tell if your stupid or bad at planning,” The Witch Hunter said, sounding like she was rolling her eyes.

“Fifty fifty on that,” Phantom raised a hand and tilted it.

“Secondly, what is with your teeth?” The Witch Hunter said, leaning her head forward slightly. “Is everyone getting weird teeth today?”

“Oh come on!” Phantom groaned, throwing her head back. “I just forgot about them!”

“What?” The Witch Hunter lowered her ectogun slightly.

“It’s been an issue all week,” Phantom complained, swinging her legs over the side of the roof and sitting on the edge, crossing her legs. “I forget about the fangs, I can talk easier. But when I think about them, I--” She flinched, hissing as she felt a prick.

“...that’s what you're worried about right now?” The Witch Hunter said disbelievingly.

“I’m bad at picking my battles,” Phantom shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve cursed me. You owe me compensation.”

“The hell I do!”

“If there is a hell, I’ll be sure to inform them of your grievances,” Phantom waved her hand casually. “But on the plus side, I’m getting better at not biting my to--ow,”

“You’re a ghost,” The Witch Hunter deadpanned, getting to her feet with a sigh. “Shouldn’t it be normal to have fangs? Why didn’t you have them before?”

“Well I’m sorry but I’m a little new to all this,” Phantom huffed, floating up in the air, her legs still crossed, as well as her arms.

The Witch Hunter paused, looking over the ghost. It was only then Phantom realized that she, a ghost, had stated she was new to being one.

Phantom wished she could see her expression. Not being able to tell what she looked like at that exact moment felt like a nightmare.

“Phantom, are you--”

The halfa darted forward, flying around the Witch Hunter at blinding speeds and proceeding to kick the ectogun out of her grasp, sending it sliding to the other side of the roof.

“Little slow today, aren’t we?” Phantom quickly recovered, suddenly popping up right in front of the Witch Hunter’s face with a wide grin, fangs exposed.

The Witch Hunter grunted as she grabbed a small ectoblade (they really needed to get more original with these names) from her suits belt and swung it at Phantom.

Phantom flew a few feet away, cackling. She landed by the ectogun and kicked it up with her foot, trying to catch it midair but fumbling with it for a few moments instead.

“Somebody ought to put a muzzle on you,” The Witch Hunter muttered, taking a step back towards her hoverboard, which lay on the ground a little ways away.

“Why?” Phantom grinned, tossing the ectogun somewhere off the roof where the Witch couldn’t get to it. “Scared I’m gonna bite you?” She taunted, holding her hands behind her back and leaning forward, though she still remained a few feet away.

The Witch Hunter made a noise that sounded close between a yelp and a gargle. Almost strangled as she nearly dropped her blade.

“Oh wait, actually,” Phantom frowned, looking at the ground for a moment. “Could I bite people? Or would that give them ghost powers?” She mumbled, looking at her hands. “Am I a vampire ghost?”

The ectoblade flew right by Phantom’s head, ruffling her hair. She stiffened as the blade managed to somehow embed itself into the roof behind her, just before it hit the edge.

Phantom raised her head, spotting the Witch Hunter grabbing what appeared to be a regular silver ball from her belt. She pressed a button on the ball, transforming it into a portable ectogun.

“...okay, that’s kinda cool.” Phantom admitted.

“You have five seconds,”

Phantom took the hint and in mere seconds, shot off. She dropped out of sight beyond the roof without a word.

The Witch Hunter sighed, relaxing her arm and sagging. She watched the place where Phantom had vanished for a few more moments before turning around.

And almost crashed face-first into bright, sparking green eyes.

“I almost--ow,” Phantom whined, sticking out her tongue as the Witch Hunter jumped back.

Phantom had somehow managed to silently float behind her and was hovering in the air, upside down and at eye-level with the young ghost hunter.

“I almost forgot,” Phantom said, her voice lisp-y as she kept the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth so as to avoid biting it again. As well as revealing its neon green color, and the fact it was beginning to become split like a snake.

Phantom probably didn’t realize that was happening yet.

Not that the Witch was looking.

“I will see you,” Phantom said, flipping over in the air so she was rightside up, slowly floating backwards. “On the fright side.” She said, winking and giving finger guns.

“Get out of here!” The Witch Hunter snapped, grabbing another silver ball from her belt and chucking it at the ghost.

Phantom yelped and got knocked in the head, complaining as she finally took off, down the streets of the town.

“I’m hilarious and you know it!” She called behind her.

“You are not!”

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

Magnus Archives/BNHA (1)

Fandoms: Crossover between The Magnus Archives & My Hero Academia

Characters: Jon and Martin (friendship)

Summary: Jon and Martin are reincarnated into the BNHA universe after failing to prevent the apocalypse. They compare their quirks to their respective Entities.

Will probably post on ao3 at some point.

(Part 2 here)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“They registered my quirk as Veracity you know.”

“Veracity?”

“Yes. Quite abstract. I suppose they thought they were being poetic…” Jon mutters, bitterness colouring his tone. He stares out at the playground, watching his age mates run about in a boundless display of youthful energy and innocent excitement.

From his place on the bench beside him, Martin hums, halfway between sympathetic and thoughtful, “I think it’s a nice name. It softens the edges a bit.”

“I should have expected it…to have a quirk like this… after we saw what your one did,” he curls his small child hand into a fist, “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

Quirks. The strange and wondrous abilities gifted to people of their new reality. Jon had hoped, when he hadn’t presented with one at the usual age of four, that he would remain quirkless. He had suffered enough with having terrifying abilities in his previous life. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t get his wish.

Martin reaches out, hesitates, then pats him lightly on the knee, “You’re taking it a lot better than me. At least you didn’t breakdown and spend the night in hospital.”

“I suppose,” he frowns, glancing sideward, “Though our situations are hardly comparable.”

Martin’s quirk put any person he touched with both hands into a fog-filed, alternate dimension/temporal pocket. Its similarity to The Lonely had been poorly received by both of them. Especially, considering Jon had been the one to suffer through its first accidental activation. While he had found himself lost and alone in a grey, fog filed, void, a hysterical Martin had been rushed to hospital. There the doctors had had to wait for him to calm down enough that a Quirk specialist could walk him through the process of reversing the effect.

“You thought you had trapped me for good. Of course, you would take that poorly.”

The quirk specialist had banally called it ‘Cloud Prison’ like it wasn’t the residue of a primordial fear god leaking into their new reality. Not even six years of a second life could dull the pain and terror that had been their final moments before the apocalypse. To suddenly have such a stark reminder shoved in their faces had shaken them both.

“I would never have done that to you on purpose,” Martin murmurs, probably drawing the same connection as Jon, “It just happened so suddenly…”

“Yes, well, I am now painfully aware of how volatile and uncontrollable a quirk can be.”

Martin winces, “Does it activate every time you ask a question? You can’t control it at all?”

“It seems to be automatic. If I ask anyone a question they must answer truthfully. There is also a lovely mental component,” He lets his resentment grow, “so I can feel their unease when they answer. I’ll know if the person is trying to fight or when they’re trying to leave out an important detail. It is very similar to…before.”

He grits his teeth. There were no Entities in this word, aside for the residue that lived in their memories but sometimes that could be just as bad. The last thing his recovering mind needed was a reminder of how he had slowly lost his humanity.

“I also feel them. The people I trap alone in the fog.” Martin adds and shivers, “It’s horrible.”

“Yes. It is.”

They both sit in silence as the light began to fade.

Their time at the park is almost done. Soon they would have to return to the foster home they both shared. Jon, being a mentally unstable adult trapped in the body of a child, had been too much for a young single mum who had never wanted children. He barely remembers her leaving him at a local shopping centre being hardly old enough to walk at the time. Martin’s parents had died in a villain attack, because, alongside fantastical powers, this reality was full of brightly coloured Heroes and Villains like they had woken up inside a comic book. Six years in and it still felt too surreal to be real.

“Well, we don’t have to use our quirks. It’ll just never touch anyone with both hands, and I’ll ask all your questions for you so you won’t have to worry either.”

Jon scoffs, “You can get away with wearing gloves. No need for anything dramatic.”

“You know what I mean Jon.”

“Reo,” he interrupts, “please remember to call me Reo. We already attact more attention than is probably good for us.”

They weren’t Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims anymore. That life was behind them. Here, they were Jiro Shirakumo and Reo Tsukauchi and the sooner they acclimatised to using their new names the better. Maybe, one day, he would even start feeling like ‘Reo’ and ‘Jon’ would fade away like a bad dream.

“You’re one to talk. We would attract less attention if you would loosen up a bit. I mean, I’m not perfect, but kids don’t talk so formally.”

“I would rather not suffer through the indignity of dumbing myself down on top of everything, thank you very much.”

“It’s not that bad. Why are you always so prickly?” Martin pokes him in the shoulder, grinning now, forcing Jon to shuffle away, “Normal kids smile every now and then you know.”

“I think you enjoy being a ‘normal’ kid a bit too much.” Martin had settled into his second skin with more grace than Jon had. Not that he was trying very hard.

A laugh, “Well yeah, I mean, no responsibilities, no nightmare monsters, no conspiracies, no apocalypse. It’s nice.”

“Oi Jiro!”

A heavy-set kid, two years their senior, stomps up and glares at them, “you and the weirdo coming or what because I don’t want to miss dinner again,”

“He has a name you know,” Martin reprimands, smile quickly turning into a stern frown, “Maybe you should try using it.”

“Tch. Whatever. Mrs Suzuki said to be back by five and I’ll get in trouble if I leave you losers behind, so you better hurry up.” The boy storms away, back to his group of friends, who all look their way and laugh.

“I don’t remember kids being so mean when I was young the first time around,” Martin complains, standing and brushing himself down, “You would think they’d have better things to do.”

He shrugs. Child bullies were so far beneath him that he barely registers when they shout insults at him, shove him into walls or knock books out of his hand. Not like he didn’t deserve a little hardship after dooming his entire world. Besides, Martin took offence enough for the both of them, getting into plenty of arguments on Jon’s behalf. Of course, now they both had somewhat threatening quirks, their fellow housemates were a lot wearier when it came harassing him.

“Come on.” He stands as well, “I for one do not want another lecture.”

“Mrs Suzuki does like to drag them out,” Martin agrees as they trail along behind the older kids.

Their neighbourhood is full of two-story apartment blocks and tightly packed houses which line the relatively quiet streets. It is only a short ten-minute walk from the park to the share-house and one he is intimately familiar with seeing as his carers force him to take it twice a week for ‘the exercise.’ At least the weather is pleasant here.

In the fading light of the afternoon Martin’s wispy, cloud-like hair and blue pupilless eyes catch the glow so they are almost orange. Martin’s strange physical features had become more pronounced since his quirk’s activation. Apparently, it was genetic, something a quick glance at the few photos Martin had of his biological family confirmed. This world sported many people with odd features and he just hoped that his own plain appearance, straight black hair and dark eyes, would remain that way. All he wanted was fade into the background and live his second life as peacefully as possible.

...

(Part 2 here): Jon learns more about his truth-quirk and deals with other people learning about his truth-quirk.

#the magnus archives #tMa #jon sims #martin blackwood #bnha #Baku no hero academia #CrossOver #angst #reincarnation #they are both about six years old in this fic #loney martin #the eye jon #fanfic #Hero/Archivist Au

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theimperialnuisance · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021 Day 1

// FFXIV Write Info // Prompts // Master post //

(Heads up, this is LONG. I got kind if carried away as this is an ORGIN STORY! : D Set before ARR so Kien is 18 but is not known by that name just yet. Mentions of speculated physical and mental abuse if you squint. Some of my personal headcanon’s of Meracydia are present in this! I hope you enjoy!)

Day 1 Forster

bring up (a child that is not one's own by birth).

encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good).

Ranald had been to his fair share of places since becoming a merchant, but no place struck him as interesting as Meracydia.

It was a place people scarcely traveled to as it had been rendered a wasteland ever since the Allagan Empire declared war there during the last years of the Third Astral Era; a lot of regions were still uninhabitable to this day and those regions that could be lived in consisted of a rather recluse population that would attack any outsider on sight. However, some of the natives were still open to trade as certain materials from Eorzea were highly sought after and the rare gems found on the southern continent could sell for a hefty sum of Gil in Eorzea but one wrong move in the eyes of the natives meant an ambush or death, so Ranald never stayed for long or ventured too far from the shores whenever he decided to come around to try his luck with a trade.

With every visit, the Hyur could never quite comprehend how natives still lived on the southern continent. The water was always cloudy and murky and the sky was ochre in color with the sun permanently hidden behind a thick haze. The land itself was barren and dry—what remains of standing trees were bare and splintered while the rest were deduced to blackened stumps. In some places, there were remains of structures but none of them were in one piece and most of them were reduced to rubble, but he certainly felt prying eyes on him at several instances and he shuddered to think of who—or what—could be roaming around the ruins.

He and his three fellow traders had been in Meracydia for the better part of three nights with no luck when Ranald finally made the decision to call it quits and leave before any sort of ambush befell them; It was already risky enough to travel without a tribe’s trust to trade with and staying any longer than the initial welcome was just begging for an attack. As he turned to follow his fellow shipmates up the ramp, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; someone had been watching him.

“Who goes there?” Ranald quickly unsheathed his daggers and whipped around, expecting to come face to face with a tribe ready to ambush them but was mildly surprised to find a young Miqo’te staring back at him. He seemed just as startled as Ranald was, his own bow drawn at the ready and a hand resting on the quiver on his back as if he was about to draw an arrow.

“Wait! Wait!” The Miqo’te said hurriedly but still didn’t lower his weapon. “You’re a trader, aren’t you?” His accent was thick but his Common was easy to understand causing more confusion to the Hyur. Usually, it was always the other way around; the natives expected outsiders to understand their language when trading, it was unusual to meet a native who could speak and understand Common.

Questions bubbling, Ranald arched an eyebrow at him. “I am. What have you?” Behind him, he could hear his shipmates rush out to see what going on, but he cocked his head to the side in a silent request to stay back to which they obeyed.

The Miqo’te looked even more nervous than he was before at the sight of the three other people but didn’t move. “I did not come to harm you; I only want to trade…an exchange, if you will.”

Ranald almost wanted to laugh. “Then why are you brandishing your weapon at me lad?” He asked, watching as the Miqo’te’s expression twist from concern to confusion. “This has better not be a trick and no one else comes out to attack.” He said firmly, watching the Miqo’te eyes widened.

“I—I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard, but when you suddenly pulled out your daggers, I panicked.” The Miqo’te confessed. “I—I’m not really used to talking with people outside my tribe, so I was unsure how to approach you.” He slowly lowered his weapon and pulled his other hand away from his quiver of arrows. “I promise you, I am alone, and I only seek to trade with you.”

Ranald eyed the boy a bit longer before slowly relaxing his stance and sheathing his daggers. The Miqo’te, who had been watching him carefully, seemed to sag in relief and he quickly returned his bow to his back. Without a weapon shielding half his face, Ranald could finally see how young the lad was compared to him—he looked as if he was in his late teens, maybe the same age as his own son but somehow older and wiser just based off the energy he had about him. His shaggy black hair fell almost completely in front of his right eye, giving Ranald barely a glimpse of it which he could see was amber; a color not like his left eye which was green. He seemed to be traveling somewhere himself as two bags sat behind his feet, and he looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days.

“What’ve you got to trade?” Ranald asked as he descended the ramp back onto the shore. The Miqo’te wordlessly picked up the smaller of the two bags and opened it, inviting Ranald to step closer and look inside. Still a bit weary, Ranald leaned forward to peer inside the bag, nearly gasping aloud at the abundant sparkling gems inside.

“You cannot find these anywhere outside of Meracydia,” The Miqo’te began. “At least, that’s what the other traders told me when I traded with them before…I’ve been collecting them for several years.”

Ranald could hardly believe it. There had to be at least twenty or more gems inside the bag and the Miqo’te was right: they were rare ones he’d never found in Eorzea before—this was more than what he’d ever traded in the past. But…he knew he didn’t have anything worth the amount offered in goods to trade. He looked up with a questioning stare. “What can I give you in return?”

“Passage on your ship,” The Miqo’te replied confidently as if he had rehearsed the line several times before. “While I do not know where you’re bound to next, know that I you needn’t worry about lack of provisions as I have my own and I will do any necessary work during the journey.” He spoke with confidence but once again his fidgeting hands and tense shoulders gave away to his nervousness—had he been denied before? What fool would turn down a bag of rare gems for an extra passenger on the way back? Nay, there was something more to this and Ranald felt a need to know why.

“What’s your name lad?” Ranald asked but the Miqo’te stayed silent as he bit his lip in hesitation. Ranald’s expression softened, deciding to not press it further. “Well, you can tell me when you’re ready—it’s a long journey back to Eorzea so there’s plenty of time to share life stories.”

“Eorzea…? The place I’ve heard stories about…have seen in...” The Miqo’te trailed away and bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking any further. “You’ll have me then?” He looked back up; hope swimming through his eyes that caused Ranald to smile warmly.

“Aye, climb aboard!” Ranald smiled as he gestured to the ship. “These three here are Mikiah and Arlix,” he gestured to the short brunette Hyur to his left and the tall blonde Elezen to his right before turning to the brunette Miqo’te standing at the top of the ramp. “That there is U’vhana Tia and I’m Ranald.” The three friends all raised their hands in a gesture of greeting looking confused but welcoming all the same. Ranald watched as the young Miqo’te eyed them wearily before nodding his head in greeting. “We leave as soon as we fire up the ship, don’t want to lose any more of this daylight—if you can call it that.” He waved his hand absently with a smile as the Miqo’te gathered his remaining bag and followed them up the ship and they took off.

----

For the first half of the journey, Ranald watched the young Miqo’te bemusedly as he seemed to go through an array of emotions over the course of seconds—fear from the airship beginning to fly, excitement when he saw a blue sky, probably for the first time in his life, and then, he seemed to settle into his thoughts as the ground below grew smaller and smaller and they sailed through the clouds.

As the day stretched into evening, the Hyur left the Miqo’te alone, sensing he was still nervous from everything that had just occurred while the man himself was still in bewilderment of it all. He essentially just helped a kid run away from his family, and his friends didn’t even question him! He wasn’t what exactly possessed him to agree to such an absurd trade but judging by the relief on his face once he invited him on board, he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to get the hells out of the wasteland. But what about his family? Wouldn’t they be searching for him? Would it even be safe to return to Meracydia again knowing there may or may not be a tribe on the lookout for their lost family member? And that scar on his eye…Ranald hadn’t missed glimpsing that but chose to not ask him about it either. Was that why he wanted to run away from his family?

The Hyur sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. Such speculative thoughts would have to wait! Mayhap he could get some questions answered over dinner. Deciding to do just that, he ensured his friends were all tended to with the ship and made his way up to the deck where he spied the Miqo’te leaning over the ship wall and watching the stars. Just as he made way to approach him, the boy suddenly went rigid, his hand flying to his forehead as if he was in pain. By the time Ranald was able to get to his side to help keep him steady as he staggered, he was coherent again but a little pale.

“I must’ve gotten too excited and gave myself another headache, but it passed.” The Miqo’te looked down as if he was ashamed and slowly stepped away from Ranald’s hovering hands. Ranald furrowed his brow and gently placed a hand on the Miqo’te’s shoulder, not failing to notice the slight jolt that went through him.

“Another headache? These’ve happened before?” Ranald couldn’t help voicing the question aloud and the Miqo’te flinched as if he was expecting to get yelled at. Ranald’s face softened as he quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

That question seemed to take him by surprise, and he looked up to meet Ranald’s worried expression, blinking in bewilderment. “Ah—I—I’m fine,” he stuttered before looking away again in embarrassment. “Sorry, could I maybe sit down for a bit? I’m feeling very sick.” Ranald carefully guided him down to a chair and quickly fetched one of his water skins, offering it to the boy with a gentle nudge. He cautiously accepted it and took a few sips before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

Ranald watched him carefully for a bit, trying to figure out the right then to say as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Have you heard of the Echo before?” He finally asked. When the boy shook his head, he smiled warmly. “I don’t know much about it myself unfortunately, but I’ve heard what it can be like—headaches—like the one you just had—and if I’m not mistaken, you saw something, didn’t you?” The Miqo’te’s brow furrowed as he nodded his head.

“How—how did you know?”

“Your eyes glazed over for a good minute as if you were watching something,” Ranald explained. “When you’ve been traveling around for as long as I have, you meet a few people with the Echo every now and then. Who knows, maybe you’ll become one of Hydaelyn’s chosen and save Eorzea in her time of need like those ‘Warriors of Light’ did during the calamity five years ago!” He chuckled fondly, a memory of his son excitedly talking about the fables springing to his mind.

“Hydaelyn’s chosen? Warriors of Light?” The Miqo’te questioned.

“Aye, the rumor goes that they’re the ones who the Mother Crystal chose to bestow her blessin’ to and they showed up during the Battle of Carteneau and promptly vanished after some big ol’ flash—no one has seen ‘em since. My son would always tell me about an adventurer he met—Kieron, I think—he believed he may have been one of those warriors.” He smiled fondly. “My son was frail and sickly; he didn’t get to travel around as often but Kieron would trade with me often and helped fill that void for him—kept him company and told him all about his grand adventures before taking off on the next one.” He paused, feeling his heart twinge in sadness.

“My son passed away before the calamity, bless his soul for not having to witness that battle, but… I cannot help but wonder if Kieron really was a ‘Warrior of Light’ like my son thought he was because after the calamity, I never saw him again either.” Ranald let out a sigh as he brought his gaze to the starry sky above. “I’d like to think he and my son are off on their own grand adventure somewhere now—mayhap I’ll see them both again someday.” He fell silent as turned his gaze back to the Miqo’te. “Can I ask you why you won’t tell me your name?”

The Miqo’te hesitated for a moment, his eyes casting down to his boots as he wrung his hands. “It’s Roh’to,” he began quietly. “I rather not be called by it anymore…I just want to get away from my tribe. They…did not make me feel welcomed and I’m not proud of my tribe name. I just want to start anew.”

Ranald reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin with a nod, his speculation about the relation to his scar and family slowly piecing itself together. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a new name for you then.” The Miqo’te looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. “Take all the time you need to think of it but what I really need to know is what you plan to do once we get to Gridania.”

“I—I don’t know,” The Miqo’te confessed as he looked down again. “I truthfully didn’t even think I’d get this far in the first place…not a lot of traders were as willing as you to believe I wasn’t trying to trick and ambush them.”

“Used to be a pirate,” Ranald laughed. “Easy for me to tell when someone is lyin’ to me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Tell you what, you can stay with me for a bit, just until you get yourself situated. There’s a few people I think you should meet anyways in regards to that Echo of yours.”

The Miqo’te jerked his head up and stared at him in disbelief. “Truly? I…I won’t be a burden to you?”

Ranald shook his head with a laugh and leaned back. “O‘course not! ‘Sides, I could use the company with how quiet my house has been lately.” His expression softened, somehow knowing this was the right decision to make.

The Miqo’te seemed on the verge of tears as the corner of his lip tugged into a small smile. “I promise to do my part and help out in anyway I can, you won’t regret this.”

“No expectations, just be yourself.” The Hyur smiled and stood, giving a small nudge to the Miqo’te’s shoulder, noticing that he didn’t flinch this time, a sign that he was already feeling more comfortable than before. “You take all the time you need to figure that name out, and I’ll get some dinner prepared…get some sleep too, it’ll be a while before we get to Eorzea.”

He turned on his heel to retreat down into the hull, but before he could descend the stairs, he heard the boy call out, “Ranald?” The Hyur paused with a hum to indicate he was listening. “I thought about what my new name could be.”

“Oh?” He turned to face the Miqo’te again.

“Kien.”

A smile spread across Ranald’s face, his heart filling with warmth. “Well Kien, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #day 1 foster #miqo'te wol #kien eilath #ffxiv fanfiction #nico writes #final fantasy xiv #meracydia hc #Echos of the past #mun thoughts ahead #this one took me so long to finish #it turned into his backstory of how he met his foster father #not where I expected it to go #but I am rather proud of how it turned out

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eva-novakov · 3 years

Text

Timeline wise not far from the ‘now’, and Marie knows ‘the jist’.

---

Eva jerked awake with a gasp and it took half a second to realize the pain she felt in the dream had followed her into reality. She sat up and slowly opened her hands, and quickly closed them before the blood seeped onto the sheets.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac rubbed at his eyes before peering at the dark outline of her form.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.” She whispered, keeping her voice even. She cursed herself for not thinking fast enough in her sleep-induced haze to hide it and she cursed him for being a light sleeper as she slipped out of bed, padding in her bare feet to the bathroom.

“Eva.”

“It’s nothing.” She held her hands under the water of the sink and they both watched the blood race to the drain. “Do you have any medi-gel in here?”

“No. Come on I’m taking you to med bay, those are too deep.”

“I’ll go myself.”

“I’m not going to let-.”

“Isaac.” He stopped to look at her with a sigh, knowing it before she said the words. “How is it going to look if the Captain of the ship is taking me to the med bay in the middle of the night?”

She pleaded with the stubborn look in his eyes. “I promise I’m fine.”

------

“Do you want to tell me how this happened?” Kate looked at Eva under her lashes as she inspected and applied medi-gel to the cuts on both hands. “Doctor patient confidentiality Eva. What you say is safe with me, if you want it to be.” Eva watched the wounds close. She appreciated the way the woman asked that didn’t feel prying. She really wanted to wash the blood out from under her nails.

“My nightmares are…very real and very extreme sometimes.” Eva shrugged from where she sat on the examination table, legs curled under her.

“Nightmares.” Kate released Eva’s hand and sat down in her chair, blowing out a breath. “Patient doctor confidentially this time? I get them too.”

“From...” Eva motioned to Kate’s arm. She knew plenty of soldiers with PTSD and took a guess.

“Yea.” Kate smiled softly and Eva immediately felt at ease with the shared secret. “I trust you’ve had it checked out?”

“Downside of having a human brain with non-human processes.”

“That’s a yes, if you know that much.” Kate chuckled in an effort to lighten the mood. “Pronounced Parasomnia, I have heard of humans with extremely high biotic output having extremely bad nightmares in the brains attempt to normalize in REM. Asari don’t have to worry about that, of course. Have you tried medication?”

“Everyone of them that I know of. The only one that worked made me not be able to function the next day.” She cleared her throat, rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin where the cuts were and slid off the table. “Listen, I’m sorry I had to bother you so late. I usually keep gel around but I hadn’t had a bad one in so long…they happen less when I’m not stressed. And when I regularly get the energy out of my system.”

Kate waved a hand with a smile. “I was up. But even if I hadn’t been, that’s what I’m here for. Never hesitate to call me.”

---

She stood just outside his quarters, debating which direction she should go. In the end she knew he would be worried, and that alone made her open the door instead of going back to her quarters. She wasn’t surprised to see him still up when the door slid open.

He turned to her and she gave him a smile he didn’t return. “See? All better.”

He watched her walk to his bed and flop onto her side before he followed, lying down gently, facing her. “That was a bad one.”

"Yeah." Her palm found his cheek as he silently searched her face. She smiled again and kissed him before whispering against his lips. “I’m fine.” He inhaled a slow, deep breath at that, the strain leaving his shoulders but not his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re not going to get hardly any sleep now.”

“Who needs sleep when you have an Eva?”

“Starship captains with a whole lot of lives in their hands, that’s who.”

He grimaced, his hand resting on her hip after pulling her closer. “You should be the Captain. You’re the more responsible one in this relationship.”

She was glad his eyes had drifted shut a few moments earlier, so he couldn’t see her grinning like an idiot, eyes shining at his last word. *relationship*

“Isaac.” She continued when she had recovered, sobering. “The Commander said today that you’ve been too tired for too long for her liking. If she says something to me about it, it must be bad.”

He opened his eyes to look at her, brows furrowed with something she couldn’t place. “What exactly did she say?”

“I don’t remember the exact words but I do remember feeling an implication that ever since we’ve been together you’ve been noticeably fatigued. She didn’t say it meanly, it was just something she was noticing. It just hit me wrong because this is one of the things I was afraid of. I don’t ever want to inhibit you from doing your job. I don’t want to stay as many nights if it’s making you too tired. I really don’t mind.”

“Eva, I’m going to say this only once. If there is anything that is ever inhibiting me from doing my job properly, you’ll know about it.”

Eva’s blue eyes dimmed as they fell. “Okay.”

“I’m not mad at you.” He kissed her forehead before lifting her chin with a finger until she looked at him. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re hurting me in any way. You make me better.”

She curled into a ball beside him, suddenly exhausted mentally and physically. She promised herself starting tomorrow she would either cut back on her nights in his bed or make him go to bed earlier even if she stayed. But tonight, when he wrapped her curled form into his arms and molded his body around hers, she let him. Just for tonight, she’d let herself need him.

#she's been wanting me to get this out for a thousand weeks #man i wish i had this time to write EVERY DAY YELLS #also ok now i feel like kate and eva can be friends #eva novakov #isaac cerrillo #kate lyons

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Good Morning Campers, Chapter 3 (Crystal x Gigi) - Gelato

A/N: I realized I never bothered to put a description when I originally posted but I just want to thank everyone that’s read so far for taking a chance on it! I plan on adding two more chapters after this before wrapping it up xx

“In my 15 years of running this establishment, I have never dealt with such an incident! You’ve not only completely destroyed the dining hall, but you’ve tarnished a legacy of poise and grace that the young women of this camp pride themselves on..”

Mrs. Davis’ rant had gone on for about 20 minutes.

What meant to be a personal retaliation on The Heather’s by the Strange Gang had erupted into an all out food fight.

It only took a single tray flying from Yvie’s hand to domino the entire dining pavilion into chucking their own trays at one another. Ten minutes, and about 5 gallons of macaroni salad later, they had left a mess that would take an entire day of cleaning to fix.

This wasn’t the worst part.

After Yvie had launched the initial attack, Gigi’s posse hadn’t scurried as expected. It wasn’t long before each one of them had paired off with a member of their opposing group and began physically fighting. Yvie and Adore against Violet and Nicky, Katya against Naomi.

Crystal against Gigi.

They sat across from one another as Mrs. Davis paced the floor, continuing with her lecture on appropriate behavior and the importance of being a model camper.

Crystal sat with a leg over her knee and her arms crossed tight, an uncommon scowl clouding her features. She had a bruised left eye and a busted lip. Believe it or not, she didn’t look the worst of the two.

Gigi had suffered a cracked cheek bone and was sporting a bald spot at the back of her head from her hair being pulled.

Crystal hadn’t meant to rough her up so bad. But she truly wasn’t able to control her anger.

Their fight replayed endlessly in her head.

Gigi’s ear piercing scream reverberated through the dining hall.

Shortly after, the girls surrounding them joined in the fun and began flinging their meals left and right. It was uncertain how things had turned more physical, but witnesses said that

Adore through the first punch at Violet after a few choice words between the two of them. The rest of the group followed suit, slipping and sliding on the dining hall floors that were now caked with slop.

Upon clearing her eyes of the contents of Yvie’s tray, Gigi walked straight passed the scuffle to make a b-line for Crystal who stood at a short distance watching the others fight, a smile playing on her lips and fire in her eyes.

“Are you kidding me? What the hell is your problem?!” Gigi shrieked, her angry face an inch from Crystal’s.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t throw shit!” Crystal spat back, her eyes took Gigi in from head to toe.

Damn her for being so hot when she was angry. She snapped right out of this thought as Gigi shoved her to the ground.

“Fuck you!” Gigi screamed and turned on her heals to leave Crystal in the others behind to deal with the chaos.

She was nearly to the exit before she was yanked to the ground by her hair by a now irate Crystal who had ran up behind her with almost inhuman speed.

This action was enough to cause the damage on Gigi’s face. The two exchanged a few swipes and hair pulls before being separated by a pair of Senior Counselors.

“Miss Methyd, are you listening?” Mrs. Davis snapped Crystal out of her thoughts.

“Um.. I’m sorry, I-“ Crystal stammered.

“Oh, we will be sorry now won’t we? Pack your bags, you’re spending the next week in the disciplinary bunk. Upon your return to the main camp you will be demoted to camper status and will no longer stay with the Junior Counselor’s.” Mrs. Davis instructed sternly.

Gigi and the Heather’s erupted with excited cheers at the swiftly dealt punishment.

“You as well, Miss Goode. Pack your bags. I want you both set up in your new quarters by lights out.” Mrs. Davis said, quickly shutting the Heather’s up.

They sat gobsmacked before exploding in protest, Gigi being the loudest of the group.

“What? Why? I didn’t do anything!” She exclaimed, failing to hold back the tears that began to bubble at her eyes.

“I have plenty of testimonies from other campers that overheard your inappropriate comments about Miss Methyd before this mess started. You will be held responsible to the same standards. Have I made myself clear?” Mrs. Davis wasted no time with her response.

Gigi was taken aback. In all of her years attending this camp, Mrs. Davis had never spoken to her this way. Her face turned ghost white, eyes darting to an equally shocked Crystal.

A week alone.

Just the two of them.

——-

The storm raged on outside the four walls of the isolated disciplinary cabin at the edge of the lake, far from the main camp sight.

In addition to their new lodgings, the girls would have to sit out of participating of any enjoyable camp activities. Instead, they would spend their days tending to camp janitorial duties for the next week.

Gigi laid snug in her bed, failing to drift to sleep. It was strange seeing as the sound of rain almost never failed to do the trick, but her stomach was in knots.

She mentally cursed the other girl who laid a few feet from her, who seemingly had no trouble falling asleep.

They hadn’t said one word to each other while setting up in their new quarters, not even a swear or a bicker between the two before lights out.

Gigi’s fuzzy vision adjusted and focused on Crystal’s sleeping form. Her back was turned to her, but she could still make out the rise and fall of her chest.

Her stupid, beautiful chest.

Ugh.

Gigi scowled. She wanted so badly to hate Crystal. But it felt damn near impossible even now.

“I can feel your eyes on me.” Crystal murmured, rolling over to gaze back at the red head six feet away.

Gigi flushed pink and hoped the darkness of the cabin would conceal it.

“It’s okay. I like looking at you too.” Crystal whispered. She tried to keep a joking edge to her tone, but it came out much more sincere than she had meant to.

“I don’t..” Gigi trailed off. She didn’t have the energy within herself to argue. Her eyes locked with Crystal’s.

Cool blues drowning in chocolate pools.

“I’m sorry.” Crystal whispered back.

“Me too.” Gigi replied softly. She really had been. It suddenly seemed so silly, behaving the ways she did. She regretted every word she said about Crystal.

Crystal smiled and lifted her blanket, gesturing for Gigi to join her.

Gigi let out a laugh from her own bed, but it quickly subsided and her eyes widened as she realized Crystal wasn’t joking around with her silent offer.

“C’mon. I know you want to.” Crystal giggled.

Gigi shook her head and buried her face into her pillow.

“You’re crazier than you look.” She muttered before lifting her face to lock eyes with the girl across the room.

That plush, multicolored Lisa Frank throw blanket sure did look inviting.

Crystal pouted and dropped her invitation before turning her back to the red head.

“Suit yourself.” She threw quietly over her shoulder.

Moments later and much to her surprise, the wooden cabin floors creaked under Gigi’s feet as she gingerly shuffled to Crystal’s bed.

What am I doing? Gigi wondered to herself.

She was quite literally climbing into bed with her sworn enemy. But Crystal had her own gravitational pull it seemed. It enveloped her, tugging her in with little to no resistance.

She sat next to Crystal’s laying form first, hesitant to get too comfortable. They stared at one another for a moment.

“What are we doing?” Gigi asked, at a loss for what was next.

“Well, I thought we were snuggling.” Crystal stated plainly, patting the spot next to her head on her pillow. She then reached over and pulled Gigi gently by the waist.

The red head barely resisted and allowed herself to fall into the sheets. Their faces rested only inches from one another now. Crystal’s hand snaked effortlessly around Gigi’s waist, pulling her even closer. She leaned in, tired of resisting.

“Wait.” Gigi whispered. Her own hand pressed gently at Crystal’s chest. It traced gently up to her neck and chin before settling to caress her soft face. Her thumb swiped over Crystal’s pouty bottom lip. Still a bit swollen from their scuffle earlier in the dining hall.

“I just want to look at you.” She continued softly.

Crystal’s eyes fluttered shut. She had never felt more at peace. She leaned into Gigi’s touch. There was no one stopping them now. No intrusions, no interruptions. Just the two of them.

Gigi closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to Crystal’s in a soft, warm kiss.

They broke apart only to take in a breath, eyes both growing wide with awe and adoration. Their lips quickly met again, this time with more urgency. Their gentle pecks grew more passionate. Their hands grabbed feverishly at each other’s bodies, Gigi holding tight to Crystal’s face, and Crystal holding tighter to Gigi’s waist.

Crystal took Gigi’s bottom lip in between her teeth and tugged gently before swiping her tongue across it, asking for permission.

Gigi had endured french kisses with her boyfriend back home, and always thought herself to not be a fan.

Boy, was she wrong. So wrong.

Crystal’s tongue was like magic against her own. It was almost too much for her. Her body was on fire as they now fought for dominance with their kisses.

She broke their embrace only to roll herself on top of Crystal, pinning her arms above her head.

Crystal blushed and narrowed her eyes up at Gigi with a wide smile.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” She breathed, her chest heaving with excited breaths from Gigi straddling her.

Gigi’s confidence caved a little as she was admittedly surprised at her actions despite not knowing where to go from here.

“I’ve never done this before.” She whispered to the blue haired girl that laid below her. She was instantly embarrassed and moved to lay beside her instead, much to Crystal’s dismay.

Crystal turned to face the other girl and bit her lip. Her eyes softened with understanding. She allowed her fingers to trace along Gigi’s side, trailing them downward until they rested just above the band of her silk pajama shorts.

“Can I show you?” She asked sheepishly, taking her bottom lip between her teeth and drifting her lust filled eyes to meet Gigi’s.

Gigi let a shaky breath and nodded, guiding Crystal’s fingers underneath the band of her shorts and between her legs.

The rain almost wasn’t a enough to drown out the moans that escaped their lips through out the remainder of the evening, and each of them silently thanked the gods that they were too far from the main camp for anyone to hear them.

———

Gigi giggled softly and buried her face in Crystal’s neck, peppering soft kisses from her chin to her chest.

“What’s so funny?” Crystal whispered sleepily, reveling in the feel of Gigi’s lips against her bare skin.

After hours in bed together, their bodies were still practically live wires. Every touch left a tingly sensation running down each other’s spines.

Even their legs were still shaking.

“I just didn’t know that it could be like this.” Gigi breathed, resting her chin on Crystal’s chest to gaze up at her.

Crystal smiled hazily and pulled Gigi up to meet her lips once again. She was just too beautiful not to kiss.

This was all she had dreamed of for years now. And it was happening. Finally it was happening.

She pondered Gigi’s words a bit longer before pulling away to question them.

“What do you mean?” She asked softly.

“Well don’t make me say it.” Gigi laughed again and casted her eyes down, blushing.

“Fucking?” Crystal asked innocently, not realizing how crass she may have sounded. It was all she really knew sex to be, at least before Gigi.

Gigi’s eyes widened and she let out a shocked chuckle before lightly slapping Crystal’s chest to chastise her.

“Making love..” she corrected her before stopping herself a moment too late.

Crystal’s smile never faltered. She liked the way that sounded much better than “fucking.”

They drifted to sleep entangled with one another, stirring just a few hours later as the sun peaking through the curtains to take their naked bodies out of the darkness and thrust it into the light. Unlike it would have before, this didn’t make them pull away.

Gigi was in no rush to leave Crystal’s bed.

Until a knock at the door and the mumble of familiar voices got her scrambling to her feet.

“Gigi Goode, you open this door right now and join us for breakfast!” Violet’s shrill voice rang from outside the cabin walls.

“Fuck!” Gigi hissed, nearly falling over as she struggled to stand, her legs wobbling uncontrollably.

She quickly pulled her silk tank top and shorts over her naked body before tossing Crystal’s cotton panties and over sized New Kids on the Block t-shirt back at her, urging her to get dressed before the unexpected company saw their way in.

Once they were both less naked, she hurriedly opened the door and attempted to keep her composure, praying that the blush she felt spreading from her chest to her face would go unnoticed.

“What are you guys doing here so early?” She asked, shocked that the three remaining Heather’s stood before her, dressed and ready for the day.

“We only get meals with you, remember? No time to waste. Get dressed!” Nicky urged the leggy red head before pushing past and raiding her suitcase to pick out a suitable outfit for the dining hall. A tennis skirt and camp tee would do.

Crystal sat from her bed and watched the chaos unfold as the other two girls followed suit to fuss over Gigi.

Their high pitched voices filled the room as they passed her around like a doll, taking a brush to her hair and gloss to her lips, pulling her together into a picture perfect Heather in a matter of minutes.

Gigi groaned and complained the entire time, embarrassed that Crystal had to watch on as her friends engulfed her with clothes and makeup.

She had barely tied a single shoe before they began urging her out the door.

She looked back at Crystal, mouthing “I’m sorry” before allowing herself to be completely pulled out of eyesight down the cabin steps.

Crystal pouted, saddened that her evening with Gigi was officially over.

She stood up to stretch, opting to get dressed herself and wake her own friends to spend whatever time she could with them before reporting to janitorial duty.

“You guys go ahead, I forgot my scrunchie!” Gigi’s voice bellowed from outside, followed by the sound of scurrying feet rushing back toward the cabin.

She burst through the door and allowed it to swing shut before darting across the wooden floors to fling herself into Crystal’s arms, knocking both of them back into bed before planting an eager kiss to her lips.

They broke apart and each breathed a sigh of content to have their bodies flush with one another again.

“I just needed one more.” Gigi explained shyly with a slight shrug, a little embarrassed.

“I’m not complaining.” Crystal beamed, rubbing the tip of her nose against Gigi’s before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“See you for chore duty after breakfast?” Gigi asked, hating every bit of breaking away from Crystal’s embrace.

“It’s a date.” Crystal replied assuredly.

She had never looked forward to mopping floors and scrubbing toilets more in her life.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #summer camp au #lesbian au #good morning campers #gelato

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