#spins this guy so fast he gets carsick

[sporkkles-irl]

cringe golden guard oc.......who got killed....for trying to help/protect the basilisks......i am normal i am literally so normal

#sporkklesart #doodle #makepeace #sporks ocs #i guess ! #spins this guy so fast he gets carsick

[d3vilfy]

Okay, idea, an nsfw idea. A Steddie x reader idea. Please, here me out,

Reader gets motion sickness on a road trip (She sits inbetween Steve and Eddie, and is technically only dating Eddie) and to keep her mind off of it, Eddie starts fingering her, and Steve isn't paying attention so he doesn't notice, but Eddie has a crush on Steve and knows reader does too, and that Steve likes reader, so he gets Steve's attention and Steve is shocked (He's so confused, like 'Why is Eddie Munson giving me permission to finger his girlfriend? Wtf?' But does help) and reader is having such difficulties keeping quiet and-

Sorry, I've been thinking about this for like a week. If you're comfortable with this, pleaseeee write it!!

-:)

need a distraction ✧

this is too hot help... 18+ minors do not interact.

pairings: bf!eddie x gf!reader x steve

warnings: 18+ smut, fingering, 1 girl 2 guys, sub!reader, slight voyuerism, maybe dubcon if u squint.

word count:

a/n: first fanfiction i ever wrote so if it’s bad i’m really sorry

you really loved eddie. he was your boyfriend, and there was nobody who could make you feel better than he did. still, your attraction to steve was undeniable. something about the fast car, your nose in a book, and your legs being squished together by the two hottest guys in hawkins made something stur in your stomach. motion sickness. feeling the contents of whatever it was you ate shift up to your squirmy mouth, you shut the hardcover with rapid speed, the loud music concealing the noise. eddie was still zoned out, looking at the clouds through the glass window.

you scratch his head through his curls to get his attention, still feeling like your stomach is gonna launch its contents all over your new skirt.

"eddie, i don't feel good" you slur, cheeks tingling. "think 'm carsick"

he turns quickly at the sound of your voice. "come here, sweetheart." he whispers into your hair, pulling you in. "need a distraction?"

“immediately” you mutter, lips brushing against his band tee as he shifts to open the window. 

“alright baby, think i have an idea” he grunts, cold ringed hand gliding up your black skirt. his dexterous fingers tease your pussy through the red lace panties, letting a gasp slip from your soft lips.

“eddie” you warn breathily, whimpering under his cold touch. but your stomach is still spinning like a tornado, and you still have that awful feeling in your cheeks, making you cough. eddie notices. knowing its not enough for you, he suddenly gets the best idea he could ever muster up.

“steve, wake up” he says softly, poking the sleeping brunette. steve lets out some incoherent words before opening his eyes to see your skirt lifted up and eddie’s fingers teasing at the hem of your wet panties.

“what the hell, dude” steve questioned loudly. your cheeks grew pink, realizing how vulnerable you were in the moment. with nothing to focus on besides your anxiety and embarrassment, you find yourself feeling even more carsick than before.

“finger her, we both know you want to” eddie demands. and what guy would say no to that? steve looks down into your eyes before reaching his hand down to meet eddie’s.

“so wet, sweetheart” he started to rub over your lingerie, unaware of how much it affected you through the thin fabric. eddie’s ringed fingers still thrusted in and out of you teasingly, whimpers escaping from your mouth.

soon, steve had pulled your panties completely down and is now steadily moving his lanky fingers in and out of you. 3 fingers stuffed inside your ever so small hole, and 2 hands massaging around your most sensitive parts did more than just distract you from your motion sickness.

“d-don’t stop, don’t stop please” you say through wretched breaths, moans, and whimpers as steve slips another finger in.

“im not stopping until you cum, baby” eddie grunts. steve hardens in his pants just by that thought, mixed with the heavenly sight in front of him that caused his poor pink tip to swell. you bucked your hips further into their fingers, only wanting more. “so good for me and steve, right, sweetheart?”

“yes, so good for you.” you whine, starting to fuck yourself with their fingers. you moaned “keep going, please ‘m gonna cum.” eddie just can’t help himself, seeing you like this makes him crazy. he finger fucks you even faster, rings drowning inside your cunt.

“oh- i, so close” you say, letting out a moan that was a little too loud. steve’s free hand flies up to cover your mouth.

“shh- quiet, okay. we’ll put that mouth to use later, not right now” he talks into your ear, dumbifying you. seeing steve treat you like this, arouse you like this, aroused eddie. both boys wouldn’t be able to hide the bulge in their pants if they tried.

so many different sensations stirred up into a big knot at your core, begging for release. you moaned and whimpered as your boyfriend’s fingered continued to move in and out of you. shaky breaths left your mouth as you felt your high approaching.

“y-yes don’t st-” your own ragged moans overpowered your weak voice. liquids spilt from your sweet folds as you began to calm yourself down.

“good girl, you feel better now?” eddie asks cockily.

you cant seem to get any words out. just ragged breathing and whimpering as your boyfriend leans down to kiss you.

“s-s close, guys. just a few more minutes.” robin moans mockingly from the drivers seat

#stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #steve x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader #perv!eddie #perv!steve harrington #stranger things smut

[softsnzstuff]

Not my usual content, but had an idea as the family and I were on a road trip this morning.

Rockstar AU Eddie has a Bad Time™️

TW for non-descript emeto content.

*****

They’re barely on the bus for three hours when the nausea hits him. Car rides he could do - it was the standing and moving around and facing all different directions while driving that fucked with him.

Eddie had set up camp in the booth seat, facing the front of the tour bus. At least now he was facing the right direction. His lips were pressed shut as he rubbed at his eyes, everything felt like it was spinning.

“Eddie, you good?” Jeff asked as he walked through. The other guys were playing a game in the back.

“M’fine Jeff.” He mumbled, swallowing.

“You sure? You look sick.”

Eddie nodded, immediately regretting the decision to move his head.

He got carsick a lot as a kid. Really thought he’d grown out of it, too. But being on a tour bus for the first time? He hadn’t gotten his sea legs yet apparently.

“Hey,” Gareth leaned forward to the drivers, who he’d become buddies with, “Would it be okay to stop for some Taco Bell next time you see one? I’m craving one of those five layer burritos.”

A small burp escaped Eddie and he brought a fist up to his mouth, swallowing again.

“No!” He shouted.

“But dude, they brought back the nacho fries and the-” he turned around and caught one look at his friend, “oh. Shit. Can we pull over? Like now please.”

Gareth suddenly sounded panicked, the driver turning around to gauge the scene.

“Why do we need to pull over?” Tim asked, not 100% sure what was all going down.

“Eddie’s gonna puke.” Gareth was already pulling his friend up by the back of his shirt, helping him get to the front of the bus.

They were on the highway but there was a big enough dirt shoulder ahead that they could pull off to.

Eddie felt awful. His head felt like it was on upside down, he felt cold and tingly, but he was sweating at the same time. He was reflexively swallowing every couple of seconds.

The bus came to a halt, doors immediately flying open. Eddie stumbled out as fast as he could, leaning over the guard rail of the high way and retching.

Jeff and Tim grimaced and looked away. Gareth, his best friend since childhood, was not phased. They’d gotten drunk together at 18 and in turn, had their first hangover together at 18. He’d seen it all before.

Hopping out of the bus, the cool air hit Gareth’s face. He trotted over to Eddie who was white knuckling the guard rail, coughing and spitting.

Gareth pulled Eddie’s hair out of the way and tucked it into the back of the older man’s shirt. He would have just held the hair for him, but he felt some back rubs were in order.

He leaned down to look at his friend, still rubbing circles on his back.

“Give a guy some warning next time, yeah Ed?”

Eddie heaved again, bringing the back of his wrist up to his mouth. He slowly turned to look at Gareth and nodded.

“You still feel sick?”

Eddie held up a hand and tilted it side to side.

“Still feel a little sick. That’s okay! We’ll just take a minute yeah? Why don’t you sit.”

Gareth turned Eddie around so he was leaning against the guard rail but facing the tour bus. He had his hands on his knees and looking at the ground taking slow breaths.

“Hey Gar!”

Gareth looked up. Tim was in the doorway of the tour bus waving a bottle of water. He tossed it over and Gareth caught it, twisting off the cap and handing it to Eddie.

The older man took a sip and spit it out, rinsing out his mouth. The second time, he drank the water in tiny sips.

They sat there for a few minutes before Eddie wiped his mouth and spoke up.

“Think m’good for now.”

“Yeah?” Gareth asked and Eddie nodded. “Okay, we’ll get some Dramamine at the next stop. Maybe get you some of those motion sick bracelets that look like the ones I use for drumming.”

Eddie chuckled slightly. “I’ll take anything that might help. This is gonna be a long fucking start to the tour.”

#s/tranger t/hings #e/ddie m/unson #rockstar AU #tw emeto #yeah I headcanon Eddie gets carsick #tw emetophobia #kb writes #co/rroded co/ffin #g/areth

[vantaestummy]

Could we get your take on Taehyung and Yoongi both getting carsick on a road trip?

A/N: ofc baby! here we go. sorry it took so long! also major thanks to @d3t3rm1n4t10n91 for being so amazing and helping me greatly with this one!!!❤︎

TW: emeto & carsickness

———————————————

Screw. Road. Trips.

There's little one can do while being inside a car in motion. Yoongi decides none of those things are a great idea right now, though. Reading a book will possibly trigger the nausea that has been sitting mildly inside of him, like a dangerous dragon in its sleeping state. Scrolling through his phone? Not a good idea either. Looking out the window at the road that passes under them almost too quickly? No, definitely not.

The only Min in the group desires nothing more than to crawl into the cool sheets of his bed and take a big nap. He longs for the comfortable quietness that his room never fails to provide. For once he doesn't want to be in a van with eight people. Not that he doesn't enjoy his bandmates' presence, no. He's almost always glad to listen to Jimin and Taehyung singing in the backseat, Jin and Jungkook bickering and playing around, Hoseok's music blasting through his earphones and Namjoon tapping beats with his fingers on his thighs. He's almost always glad to be there with them, when the seven of them are together, when the seven of them are healthy.

Keywords: almost always.

The road up ahead looks like it stretches for forever, the sun dipping beneath it as the oranges and yellows and purples bleed into one another. The boys have been on the road for hours, dramamine having sat heavy in both Taehyung and Yoongi’s systems.

However, it’s been hours now since they left and the medicine has long worn off. They are only an hour or so away from their destination, the beach house in which they will be spending the next few days together, filming RUN BTS as well as a dispatch photo shoot.

Taehyung seems to be fairing a little better than his older band mate. There is a slight bout of queasiness that has woven its way through his system, however it is quite faint and nothing more than a bit annoying. Still, as Taehyung tries to get some shut eye, the whirring of the vehicle as well as the random bumps are far too unsettling.

Taehyung places a hand on his stomach, palming the skin there and taking a look out of the window, the world blurring past and doing nothing to ease the ache of his nausea. He thinks he’ll be okay since, they have less than an hour to go, however, the singer isn’t the only one that the jagged motions of the car are getting to.

“Hyung? Hey, you okay?” Taehyung whispers to Yoongi who, is leaning his head against the fogged up glass of the window, his breathing labored and a bit forced. Hoseok, as well as Jimin and Jeongguk, are asleep. Seokjin is driving and Namjoon is reading a book in the passenger seat. How he can read while the car is in motion, Taehyung has no clue.

The smallest –in size– hyung has unquestionably no energy for trying to hide the nausea that's slowly growing back to life in his stomach, each bump in the road a piece of firewood adding to the burning ache inside of him. He ridiculously thought he had the beast tamed. Well, joke's on him.

“Not at all” he manages to admit to the second youngest singer. He's not very fond of the idea of unnecessarily making Taehyung worry, but there is no way he can possibly lie about how he is currently feeling. Yoongi finds himself helplessly rubbing his belly as if that would lull the dragon named nausea back to sleep, where it can't be a bother. The movement is not welcomed positively, though. He muffles a small burp and a whine in the back of a black hoodie he decided to wear. Thank heaven it's not white, considering how sure he is that he's close to making a mess.

Admitting to Taehyung that there's definitely something bugging him appears to only rise the nausea further up his system. So, he tries taking a few deep breaths that can give him at least a bit of confidence that he's not going to throw up right now. That would make his dongsaeng's own tummy upset, and that would make two sick members too many. Three if Hoseok woke up and saw.

Taehyung, however, still manages to chuckle at his hyung's response, his own stomach beginning to simmer with a bilious feeling that is much too strong to control.

Seokjin continues to drive, the car rumbling and bouncing a bit as the oldest member of Bangtan makes to change lanes. Taehyung sighs deeply, stifling a quiet and yet, sickly belch into his fist. The taste is rancid as it is nauseating, and Taehyung's head becomes swimmy with the motion of the car.

Fourty minutes. All he needs is fourty minutes. They'll be there soon.

He looks over at Yoongi, who is now slumped over the seat in front, his warm forehead pressed firmly against it. His cat-like eyes are wide open, not daring to close them in fear that it might aggravate the overwhelming queasiness, the same that has him constantly swallowing down bitter saliva. It was frustrating to feel each movement of the vehicle inside of him as if his stomach followed every turn ten times harder. The disgusting acrid taste of bile is beginning to coat the insides of his mouth, quickly managing to make the rapper gag on the back of his hand. He gulps heavily, not knowing what is left to do to distract himself from the horrendous fate that's awaiting. His vision is spinning too briskly, worsening the fierce attack of the beast that's spitting fire in his guts, writhing and tugging at the knot of restraint, letting it come undone.

Oh oh. He's in big trouble.

Yoongi snatches a plastic bag from Namjoon's lap –bless this kid's weird habit of using random objects to mark where he stops reading– and opens it just fast enough to let a stream of saliva fall inside. He barely listens to his tallest dongsaeng whining about how he's going to lose the page, but at this point he doesn't even care.

“Hyung, pull ov—” he manages to say before a gag cuts him off. If this was a one-time thing, he'd be okay with just getting it over with. Still, he knows that once he vomits, he won't stop until his stomach is completely empty. Plus Taehyung will definitely throw up as well. The most convenient thing at the moment is to pull off.

Seokjin looks up in the rearview mirror, brows furrowed at the sounds behind him. He’s too focused on the road to have heard correctly, however the sight in the mirror is enough for his heart to nearly stop.

“Shit. I knew we wouldn’t last the whole ride. Namjoon.” Seokjin looks over at Namjoon who is still grieving his lost bookmark. “More bags, or cups, or something!” He yells.

Namjoon raises a brow in befuddlement before turning around, spotting Yoongi with his head deep in plastic, his spine curved as strangled, bloodcurdling sounds force their way out of his throat.

Taehyung groans, trying his damndest to cover his ears or, anything so that his hyung’s own sickness won’t set him off but, he’s far too close for comfort, and the vehicle is still hot and moving and Taehyung feels really, really sick.

“Hyung... hyung you gotta pull over.”

“Tae it’s a straight shot to where we are going and there is no shoulder in sight. I can’t just pull over in the middle of the road.” Seokjin grits between clenched teeth, not as angry as he is panicked.

Yoongi can't see a thing where he is, his head almost completely inside the plastic bag. Still, he's able to sense Taehyung's discomfort. He knows that the poor guy is wincing at the sound of acid grating his throat, of stream after stream of saliva dropping into the plastic, he knows it must be torture for him. Even so, he can't do more than to push himself as far from the singer as possible.

Namjoon springs into action a little too late, after the older rapper's gags become productive and he's faced with a mouthful of sick almost spilling on the floor. He retreats another blastic bag from his backpack and another one from the glove box, putting both at their reach. He has a feeling Taehyung is going to need it soon. Using one of the multiple wristbands he's wearing, the middle Kim brother crouches down to tie Yoongi's hair back before he must pat his back in fear that he might not be breathing enough. By the hard way, Namjoon learns that he can't entirely focus on Yoongi when Taehyung is showing signs of getting sick too. He learns his lesson when a considerable amount of spit lands on his shoulder.

Muttering a curse under his breath, the maknae of the rap line pushes a bag under the singer's chin just in time. The plastic crunches and gets heavier as the youngest Kim meets the undigested remains of the meal he forcefully ate hours ago. Namjoon can't reassure him with any physical contact since both of his hands are busy, but he tries to calm both of them down with quiet words, being extra careful not to wake anyone up.

Being the only one awake besides two sick friends and a stressed driver has to be terrible.

Taehyung’s hands quiver around the plastic bag, his own resolve crumbling as he tries to hold it but, can’t. Bile rips the lining of his throat, clattering into the plastic below with a loud and scratchy retch. Jimin is quick to massage his tense shoulders, shushing his intense and violent heaves. The middle child of the maknae line has always been a very dramatic puker, but with the sway of the car as well as the altitude that they are speeding along, Taehyung’s stomach is simply a punching bag against the environment.

“H-Hyung, please pull over.” Taehyung manages to slur before he’s back to retching, a particularly thick stream of bile pummeling into the bag so hard that is almost falls out of Taehyung’s grip.

Seokjin curses at the wheel. “I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise. I’m really sorry you two.”

Taehyung whimpers, his stomach sour and not done with him yet. “‘S okay...”

Jeongguk is fully awake now and caught up in the turmoil of the vehicle. He’s closer in proximity to Yoongi and so, he rubs a calm hand up and down the rapper’s back, the second oldest member groaning and gagging into the rippled plastic.

In between the cacophony of gags and bile hitting the plastic bags, Namjoon notices the two of the maknaes having gotten up to help. He sighs in relief, seeing that the middle kid of the rap line and the one with the most sensitive stomach is still asleep, not having noticed yet the commotion involving his bandmates.

“Someone keep an eye on Hoseok-hyung.” the leader asks, holding Yoongi's bag as he appeared to grow too weak to do it by himself. It feels like hell broke loose inside of him, the queasiness not residing for a single moment. The car's still swinging through the bumpy road and both his stomach and Taehyung's are actively working to empty themselves. The sound of his retching, of the others' voices, the movement, it overwhelms his senses, his ears feeling like they're stuffed with cotton. Thinking of resting on the floor once they pull over is the only comfort he has right now.

Trying not to lose balance, the eldest rapper puts his hand on Namjoon's shoulder, but the feeling of spit soaked cotton on his skin has him gagging once again. The tall dongsaeng moves to shake his hand off, instead grabbing the bag with one hand and holding him up in place with the other. It seems like making a mess is going to be unavoidable.

“Tae-ya, hold on to me if you need.” he suggests, lamenting the fact that there's nothing more he can do. Namjoon stretches his elbow out to him, his shoulder still wet and gross and his hand occupied with the plastic bag that is constantly growing in weight.

Taehyung whimpers, listening to his hyung’s suggestion as he grabs ahold of him, tight. His stomach is contracted, quivering and throbbing as it literally tries to expel itself from Taehyung’s throat. Yoongi seems to be fairing no better, the older rapper only becoming increasingly nauseated by the loud, forceful heaves that Taehyung gives out.

Without warning, the car sways sharply to the right, Seokjin finally finding an opening as he approaches the shoulder, unfortunately, the movement of the car wreaks havoc on both Yoongi and Taehyung’s stomachs once again.

“Sorry!” Seokjin cringes sheepishly, the car coming to a slow stop. Taehyung groans, his throat on fire and tasting of rancid acid.

Once there is no movement, Namjoon considers it's a good moment to open the door as quietly as possible, waiting for Yoongi to regain control of his upset stomach so he can pull him out to recover. Two arms aren't enough in situations like this– there bags that need to be held, hair that has to be pulled back, backs that need to be rubbed and two men in need of support.

“Jiminie, can you help me with Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, stepping out of the car with Yoongi's bag to place it on the floor, coming back immediately after to help his hyung to get up. He offers a hand to the second youngest singer, using a little strength to pull him up and out, then gestures to Jungkook for him to stay with Hoseok. Two nauseated members are more than enough. Three of them would be utter chaos.

A little of Yoongi's saliva ends up in Namjoon's shirt, but before he can worry about it, the tall child brushes the matter off, instead pulling him and Taehyung to the ground in case he has more to bring up.

“Almost done, guys.” he encourages, focusing more on the small rapper since Jimin –sweet and good Jimin– is already taking care of his baby Tae. He's so good at bringing people the comfort they need. There's something in the way he rubs his dongsaeng's tense shoulders, cards his tiny fingers through his hair and mutters soft words of encouragement that makes Jiminie the best member at caretaking. Namjoon wonders if he's doing a good job with Yoongi, and if he'll ever be at least half as good as Jimin is.

Yoongi retches again, a stream of sick dropping onto the floor beneath him; the sound brings the youngest rapper's attention to him. His hands are holding him upright and trying their best to dissolve the tension on his back.

“That's it. Don't hold back.” he's cringing at the desperate sounds that make their way out of Yoongi's lips in between mouthfuls of bile. “We'll get you both some time to rest once we arrive, don't worry.”

He then remembers it's better to stay silent around the rapper when he's sick. So he does just that, instead patting his back and massaging his almost always sore neck.

“I'm getting you some water, hold on.” he whispers after long, torturing minutes of Yoongi expelling his guts until there's nothing left. As he makes to stand up, he notices that his hand is intertwined with the older's. Weird. He doesn't remember linking their fingers so strongly.

The sounds from the other side of the vehicle do more than set Taehyung off. As soon as the door whips open, Taehyung has fallen to his hands and knees, his eyes screwed shut as he retches, his throat crackling and his voice grated with nausea. Sick jets from his lips at a rapid pace, plopping to the grass as Taehyung struggles to grasp onto something, his hands clawing at the dirt and bugs below.

“Oh baby no, don’t do that.” Jimin coos, whipping out a hair tie that he’s found from his bag and tying Taehyung’s hair up into a little bun. He holds the boy up, the singers hand darting out to hold his hand. “You’re okay. Let it out TaeTae.”

Taehyung whines, coughing violently as mouthful after mouthful of vomit pours from his lips to the grass. “Jiminie... it hurts.” A few tears have fallen into the puddle of puke below, tearing at the edges of Jimin’s heart. Yoongi’s heaves are still clear and apparent, ripping through the already wild air of the road. Jimin sighs, giving Taehyung’s hand a tight squeeze.

“We’ll be stopped for a minute baby. Relax.” He says. Just then, Jungkook is at their side, a hand on Jimin’s arms and eyes wide with worry.

“Anything I can do? Hobi-hyung looks a little green so I told him to stay in the back.”

Jimin smiles, so proud of how responsible and able their maknae has become, or maybe he’s just always been that way. “A water and some napkins would be great. Thanks Kookie.”

Jungkook nods, kissing Jimin’s head and giving Taehyung’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before running off to the trunk to get the things that were asked of him.

Taehyung groans with desperation, his stomach still at war with itself, his skin burning as his insides churn all gooey and hot. The other side of the car seems a bit quiet so, maybe Yoongi’s one sickness has died down a bit. He hopes this is the case for him.

Seokjin rounds the front of the car. “Talked to the managers. They understand and we have all the time that we need. Just, breathe for me, okay Tae-ah?”

Taehyung nods, Jimin’s soft hand still alongside his back and skin. It was easy to breathe like that, with Jimin holding onto him, smelling of citrus and something sweet. “Okay.”

After one final heave, the feral beast inside Yoongi's stomach appears to have subsided, at last. It takes just a second to realize the way his throat feels like it's been ripped apart, his abdomen too sore from continuously retching, his hands shaky and unstable. As he feels he's going to fall face-first into the puddle of mess he's done, a pair of firm hands bring him up and away from it.

“Easy there.” Namjoon mumbles, letting him rest against the open door of the vehicle, avoiding to give him more physical contact than needed. He just knew the rapper liked to be touched only when prompted. “Are you done?” a small nod is the reply he gets, but it's enough to release the tension accumulating on his shoulders. “Good. Don't move for a while, okay?” he asks, raising his sun-kissed, long hand to card his dark hair lovingly, just like a worried younger brother would do. That's what he is, isn't he?

“What about the—” Yoongi starts, raising a hand slightly to ask about the schedule they still had to complete. There's so much work to do, and look at him, his small body limp against the van after having puked his guts out. His eyes are staring at nothing, but before he can realize he's spacing out, there's a small face looking back at him, soft but manly features that he knows like the back of his hand.

“Hyung, don't. Take your time to rest.” Seconds before realizing what he's doing, he's rolling his eyes. “As hypocritical as it may sound, please rest” Namjoon adds, gifting him with a smile with dimples. When his eyelids grow heavy, his tallest dongsaeng is still there, his little eyes looking hesitant wether to bother him with holding his hand or to let him be. To end his internal doubt, the tiny rapper stretches out his arm and pulls him closer, not using too much strength to not stir his barely calm stomach.

“How's Tae?” he slurs a little, basically using the younger as a pillow to rest his tired body. Other than his nervous breathing –poor Joon is trying to measure his breaths to not disturb his exhausted hyung–, he doesn't seem to mind at all. That's all he needs to stay close and let the tallest carry his weight.

“I believe he's done too.” fortunately, there were no gags coming from said singer that proved him wrong. “Both of you gave us quite the scare, huh.” although he's serious, his tone has a hint of sweetness, only confirmed with how softly his hands are holding Yoongi's face, as if he's not mad at all. Actually, he's not even mad.

“'m sorry...” there is a silence that makes Namjoon think that the rapper is finally drifting off, but then he adds “I got spit on your shirt.” Yoongi genuinely feels guilty, but the younger lets out a laugh and messes up his hair, looking the least worried about it.

“So did Tae. And I'm not mad at any of you. You'll have to see me shirtless for a while, though. I'm so sorry.” the older dismisses that last part, wriggling his way out of the hug he unconsciously started. Ignoring how lethargic he feels, there's a concern still burning within him. Namjoon seems to comprehend as soon as the name of the sick dongsaeng falls out of his lips. “Want me to take you to him?” there's a tiny nod as a response, once again.

“Jimin-ah, how's Tae? Can I bring Yoongi-hyung to him?” the leader asks loudly to the air, waiting for said dancer to respond.

Jimin calls back to Namjoon from the other side of the vehicle, his voice a little shaky but, nothing too drastic.

“H-He’s good, and yeah, you can!” He replies, prompting a sigh from Namjoon.

He looks to Yoongi who, has his cheek smashed against the the car door. “Think you can walk over with me? Lean against me if you have to.”

Yoongi thinks that nodding probably isn’t a good idea anymore, and so, he slurs out a wet “yes” and allows Namjoon to carry his nearly dead body to where Taehyung lies in the grass, a towel covering where he had vomited. His eyes are hazy, his lids droopy, but he’s alive. That’s all that really matters.

Taehyung smiles lazily, giving Yoongi a wave. “Hey hyung...” He slurs, sounding almost drunk. This makes Yoongi snort, his pouty lips curved into a small smile.

“Hey Tae.”

Namjoon helps Yoongi to Taehyung’s side, the cool breeze helping to ease the surrounding edge of anxiety, as well as the dwindling nausea plaguing the daegu line. Taehyung takes this time to lean heavily against Yoongi.

“I threw up a lot...”

Yoongi sighs. “I know. Me too.”

Seokjin is now at Namjoon’s side, eyeing the two sick boys with worry etched into his features. “No rush at all but... we’re so close to the site. Do you think... you guys can make it through the rest of the trip?”

Yoongi and Taehyung share a look, not willing to make any promises but, certain that they’ll be okay since their stomachs are as empty as one can get.

“Yeah. We’ll make it.”

——————————————

A/N: school is a bitch. but more requests to come!

#bts sickfic #sick bts #sickfic #bts emeto #emeto #sick #my fic #tw emeto #sick!yoongi #sick!taegi #sick!taehyung #caretaker!bts #caretaker!jungkook #caretaker!namjoon #caretaker!jimin #carsick #carsickness

[ezm-imagines]

Breaking the Ice - Newt Scamander x Reader

Summary: Newt x reader ice skating fic <3

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: normal angst and F L U F F

A/N: requested!!! and, per usual, i went way farther with the request than bargained for. i also included like every single cliche in the books so sue me i guess :)

also, back to back publishing, look at me go! ive been working a lot since I got on break so hopefully i can keep this schedule up for yall :)

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

You shuffled your feet back and forth on the ice, using the slight momentum to slide forward an inch every few minutes.

“I don’t quite believe that’s how it’s done,” a soft voice chuckled from behind you.

You moved to turn around, and slipped on the ice, your feet falling out from under you.

You braced for a fall, but instead found yourself being caught and lifted back up.

You grabbed back onto the arms, helping push yourself up, until you looked up to find your friend Newt, smiling at you gently.

“Hi,” you smiled, freezing as you caught his eye.

“Hi,” he replied, blushing slightly at the attention.

You two didn’t know each other two well. Sure, you were in the same friend group, but somehow he was always at the other end. You were best friends with Thesius and Leta, and whenever the three of you would decide to go do something, Thesius would always invite his brother, and his brother would bring Tina and Queeney and Jacob. But for all these outtings and dinners and parties, Newt would always be busy with his side of the friend group, and you would be busy with yours. In fact, for the past half hour, you’d been stealing glances of him skating with Tina, wishing that could be you.

“Thank you,” you laughed as he steadied you on your feet, “I guess I’m not very good at this.”

“Nonsense, you just need practice,” he suggested. “You simply use each foot to push off the other. Like this.”

You watched as he effortlessly skated forward, before spinning around and facing you again.

“How are you so good at that,” you huffed.

He only smiled again, “Thesius loves ice skating. I’m afraid this isn’t the first time he’s brought me along for it. Now, come on, your turn.”

You only looked at him.

He chuckled and held out his hand, “Here, we’ll do it together.”

You looked back and forth between him and his outstretched hand, surprised, but quickly cleared your throat and took it so he wouldn’t notice.

You’d never mentioned it to anyone, only here and there telling people that you wished you were closer friends with him, but you might’ve... had... have... a small crush on the guy. Maybe.

“Okay, like this,” he moved to be beside you, and motioned how to kick off with his back foot to push forward.

You watched him do the motion a couple times, before you did it yourself.

“Brilliant! Now the other foot... yes! See, you’ve got it.”

You were a clumsy mess and you were sure you looked nothing like the grace he had just been skating with, but you were indeed moving forward, and that did mean something, you supposed.

You were just gaining enough traction to get around the rink once when Thesius skated up to you two.

You squealed as he did that ice-spray-ey thing with his hockey skates as he came to a stop.

“Care for a race, Newt?” He beamed at his brother, as Leta skated up next to him, “Five laps around the place, like old times?”

“Not particularly,” he shrugged off.

“Oh, why, ‘cuz you think you’re gonna lose?” He grinned.

“But, I’m helping Y/N...”

“Newt, you literally spent half the morning telling me about how you wanted to do an axel when you reached the finish line of our race. Come on.”

“Yeah, but...” he looked to you.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” you smiled, “Go have fun with Thesius, I’ll be fine. I can skate with Leta ‘til you get back.” Leta smiled at you.

“You heard the lady,” Thesius said, spinning behind Newt and taking him by the shoulders and pushing him forward, “Let’s go.”

You waved and smiled as he left, trying to encourage him to go have fun. While you loved him helping you and holding your hand, you knew he wasn’t having fun going negative 15 miles per hour. It was the least you could do to give him time with his brother.

“You two seemed pretty cozy,” Leta told you, linking arms with you and pulling you along.

“Who, me and Newt?”

“No, you and the ice, what do you think I mean?” She teased.

“He was just helping me skate,” you explained, not giving much attention to what she way saying as you watched the two brothers begin the race.

Newt wasn’t ever one for competition, and you could tell he wasn’t as much racing his brother as just skating as fast as he could, but you were enamoured nonetheless. He gracefully lapped the rink over and over, gliding faster than his brother with every circle. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

“‘Just helping you skate,’ huh?” She laughed, picking the conversation back up.

But you could barely hear her. The boys were ending their last lap, and you smiled as Newt crossed their agreed-upon finish line first. Before you knew it, you watched as he jumped into the air and spun around before landing on one foot. You gasped.

Leta rolled her eyes beside you, “God, both of you are so gone.”

You didn’t have time to ask her what she meant by that before the boys, breathless and laughing, skating up to you two.

“Good job, Newt,” Leta greeted, “Thes needs someone to kick his ass every now and again.”

“As if that isn’t already your job, Leta,” Thesius chuckled, taking her hand and beginning to skate away. Leta laughed and gladly followed, and you watched as she skated away with all the grace that you wish you had.

“You did... amazing,” you told Newt.

He looked away, bashfully, his ears turning even redder than they already were in the cold. “I don’t even know how you skate, let alone do something like that.”

“I told you,” he replied, his eyes sliding to eventually meet yours, “Practice.”

~~~

“Hot chocolate at ours!” Thesius announced to the group as you all walked out into the snowy parking lot.

“Shit, but we walked here,” Tina frowned, “We didn’t bring our cars.”

“Ah, alright, we’ll all squeeze into my car, then. It should be big enough.”

“Shot gun!” Leta declared, racing toward the van with Thesius in tow.

“Tina and I get carsick, so we call the seats in the second row!” Queenie shouted after them. “Oh, wait, Jacob too!”

“Guess that leaves us in the back,” you said to Newt, looking at him from the corners of your eyes.

“I suppose it does.”

As you reached the car, the group was abuzz with chatter, filling up all the seats.

“Oh, shit, wait, where are we gonna put our duffle?”

Newt, Thesius, and Leta all owned their own skates, and with all the seats being taken up, they couldn’t just put it wherever like they usually did.

“There’s still a third seat in the back; only Newt and Y/N are back there,” Jacob said.

“Ah, perfect,” Leta handed the duffle back to Jacob who set it on the left seat.

Your heart clenched at the fact that the duffle taking up the left spot meant that you and Newt would have to sit in the already-too-small back seats, pressed up against each other.

Oh, for the love of God...

You’d finally acknowledged that you might have a teensy crush on the guy, and the whole universe conspires to force you two together at every opportunity.

Newt slid wordlessly into the middle back seat and you followed suit, attempting to press yourself as much against the wall as possible. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by touching him, but you weren’t having much of a choice. His legs were so long and there was so little space, so the two of you were touching almost everywhere possible.

You kept your gaze outside the window, not sure where else to look, as conversation in the car roared from one subject to another. You and Newt stayed silent for the most part. Though that wasn’t so abnormal from him.

“Oh, fuck, wait,” Thesius cursed, before the car made a massive U-turn. You fell over to your left as the car lurched, landing you directly into Newt’s lap.

End me now.

“Agh, I’m so sorry,” you apologized, wildly attempting to pull yourself out of his lap, touching Certain Areas on accident in your panic.

Both of you looked away, blushing madly and praying for the car ride to just be over already. Jesus Christ, everything was going all over the place and you just wanted to return to him holding your hand as you slowly and poorly slid across the ice.

“-ing, obviously, don’t you agree, Y/N?” someone was saying.

The conversation halted as people looked to you for your response.

“I’m sorry, what?” You sputtered, looking around to attempt to get some kind of idea what they were talking of.

Leta elaborated, “We were talking about how Thes practically grew up on the ice. Newt, too. Isn’t it insane what they can do? I mean, I had my fair share of skate rink birthday parties as a kid, but I never would’ve done as much as them. Their talents know no bounds.”

“Yeah, it was pretty impressive,” you agreed, quietly, avoiding looking at Newt completely.

You wanted the car to just open up and swallow you whole.

“‘Pretty impressive?’ Bitch, you totally gasped when he landed his axel, don’t even with me. You were watching him like a hawk during that race...”

Stellar. You gave a fake laugh and looked out the window, trying to do the math for how far you were from the Scamamder house according to the streets you were passing.

Luckily, Leta carried on with conversation, changing the subject to many various things that didn’t involve you or your horridly embarrassing feelings.

Unluckily, according to the stoplight you just passed, you still had a few more streets to go.

“Were you really watching me during the race?” Newt asked you quietly, once the car was wholly focused on a different subject.

“Well, you were winning, so yeah.”

“Oh.”

You could almost hear his heart sink. “But, really,” you continued, looking him in the eyes, “your axel was incredibly impressive. I didn’t know you were that amazing.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tilting his head down like he always did.

“Niffles!” Queenie shouted. You looked up to see the car pulling into the driveway, the Scamander dog Niffles awaiting the van’s arrival by the door.

Everyone poured out of the car and headed inside the shabby little house, alighting it with life and loudness.

Thesius immediately set out to go get a fire started in the fireplace while Leta began pulling out mugs. You joined Leta as the rest of the group moved to the fireplace room.

“Long drive, huh?” Leta asked, turning on the stove.

“Just as long as every other time we’ve driven here,” you lied.

“Mhmm...” she raised her eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You two were practically on top of each other back there.”

“Not by choice!”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I most certainly did not,” You huffed. It was true; it had been hell back there.

Leta just shook her head and continued making the hot chocolate silently, “Why don’t you go check on the group? I got this covered.”

You shrugged and followed directions, slipping into the living room.

“Ah, Y/N, we were just thinking: you down for a movie tonight?” Thesius asked, looking up at you from where he was crouched at the fireplace. Newt took the poker from his hand and began adjusting the fire logs as his brother talked, and you ignored how annoyed it made you that he was refusing to look at you. But, then, why should he? You two were barely even friends; you’d hardly talked before today. “You’re still staying the night here anyway, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, shaking yourself from your thoughts about Newt.

“So, I guess it doesn’t quite matter to you if we watch a movie.”

“We were thinking holiday rom-com!” Queenie beamed, as you moved to sit on the couch beside Tina.

“Correction, you were thinking that,” Thesius interrupted. “I was thinking—”

“If you say Die Hard...” Newt warned quietly.

You smiled at his small joke.

“Then what do you suggest, Newt? The rom-com? You trying to be Romeo tonight?”

Newt gave Thesius a look you didn’t understand, not that you even understood what Thesius was talking about.

Hmm.

“I think a rom-com sounds great,” Leta announced, walking in with the tray of mugs. You quickly stole one for yourself and for Tina sitting beside you.

“Traitor,” Thesius narrowed his eyes at his fiancée.

“Let me finish,” she hushed, handing him and Newt mugs, “I suggest we watch a bad rom-com that we can all make fun of the whole time. Does that save your fragile manhood, babe?”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes playfully, as he passed the tray back to Jacob and Queenie, sharing the armchair.

“I think that’s his way of saying we have a deal,” Leta grinned, taking the last mug for herself and setting the tray on the table at the back of the room. She took the remote and plopped on the couch, pulling up Netflix and beginning the search for the worst movie she could find.

Thesius dusted off his hands before joining her on the couch, too.

You bit your lip, realizing there was only one seat left in the room, and it was on the couch next to you.

For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t catch a break with this group, huh?

Newt eventually decided the fireplace was satisfactorily kept, and stood up to find a seat— only to realize the exact same thing.

You ignored the way it stung when he hesitated.

“Newt, sit the hell down, it’s starting!” Leta yelled at him, the Netflix “bum-bum” pounding to signify the movie’s beginning.

He gulped and sat down next to you, not knowing what else to do.

You all watched on, playing a pretend drinking game with your hot chocolates where you drank every time the movie held a cliché (and you’d all finished your drinks after only ten minutes in, prompting Leta to make another round).

Between the warmth of the fire, the slowness of the movie, and your fatigue from skating all day, you could feel your eyes drooping by only halfway through the movie. But you were insistent on staying awake.

This was fun, and you enjoyed having the whole group bond instead of splitting in half.

But during your third cup of hot chocolate, you felt yourself slipping...

But you could s...

you...

~~~

You nuzzled deeper into your pillow, barely registering the unfamiliar fabric or the soft mahogany scent it now carried.

You wondered how long until your alarm would go off, and began attempting to calculate when you had fallen asleep last night. You couldn’t quite remember going to bed, only the movi—

You awoke with a start at the realization. You rubbed at your eyes as you sat up, wondering how much of the movie you’d missed from falling asleep. Hopefully you could still catch whatever dramatic ending was going to—

Oh, fuck.

You opened your eyes to find no one else in the room. Well, no one except...

“Mornin’,” Newt’s soft voice greeted.

Looking over at him, you realized that he had been the pillow you had just been using. Oh, oh god. Oh no...

“Shit, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he shook his head with a small smile, “It’s quite alright.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond to that, instead changing the subject, “Where are all your friends?”

“Thesius started driving them back a bit ago.”

“And you didn’t go with them?”

“I don’t believe you gave me much of a choice to.”

“You could’ve just pushed me off, ya know, I wouldn’t have blamed you for it...”

He shrugged with one shoulder, “Maybe I didn’t really want to go.”

You furrowed a brow, “What?”

He shrugged again, “I dunno... it was kinda... nice... watching the movie with you against me...”

You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, “Really?”

He kept your gaze for a long moment before looking away with a cough, “Well, yeah, I mean, I don’t know, it was... you were... and they... well, I—”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. He melted against you instantly, as if he’d been waiting for this a long time.

Hell, you had, too.

You brought one hand up to cup his jaw, your fingers delicately tracing his skin.

He tentatively slid his arms to wrap around you and hold you closer.

After a long time, you pulled away and buried your face in his shoulder, attempting to suppress your blinding smile.

“How long have you been... wanting to do that?” He asked, and you could hear the happiness and surprise in his voice.

“A long time,” you replied into his shirt.

He huffed slightly, still amazed at what had just happened, “Ditto.”

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

A/n: Please please PLEASE like/comment/share! And let me know if you want to be added to either my ~~brand new~~ permanent fic tag, or if you’d like me to tag you for Newt fics specifically!!! <3

Tag list: @your-gay-fangirl  @kaitlynpcallmebeepme  @coal000

#newt scamander #newt scamander fic #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x you #you x newt scamander #reader x newt scamander #newt scamander imagine #newt imagine #newt x you #newt x reader #fbawtft #fbtcog #fbtcog fic #fbtcog imagine #fbawtft imagine #fbawtft fic #hp fic #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine #thesius scamander #leta lestrange #my writing

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 15)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Vivi POV, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Lewis POV, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Part 16: here

The first few hours on the road are almost relaxing. Lewis drives, Vivi and Mystery sit up front, and he has plenty of space alone in the back. Arthur doesn’t get carsick like Lewis does so he’s fine with sitting in the small, makeshift seat which he’s installed for this very reason, letting the engine vibrations calm his nerves. This set up has bothered him in the past. Now he’s just happy to watch Vivi and Lewis chat and joke together.

Everything is perfect right up until Vivi suggests, rather forcefully, that he take a turn driving up front with Lewis and Mystery while she takes a turn in the back. She’s been doing this a lot- trying to get him to interact with Lewis- and he has no idea why, only that it hasn’t been great for his anxiety levels.  Unable to really argue, not without seeming like a jerk, Arthur takes the driver’s seat wearily. At the very least, he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally making eye contact with his full attention on the road.

Gradually, he drives them through some nice-looking sloped ridges, almost mountains, following the road as it winds upward, higher and higher. Lush greens and dark browns are a nice change from the monotone desert he’s used to. Vivi seems to enjoy it, leaning over the middle seat divide, eyes fixed on the pristine landscape. Right. This is Vivi’s first time leaving the claustrophobic collection of small towns surrounding their even smaller township, of course she is going to find it fascinating.

Now, if only Lewis could be equally fascinated with the abundant natural beauty instead of fixating on Arthur’s profile. He swears he’s been acting as normal as conceivably possible, yet Lewis is still behaving like he’s got some strange dirt on his face.  Why? Why can’t they all go back to that easy friendship from his memories? Why is it so hard to just be himself?

“So I haven’t seen you online this last week?” Lewis finally comments, breaking his extended period of staring. There is a pause while he waits for Arthur to respond.

“Online?”  Arthur keeps his vision fixed on the slowly straightening road. They are now following along the top of one of the ridges.

“Your game accounts and chatrooms. You’ve been inactive lately. I was just wondering if there was a reason for that,” Lewis repeats, almost apprehensive.

“Oh yeah. Right…online games.”

Had he still been playing those at this point? He could have sworn he had drifted away from them by now.

“I’ve been busy working on this prosthetics project. I have this new idea on how to convert neuro-transmissions into electrical pulses, and I think it’s going to be pretty useful if I nail it,” Arthur can’t help but smile, happy that the excuse has a little bit of truth to it.

“That sounds…” Lewis pauses, surprised, “pretty big actually.”

“It will be once I get it working,”

It had been a somewhat significant breakthrough in his original timeline, a collaboration with researchers at the St Peter’s Medical Research Foundry, and his unhealthy work ethic. Now he is recreating everything solo and finding it a tad more difficult, especially with salvaged and sub-par equipment. As much as he had hated the hospital, the labs had been pretty cool. It’s also doing an excellent job at distracting him from his increasingly horrific nightmares.

“Still think a ghost detection device would have been cool,” Vivi pouts from the back, still mostly focused on the landscape rushing past. Out the window is a spectacular view of the adjacent valley.

Arthur grimaces, responding,  “Sorry Viv. You know I’ve been avoiding that sort of thing,” to keep with his ‘dislike of the supernatural’ image.

Vivi is now a lot more focused on the conversation because she quickly elaborates, “Oh no, don’t apologise. I’m just fantasising a little. Prosthetics are way more important.”  

Arthur is hit with a small pang of renewed guilt. Maybe, when they get back, and he finally gets to see that psychologist he probably needs, he’ll miraculously get over his fear, and they can go ghost hunting for real. A ghost detection device would actually be pretty useful for avoiding potential disasters.

Lewis clears his throat, “About that. I know you’ve said that you’re apprehensive about investigating superstitions and supernatural locations, but I was wondering, and I’m not accusing you of anything… but I’ve noticed that you seem to bit more…jumpy lately.”

“Eh?”  

That wasn’t good. So Lewis had noticed his aversions. His grip tightens around the steering wheel.

“If there’s anything I can do to help. Or if I can do anything, I don’t know, differently...” Lewis continues, speaking carefully, oblivious to his uneasiness, “You can always let me know. You know...”

This is not what he wants to be discussing.

He can’t tell if Lewis is disapproving or if he’s subconsciously adding texture where there is none. In his mind’s eye, he can almost see ghost Lewis glaring, angry and accusing. Everything is growing very hot and stuffy, van door and low ceiling pressing in on him.

Flames are drawing in close, licking at his clothes.

Crap. He needs out of the driver’s seat before he drives them to their deaths.

“Hey look! There’s a View Point. Let’s check it out,” He blurts, spinning the steering wheel with more urgency than strictly needed. Vivi cries out in surprise and Mystery yelps as he is flung onto Lewis’s lap. Everything rotates, left wheel briefly lifting from the pavement, and they rocket down a narrow exit ramp.

“Arthur! What the heck,” Vivi squawks from the back, popping back up from where she’s toppled over, slightly frazzled. His heart is beating exceptionally fast, and he slows the van to a more manageable speed. The last thing he wants to do is crash.

“A little warning next time. Geez. I could have died back there, ” Vivi complains when they pull into a small parking bay. She doesn’t appear to have noticed his unsubtle ploy to quickly end his conversation with Lewis. Ahead of them is a sheltered enclave, enclosed by rock walls which raise up to meet the highway they had just exited.  

“Sorry. Sorry. I just saw this turn and thought you’d want to stop and take a photo or something,” Arthur defends even as he’s leaping out the driver’s seat to get clear of both Lewis and Mystery. In the few seconds he is out of view, obscured by the bulk of the van, Arthur takes a moment to collect himself. He presses himself against the van's cool surface, hand over his chest, feeling out his heart and natural rhythm. Slowly, he counts his breaths, wrestling with a brief bout of slightly blurry vision.

“Wow!”

Vivi, who has flung open the back of the van, climes out, standing near him. She is staring happily out at the vast, open space. The brilliant blue sky stretches away infinitely and before them is a collection landscape, ridges, and valleys sprawling for miles. They have stopped at an official View Point, with several wooden plaks containing information on local frontier towns and an accompanying area map.

“Guess this is worth almost dying for,” She goes to give him a half-playful wack in the arm. The right arm, thankfully.

“Haha. Don’t joke about that,” Arthur mutters, trying to shake the lingering jitters as quickly as possible. Briefly, he makes eye contact with Mystery who is standing at Vivi’s feet. The dog is watching, head cocked to one side, considering Arthur with intelligent eyes. The appearance of intellect is broken when Mystery turns to scratch an ear with his back leg.

Vivi walks to lean against the railing, which cordons off the steeper part of the sloop down, pulling out her phone to take pictures. The wind pulls at, and whips about, her hair and short blue skirt. Arthur averts his gaze awkwardly and accidentally makes eye contact with Lewis who is walking around from the passenger’s side. The taller man is watching again, expression creased into a deep frown, slightly hurt. Arthur looks away guiltily. What, exactly, Lewis is thinking, he doesn’t know, but it’s probably nothing good.

“Hey check that out,” Vivi calls, “You can see the start of the desert from here.”  

“Guys,” Vivi turns when they fail to answer, taking in the awkward distance between them. A second and they’re all silent, listening to the wind rustle the branches of nearby foliage.  

“Come on then. Let’s take a picture together. First one of the trip.” Vivi motions for them to stand side by side, putting the wide vista in the background. Her eye’s move between them once again before she is distracted be a shiver brought about by another gust.

“It’s actually a lot cooler up here then it was done there.”

“Who would have thought,” Lewis teases, voice light with only a hint of unease from their standoff. Looks like they’ve all collectively decided to ignore the last few seconds of tension. For now anyway. He’ll find some time to talk to Lewis later when he’s in a better mindset.  Arthur lets out the breath he has been holding.

“You can have my jacket if you want,” Lewis is offering, walking up to the railing, sounding more natural. Arthur notes that that drop down isn’t particularly steep, being more of an incline.  

“Keep your jacket, you know I have a pack of extra clothes,” Vivi huffs, motioning them impatiently into a clump so she can take the picture. It is only somewhat uncomfortable. Good thing he’s practised smiling.

The rest of the drive goes smoothly with Arthur insisting that he return to sitting at the back, alone. It’s telling when Vivi doesn’t fight him on it, letting him retreat in peace. They lose three hours at another rest stop, this one bordering a wide forested area, when Vivi insists Mystery get a chance to stretch his legs. Arthur opts to sit in the bed of his van among their various bags, doors secure outward, giving him a view of Vivi and Lewis as they throw a ball for Mystery.

The fresh air, the smell of pine, and the gentle rustling of wind is familiar is a way he has come to expect, having lived similar scenarios on his previous road trips.  What isn’t familiar is the creeping isolation and disconnection from Vivi and, to a lesser extent, Lewis. Sure, he had often felt left out and ignored in his original timeline, but it had never been so defined. Not that he can complain, this had been his goal after all.

Note: I swear this is going somewhere. Bear with me.

Part 16: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #hellbent #time travel #au #Lewis pepper #ViVi #arthur kingsmen #mystery #this was only supposed to take 500 words #lament of a fanfic writer

[writehardwhumpharder]

Fever drabble pt. 2

This turned into more of a story, it continues where the last one left off. This time the main whump is exhaustion and fainting cuz I'm a sucker for that kind of thing, especially when it's in a room full of strangers.

Carson awoke early in the morning to hushed voices. It took him a second to remember where he was and after that it took a few more seconds to open his eyes. Letting Riley and whoever she was talking to think he was still asleep would gave him the opportunity to eaves drop on their conversation. Once he confirmed that it wasn't about him he blinked his eyes open and took his sweet time sitting up on the leather sofa.

Riley met his gaze when he looked toward the table where she had her work spread out in front of her among a few discarded coffee mugs and whiskey glasses. Across from her sat a man that looked vaguely familiar. He had a warm smile and Carson decided he didn't immediately hate the guy.

"We were trying not to wake you. You remember my partner Morris?" Riley asked, bringing him into the conversation. Carson remembered seeing the guy in passing while he was at the police station a few days ago, he'd given him a friendly wave on his way out.

"Yeah, hi." He replied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The two were clearly busy so he stood up and headed to the door where his coat hung neatly on a hook and boots were lined up on the floor. He sunk one foot in, disappointed to find that his shoes were still damp from last night, or technically this morning. "Well, I'll get out of your hair. Talk to you later."

Riley smiled smugly and rose from her chair, "nice try, but you're coming to the station with us and you can tell me all about your findings in the car."

Carson groaned audibly. He wanted to go back to his place and promptly fall back asleep but he'd learned it's not a very good idea to argue with the police. "Fine, let me wash up first." He said, sliding his boots back off out of courtesy and headed to the office's small bathroom. He heard papers shuffling behind him as Riley and Morris got their things together.

A flicker of pain went through his head, starting behind his left eye. Looking in the mirror he actually looked okay, though maybe a little paler than usual. The fever was gone but he was far from recovered. Carson did what people call "soul magic", meaning he used life energy to do magic, mostly his own, and naturally it took time to recover from that. But there were bits of energy all around him which he could tap into. People left subtle traces of energy wherever they went, which was especially useful in a densely populated city like New York where that energy amounted to something useable. It wasn't particularly strong magic but it was fairly rare and a highly valued skill. Of all the different kinds, soul magic was the only kind that could be used to heal people since it involves with the manipulation and exchange of life energy. It was an intimate and delicate thing to practice.

So what Carson dealt with now was sort of like a psychic hangover. He'd been taken by surprise last night and was forced to use more of his own energy than he was comfortable with. Rest and positivity were the best ways to rebuild that reservoir, two things that he was coincidentally very bad at. He stood in front of the mirror, closing his eyes for as long as he reasonably could. Then quickly splashed some water on his face, dried off, and went to join them in the car.

Morris was a little older, maybe early 40's, and had spent more time in this city, so he was the only one of the three of them that actually owned a car. It was parked out front in a reserved spot. Riley and Morris were already outside by the time he caught up with them and Riley ducked into the passenger seat when she saw him coming out. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he thought bitterly, "I get to sit in the back." He didn't complain though, not wanting to admit that he, a fully grown man, still got carsick sitting in the backseat. It was only a short drive across town though as long as there wasn't any traffic, he could make it. However, the subtle headache and overall "bleh" feeling of his hangover made him doubt himself.

"So, what did you find out about this guy, Jimmy Foster, did you confirm that he is using some kind of magic?" Riley asked him once the car started moving. He was using magic all right, and a lot of it.

Carson swallowed before responding, "Definitely. I'm not sure what kind but I guess he takes his privacy very seriously and didn't appreciate me poking around." He leaned his head against the cold window and sighed before realizing opening it would probably feel better. The cool, gentle breeze did help ease the stuffy feeling inside the car.

"So what happened exactly when he noticed you?" Morris asked innocently. Riley must not have told her partner much about why he was sleeping on her couch when he showed up. Morris seemed polite enough not to ask.

"Well he came at me pretty hard. Probably wanted to send a message. His guys easily could have thrown some punches to get the point across but he went out of his way to use magic. I don't know why he'd want to reveal himself like that. I had just enough energy to block his attacks and run away."

Morris snorted. Carson was sane enough to know when to run and he wasn't the slightest bit ashamed about it. He glared at him when their eyes met through the rear view mirror. Morris quickly cleared his throat and restored the smile to his face. Maybe it was just the car sickness but Carson felt a little nauseous at how god damn nice these people are. He'd probably feel a hell of a lot better if he breathed in the sunshine and nurtured his soul or whatever but that wasn't really in his nature. Riley turned around briefly to talk to him. She had a file full of photographs in her hand which she tossed down onto the seat next to him.

"Take a look at these and see if you can identify the guys Foster was with." Carson was reluctant to drag his eyes off the horizon line to survey the pictures but he did it anyway. "Hey, are you okay?" She asked cautiously when he was on the fourth photo. He very much wanted to throw up on Morris's fine leather seats but Carson liked to think he has a little more class than that so he just mumbled a yes. She didn't press the issue further. They were only a couple blocks away from the station anyways, he'd survive.

There were ten similar looking guys in the pictures and he managed to pick out two that he was fairly certain matched the men he saw last night. "I'm pretty sure it was these two." Carson said quietly, handing back the file. He went back to feeling the cool breeze on his face and no one bothered him for the rest of the ride.

Morris pulled into a parking space in the small lot reserved for employees. And the three climbed out of the car, Carson noticabley shakier than the others.

"So do you have more questions for me or can I go home now." He asked dryly. Riley only said he had to go with them to the station, not stay. And his apartment wasn't very far from here.

"Almost done. Just come in for a minute, there's free coffee and bagels in it for you." She said, trying to coax him inside. Any other day he'd find free bagels incredibly tempting. They are, after all, his favorite food. Today though his stomach churned at the thought of it and he practically had to drag himself inside. He wasn't uncomfortable in police stations or anything but the noise of people walking around and taking phone calls wasn't helping him in the slightest. Everything sounded three times louder than usual and he could feel the shrill sound of ringing phones grate against his eardrums. Riley wasn't lucky enough to have her own office at the police station. It was actually surprising that she could afford a small one on the other side of town. He wasn't quite sure what she did in addition to your typical police work, but it was definitely something boring. She let him sit down her office chair, the kind that spins and raises and lowers. Carson's inner child debated fiddling with it while Riley did whatever it was she needed to do but he thought it best not to make himself any dizzier than he already was. Leaning over him to riffle through a stack of papers she frowned, clearly not finding what she was looking for.

"I'll need your official statement but it looks like I'm all out of forms. The copier is in the lounge with the coffee, let's go."

Her voice had that gentle commanding tone that made you want to listen to her. After all he could just bag up a couple bagels to take home and see if he could stomach a little coffee, assuming there was milk and sugar to go with it. Getting up to follow her, Carson felt a little strange for a second. He'd expected to feel pretty bad but he thought he'd be back at home by now, suffering in privacy, so he got a little worried. Once he was fully on his feet he knew he was in trouble but took a deep breath before falling in step behind her. She walked fast, too fast. There was no shortage of cubicle walls to steady himself on as he walked. Since Riley was in front of him she didn't see the way he started to stumble, grabbing onto every available surface for dear life.

"Okay the lounge is right down this hall." She said without looking behind her.

Oh god...

"The faster you fill out this form the faster you can leave." She added, noticing he was lagging behind.

No, please not here...

"Are you coming or what?"

Anywhere but here...

Finally she stopped to look behind her in time to see Carson go deathly pale, wavering a little with his hand against the wall. They didn't know each other all that well but she sensed that he was growing distant, expression somewhat vacant. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly in an effort to regain control of himself. But he was just delaying the inevitable. Riley stepped closer to him, preparing to catch him if he fainted, which Carson knew he was definitely going to do. Feeling himself starting to slip, he realized what a burden he'd been to Riley over the last few hours.

"Sorry," he mumbled at his eyes rolled back. There was a scraping sound as he slid down the wall, one of the buttons of his coat making contact with the cheap drywall. Riley managed to seize one of his shoulders, slowing down his descent. Luckily there was nothing for him to hit his head on as he landed on his side on the carpet. The loud thud drew the eyes of half of the people in the police station. Some woman by the front desk asked, "did he just pass out?" to no one in particular.

Riley felt her cheeks heat up, embarrassment by proxy. She did her best to ignore the nosy looks from her coworkers as she knelt down next to him. This time when she put a hand out to feel his forehead he couldn't flinch away from her. Confirming that his fever hadn't suddenly come back she noted the slight clamminess of his skin. Not knowing much about magic overuse, there wasn't much she could do for him but wait for him to wake up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Morris trotting over to them from his own desk.

"I thought he looked rough in the car but I didn't know it was this bad... what's wrong with him?" He asked with genuine worry.

"I don't know. He said something about overusing his magic last night then fell asleep on my couch with a 106⁰ fever before I could ask him any questions."

"Jesus Riley, why didn't you take him to the hospital?" He asked as some sort of innate fatherly instinct kick in. Having a little more stature in this precinct he didn't hesitate to grab the nearest coat off the back of someone's chair and roll it up to make a pillow for him. The woman from the front desk approached them slowly.

"You don't need to call an ambulance," said Riley, already knowing what she was going to ask. The woman looked skeptical but returned to her desk. Slowly the station came back to life and Carson's limp body in the hallway was mostly forgotten.

"I think he's just exhausted, let's give him a minute to wake up." Riley said, sitting down in a more comfortable position. Carson's arms were bent in front of him and she grabbed one of his hands to hold gently. Morris, respectfully, didn't comment on the gesture. Carson laid there, peacefully still, for another ten minutes, then started to stir. He unknowingly squeezed her hand and shifted one of his legs.

Of all the thoughts that could have run through his head as he woke up, like 'where am I?', 'who is holding my hand?', or 'how long have I been out?', his first thought was:

"This carpet is hideous." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but to be fair, mustard yellow and forest green were never meant to be together. Especially in this swirling pattern, although that might have just been his eyes trying to focus. He moved his head slightly to look up at Riley, not quite sure what to say. More than anything he wanted to go home. Not in any position to care if he sounded like a child, that's exactly what he said.

"I want to go home." He mumbled, trying to sound matter of fact and not pathetic. Morris who was still crouched near them was happy to oblige.

"Get up, I'll drive you home." He said, then turned to Riley, "would you finish looking over our files. We can wait to get his statement later."

"Sure." She said, moving out of the way. Carson managed to prop himself up on his elbows and look around the station. Despite his catnap on the floor he was still pretty tired so he didn't protest when Morris grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet. Morris and Riley exchanged looks when he let go of him, both half expecting him to fall down again. Instead Carson stood up straight, dusted off his clothes and headed towards the door with renewed determination. Morris quickly grabbed his keys and caught up with him.

"Someone's in a hurry to leave." He said as they made their way to his car.

"You have no idea." Carson said, sounding like he'd had a long day despite the fact that it was still only 10am. They got into Morris's black Honda Civic and buckled in. Carson immediately closed his eyes once he was sitting down again, only to realize a minute later that they weren't going anywhere. Carson opened them again to see Morris looking at him expectantly.

"Aren't you going to tell me where you live?" He asked.

"Oh right, just turn right onto the main road and I'll let you know where to turn after that." Caron said tiredly. Describing him as 'awake' would be a little generous, but he managed to give Morris directions until they pulled up to his apartment complex. It was nothing fancy, and in kind of a rough neighborhood, even then it was kind of hard to believe that he could afford a place like this in New York. Carson knew what he was thinking and smiled for the first time that day.

"I didn't know the guy but my dad left it to me in his will, it's rent controlled." He explained. Morris hummed in response. "Thanks for the ride." Carson riffled through his pockets for his keys on his way to the main door.

"No problem, take care of yourself." He called after him, pulling away from the curb before Carson would be forced to make a promise he couldn't keep. The stairs up to his apartment were absolute torture with the full body ache he had going. And that was really saying something, seeing as he lived on the first floor and only had to walk up five steps to get into the building. It took a few tries to get his door open, turning the key the wrong way no matter which way he seemed to turn it. Finally it clicked open and he stripped of his coat, boots, and the light jacket he had on underneath. Ah Fall, the season for layering.

Carson's apartment was small but in good shape. He had a small kitchen to the right of the door with an island that served as a dining table. To the left was a bathroom the easily took up a quarter of the apartment's total space. Then further in was a living room with two soft couches opposite each other, with a cluttered .coffee table in the middle. Instead of a TV he had two large floor to ceiling bookshelves that hid his bed from view. There were about three feet on either side to get by then the rest of the space was dedicated to a full size bed, a large dresser, and a nightstand. Despite the small size his studio was easy to get around. Carson suspected his dad had some kind of mobility issue given the large handicapable bathtub (which Carson loved the shit out of), especially on days like today. He padded over to his old answering machine on the island in the kitchen and let it play through his messages. He could just as easily check it on his smart phone but for some reason he liked it this way. It was sort of a ritual, something he did every time he came home. It crackled to life.

"One message: *beep* hi Carson, it's Riley. Get some sleep then call me back. We need to talk." He turned it off thinking it sounded important but she had said to get some sleep and who was he to argue with her. Stripping off his socks and jeans, Carson fell into bed with a heavy sigh, not even bothering to get under the covers. He surrendered to a deep sleep almost instantly, thinking in the back of his head that it might be a while before he got the chance again.

#whump #fic #whump fic #part 2 #exhaustion #fainting #headache #probably new OC's #might continue this

[gencottraux]

I’m in a memoir mood today, so let’s spin the flashback wheel to the year 1972!

It’s late July, maybe early August. Richard Nixon is president and Watergate is just emerging as a scandal.

Gasoline averages 55 cents a gallon. The Munich Olympic terrorist attack has yet to happen (that will be in September). The average yearly income is $11,800 and the average cost of a new house is $27,550.

Fashion is interesting and colorful.

  Food is weird.

David Bowie introduces his alter-ego, Ziggy Stardust.

ABBA is formed.

Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is published.

The top movie was The Godfather. M*A*S*H is a hit television show, although I am a Mary Tyler Moore Show girl.

  Roberta Flack’s First Time Ever I Saw Your Face is the top song of the year, American Pie by Don McLean is number 3, and it is the song that I like better. We all like singing along to Harry Nilsson’s Coconut Song.

  A portion of my family is on an extended one-way cross-country trip from Georgia to California.

I am the youngest. My mother, a widow with 4 children, has just married her second husband, Van, a twice-divorced alcoholic who doesn’t like children. Actually, he pretty much hates everything as far as I, at age almost 11, can tell. Cathy, our oldest sister, is not on the trip; she is in Georgia with her husband and new baby. I miss them dreadfully. Our family dog, Tripp, will be flown out later to join us in California. I also miss her dreadfully. Van took the 3 cats (Whiskers, Luke, and Christy) and the other dog, goofy  Sunshine, to the pound. Somehow he spared Tripp, who is a year older than I am and has been around my entire life. She has periodic seizures; maybe even a seemingly heartless guy like Van knows you don’t take a senior dog with seizures away from her family.

This excerpt from the Little Shit memoir (Little Shit is the nickname I obtained that summer) is early in the trip, when are headed from Laurel, Mississippi to New Orleans, Louisiana.

To do this, we cross the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, an almost 24 mile long bridge that is the world’s longest span over water. That is very long, especially when you are 10, and crammed in a car with two cranky siblings and two smoking adults, no air conditioning, and no end in sight to this miserable summer. Fun times!

Apologies to my sister Ellen for my somewhat exaggerated depiction of her moodiness and carsickness. But she did miss her boyfriend and she really hated that bridge!

[Text copyright Genevieve Cottraux 2017]

            We have a quiet breakfast at the Howard Johnson’s in Laurel, Mississippi. Ellen spent the previous night in our room in tears after saying goodbye to her boyfriend in Birmingham. It’s not like she’s never going to see him again. She’ll be back in Atlanta to finish high school soon enough, and he will be there for his second year at Emory. But she is inconsolable, refusing to eat dinner. I love the orange and turquoise theme but Ellen says it’s tacky. She consents to breakfast, but glares at Van between deep sighs. She fiddles with a cup of coffee, the weight of the world on her 16-year old shoulders. I go for the little boxes of cereal that you split open and pour the milk right in, bypassing the bowl. The snap, crackle and pop is the only noise at the table beside the sighs and the clinking of coffee cups on saucers.

            “I can’t wait to see New Orleans,” Mom finally offers as conversation.

          Steve mutters, “I can,” and Ellen just rolls her eyes.

            We load the bags back onto the luggage rack. Steve crawls to the wayback, flashing me his “beat you” grin. I settle in beside Ellen in the back seat. At least I have my book if I can’t have my favorite spot.

            “How can you read in the car?” Ellen looks at me like I’m from another planet. It’s as good a place to read as any.

            Van has decreed that Mom is not going to drive on this trip, which is fine with her, and gets behind the wheel. She empties out the overflowing ashtray and settles in.

            “We’ll be going over the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. It’s the world’s longest bridge over water,” Van announces, like he’s reading from a travel brochure.

            Uh oh. He doesn’t know yet that Ellen can get really carsick on bridges and curvy roads. I love Ellen, but I don’t want to be sitting next to her over that bridge.

            “Can we have the radio for a while?” Ellen asks.

            So far Van has been solidly anti-radio.

            “If I hear that damned “lime in the coconut” song one more time, I’m going to spit, ” he says.

            Ellen loves Carly Simon and Carole King but they don’t impress Van either. None of us want to listen to what Steve likes, bands with weird names like Jethro Tull, and of course the Allman Brothers, Georgia boys who Ellen’s boyfriend used to listen to before they were famous when they would play for free in Piedmont Park. So we settle for country music. Mom tries to get us to sing along like we used to, but Cathy was always the leader then and Ellen isn’t up to taking her place at the moment.

            The bridge appears to be endless and hovers uncomfortably close to the water. I’m not afraid of bridges or heights, but the idea of Van swerving the overloaded station wagon off the bridge when he gets cigarette ashes on his pants or spills his drink makes me nervous. Van also probably doesn’t know that I can’t swim.

            “My goodness, look at that!” exclaims Mom. It really is quite a sight, with no end on the horizon. Ellen clutches at my arm. I let her, even though I am not sure how it comforts her at all.

            “You lie down; I’ll scoot over closer to the door,” I offer. The window is open for fresh air. If we go over, is it better for it to be up or down?

             In my mind I see the swerve of the overloaded station wagon and it, with the 5 of us, dropping like a giant cannonball into the water. Do station wagons float? We have the windows cracked open all the time because of the cigarette smoke and the lack of air conditioning. Now I wonder, would it be better to have the windows tightly shut in the event of a water landing? I grab the crank and start turning it, the cool smooth metal feeling like my last chance to avoid a watery grave. I practice rolling the window up and down to see how fast I can do it if called on in an emergency.

            “What the hell are you doing,” Van demands, his mouth pursed around his cigarette and looking at me in the rear view mirror.

            I know better than to answer the question. I stop cranking the handle and slide down in the seat so I can’t see all of the beautiful blue, deadly water out there. But it’s much too hot to burrow, and Ellen is taking up more than her share of the space as she lies on her side and closes her eyes, trying to stem the carsickness. Steve is looking out the wayback at the cars behind us, and gazing at the water as it speeds away from him rather than toward him.

            “Scoot over,” I whisper as I crawl over the seat back into the wayback with him. “Ellen’s going to puke on me!”

            He swats at me, “Go away.”

            “Mom!” I yell toward the front.

            “Mom! Steve won’t let me in the back. Tell him to move over.” I am halfway over the back seat, head and shoulders in the wayback and the rest of me trying to catch up. Ellen, sweaty and clammy with carsickness, is swatting me away with a surprisingly strong hand from one side and Steve from the other. I hiss at Steve, “Let me in, she’s going to puke on me.”

            “Dammit, Nancy,” snarls Van. “I am not pulling over on this bridge. Control your children.” Mom is obliviously singing with Donna Fargo that she’s the happiest girl in the whole USA. 

  Was my mother really oblivious? I honestly don’t know, but it seemed so at the time. And no, in 1972 not a lot of people bothered with seat belts. I climbed around in the car. Dear younger readers, cars did not have electric windows in the old days. You had to crank them. I can’t say for sure there was a Howard Johnson’s in Laurel, Mississippi, but I know we stayed at one somewhere along the way.

  We did love the Coconut Song. You know the one, “put the lime in the coconut, you know you’ll feel better…

  Here I am, 45 years later, on a hot day in California in August, drinking my favorite new icy drink, coconut water with lime. It does make me feel better!

Cheers!

A Bridge Over Troubled Water (A Very Long Bridge) I'm in a memoir mood today, so let's spin the flashback wheel to the year 1972!

#ABBA #American Pie #Coconut Song #David Bowie #Don McLean #Donna Fargo #Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas #First Time Ever I Saw Your Face #Harry Nilsson #Howard Johnson&039;s #Hunter S. Thompson #Lake Pontchartrain Causeway #M*A*S*H #MAry Tyler Moore Show #memoir writing #Richard Nixon #Roberta Flack #The Godfather #The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA #Watergate #Ziggy Stardust