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gloryhrs · 1 year

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━━ ⟡ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓨𝐎𝐔 𝓑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘, various. 🐇

᧔𐓪᧓ 𝓱𝐜𝐬 𝓯𝐭. ━━ Kensei Muguruma, Kenpachi Zaraki, Renji Abarai, & Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!

ii. 𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 // 2/3 part of the animal s/o series!

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐈 𝐌𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 so smitten with you that it was insane. Kensei thought you were an angel that landed on earth waiting for him. Every time he sees you, his heart picks up in an instant; he can’t be sad around you because you are his source of happiness. He wasn’t going to deny that your bunny ears made him soft as well. You’ve both kept your marriage a secret for years since Kensei didn’t want people constantly working his nerves about you and how you hated when people asked too many questions. But when you brought him his lunch when he was training with his squad, that’s when the news accidentally came out.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 clutched the bunny-themed bento boxes in your hands as you began to make your way to the training grounds, where Kensei was. Since he was rushing this morning, he forgot to grab his lunch when he left, so you’ve decided to take it to him (so you wouldn’t have to put up with a grumpy Kensei later on). Once you made your way to the training grounds, you immediately froze in place at the sight of his squad training with him as well. Captain Unohana said he was alone! You squealed inside your head as you took a step back to walk away. "Y/n–san? What are you doing here? And what’s with the lunches?" Mashiro peeked her head from behind the tree as everyone turned their attention on you, which made her die a little inside. Your ears flattened as you tried to explain yourself: "U—Um, I—." "It’s none of your business." The familiar voice made your ears perk up again. You felt your cheeks become warm at the sight of your handsome husband, who was covered in sweat. "Thank you." He took the meals from your hands and placed a kiss on your forehead as everyone around let out shrieks of disbelief. "What? Captain has a lover?" Hisagi's eyes widened at the adorable couple who shared a conversation. "Kensei?! You never told me that someone liked you! And that it was Y/n-san!" Mashiro peeked over his shoulder as a vein appeared on his head. "You damn woman! We’re married!" He yelled at the green haired girl and enough for everyone to hear, which caused them to let out another shudder of disbelief. "WHAT?!"

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 baths with you most of the time. He always finds it funny how your nose starts twitching when he uses his soap-covered fingers to touch it. You can’t remember the last time you took a bath by yourself. Once you announced that you were taking a bath, Kensei was most definitely behind you.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ "𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐈!" You squeaked at your husband, who ran his wet hands through your curls. The sound of his laughter made you pout and cross your arms, saying, "That’s not funny!" You splashed him with water. You watched his smile disappear for a moment, which made your ears lay flat against your head. "I see." He simply said this before his smile appeared again as he used both of his hands to splash the water on you. Which made you shrink, "Kensei! Now take this!" You splashed him with another wave of water.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 were the peacemaker when it came to him getting into arguments with Mashiro. From time to time, you have to separate the two before they start to fistfight each other. When you take Kensei away, Mashiro will still continue with her taunts, causing Kensei to restrain himself and focus on the view ahead of him.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐈 knew better than to irritate you; the last time he did, he found his captain’s coat and uniform torn to shreds. With a little note saying, 'If you thought you were funny for that little stunt you pulled last night, you’re wrong. Have a great day at work! Make sure to get yourself a new captain’s coat! ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა' That was the first and last time he scared you unexpectedly.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 idea of bonding time is cuddling and going on walks. He found it endearing how your eyes would sparkle and your ears would perk up at the sight of bunnies. Once you see one, you’ll chase after it the entire time, with Kensei following behind and telling you to be careful and not trip yourself up.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ "𝐁𝐄 careful, Y/N!" Kensei trailed after you as you continued to chase after the rabbit who ran away from you. Kensei felt that his lungs were going to collapse on him any time soon if he didn’t stop and take a break. But he refused to let you wander off into the forest without him or knowing how to get back, so he kept running. After hitting another turn, he quickly stopped in his tracks and said, "Damn it, I didn’t know bunnies could go that fast." He panted and wiped the sweat off his forehead; he needed a drink of water for God’s sake. "Look Kensei! She has babies!" You showed him the tiny bunnies that rested in your hands. Kensei decided to give himself a break and sit beside you as you cradled the small bunnies that were falling asleep in your arms. "Aren’t they cute?" You cooed at the animals while the other jumped in Kensei’s lap. He felt his heart ache at the bunnies who tried to jump into his chest but failed. Was this paradise? "I want babies now!" You continued to kiss the animals as Kensei slowly turned his head towards you. "No."

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐈.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 didn’t give a shit about your bunny ears; he thought they were unique and cool. Not to mention, your bunny-like behavior was adorable to see.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 was worried about you having a relationship with the man because. . .he’s Kenpachi Zaraki. People told you that the man wasn’t a loving person and that he sure as hell didn’t have a loving bone in his body. But he proved them wrong with the way he acted behind closed doors.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 give this man some kisses. He’s so touched starved, but he acts like he isn’t. He acts like he doesn’t like the way your hands run through his hair when he’s napping, but he adores it. He adores using your stomach as a pillow while he sleeps, and when you wake him up, his scowl turns into a smile. Your flowery and innocent aura made it hard for him to get upset at you.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄 found it cute how you turn into an actual bunny when you’re scared. Once you turn into the bunny, he’ll hold you and carry you around on your shoulder the entire day until you turn back into a human. With him feeding you carrots and giving you occasional pats.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐔 tilted her head at the captain with the bunny on his shoulder and observed as the bunny nuzzled its nose in Kenpachi’s neck until he brought another apple slice to its face. "Kenny! What’s with the bunny? Where did you find it?" Yachriu pointed to the animal that scratched its nose when Kenpachi tickled it. "It’s Y/N; someone accidentally scared them, and they turned into this." He pointed at you as you stood up on your hind legs to grab his finger. "Huh? Y/n! I didn’t know you could do that! So cool!" Yachriu's eyes sparkled as you nodded your head before jumping into her arms. Yachriu giggled when you nuzzled your nose into her cheek, which meant you were giving her kisses. Kenpachi’s eyes softened at the scene before him. Even when you’re in bunny form, you can be the cutest thing.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 not too fond of PDA but will hold your hand for the longest of time, with the excuse of ‘I don’t want you to get lost.’ Plus he always notices when you get nervous so he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 couldn’t lie to him even if you tried. Kenpachi was far from an idiot, he knows what’s going on through that brain of yours more than you know yourself. So when you lie to him then he’ll force you to stop what you’re doing and look him in his eyes and repeat that, which you couldn’t do.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ "𝐈–𝐈’𝐌 Sorry Kenny, I didn’t mean to lie. I’ve just been stressed for the past couple of weeks." You looked down at your hands while Kenpachi squeezed them. Kenpachi could tell that you were stressing yourself out, but he never said anything because he didn’t want to upset you. "There’s no need to be sorry." His large and warm hands caressed your cheek; he hated when you apologized for sh*t that wasn’t your fault. "Come, get some rest." He sat down and pointed to his lap. You tilted your head before shaking your head. No, you had plenty of things to finish! You couldn’t be caught slacking off again. "I’m sorry, but— ah!" You fell into your husband’s lap while he was using one of his arms to keep you in place. "I don’t care about that shit; those assholes know better than to overwork someone like you." He cursed with his thumb, tracing over the dark eye bags under your eyes. If anyone has a problem with you, then he’ll fix it.

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐈.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 wants to spend every second of his day with you. He wants to pinch your chubby cheeks, smoother you with kisses, and to take care of you. Like this guy was tremendously infatuated with you. His ears perked up like a dog just from the sound of your name, words can’t describe how he acts when you’re around.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 up for you 24/7, Every time someone is talking bad about you then he isn’t afraid to pick a fight. If he isn’t there then Rukia will surely do for him. He despised how people thought they could walk over you because you barely talked. Or when they think they can touch your ears and tail without permission. When you came and told him with tears in your eyes that a random shinigami was pulling on your tail, even when you told him to stop. Renji almost lost it.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 felt an indescribable anger rising in his body. Who the hell had the nerve to touch you without your constant? Almost everyone knew how much you hated when people touch your tail without your authorization. He walked down the hallway with his fist tightening at the sound of laughter, that was the bastard who teased and touched you. "Hey! What the hell is your problem?" He walked up to the man who looked at him up and down before laughing once more. "So you’re that brat’s boyfriend? I sh—" Renji didn’t let him finish as he punch the man in his face with ease. He watched as he held his bloody nose before giving him another punch to the face.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 shinigami would side-eye him for having a bag of fruits laying around in his pocket, but it turns out it was for you, and when your bunny form activated, He knew that once that happened, you would be in his care for the rest of the day.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐒 lullabies are a must! You couldn’t go to sleep with your lullaby and would get Renji to hum a little tune while patting your head; once he does that, you’ll be out like a light.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 he travels into the world of living, he brings back these cute little bunny figures. You had an entire exhibition of the glass figures he brought; they were so precious to you! Your favorite were the married bunnies holding each other's hands. ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄 never yelled at you before, but when he accidentally did he felt his heart shattered into pieces. Even though you forgave him he still remembers how your ears flattened with your eyes becoming glossy. He always told people about raising their voice at you but he spun around and did the same thing. You weren’t upset with him anymore, but the memory still runs across his mind once in a while.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 couldn’t believe what he just did. It may be small to some people but not you, he yelled at you. He stood frozen in the same spot as you sniffled quietly, trying your best to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. Neither one of you moved, instead you both stood in the same spot, waiting for the other to leave. But neither of you could leave. The heavyweight inside Renji’s heart resulted in him reaching his hand up to his chest, then his face. Deciding it was time for you to leave you walked passed him while maintaining the tears. Until the loud smacking sound made you flinch, you turned your head to see Renji with a bright red hand marking on his face. "R–Renji?! Why did you do that?!" You ran towards him and held his stinging cheek that was starting to swell up. "Because I yelled at you, if you weren’t going to do it then I mind as well do it my damn self!"

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐙.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖 was most certainly the definition of overprotective; he may be 6'1, but when it came to protecting you, all of a sudden he was 7'8. No one was going to put their hands on you when he was around. Not unless they want to walk around with no arms and a missing eye.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 his only soft spot ૮₍ ◞‸◟ㆀ ₎ა When he gets teased by other Espadas about his behavior around you, he can’t deny it. You did make him soft; you gave him countless kisses; you trusted him to see your body; and you were always there for him when he was upset. He was glad he was able to be vulnerable around you without any judgment from you. Grimmjow wasn’t ashamed to have you as a lover; if anything, he was proud as hell!

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄 was also incredibly possessive. He didn’t like it when the other Arrancars flirted with or touched you. It made his blood boil at the thought of someone other than him making you blush and giggle. He hated it; you were his. And no one else’s could make you feel the way he does, physically and mentally. You would have to reassure him that your eyes were only on him, and he knew that. He just didn’t trust the Arrancars, who thought otherwise. He didn’t care if he had to kill one of them to make the point that you belonged to him.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐖 was on the verge on snapping. He watched as the Arrancar flirted with you. Since you were a bit innocent, you brushed it off as a friendly gesture, but Grimmjow could see right through that sh*t. His final straw was seeing the bastard reach out to stroke your ears; that’s when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from them. The anger that ran through his veins made him want to kill that asshole. "Grimm? What’s wrong?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his glare was quickly put to the side once he saw your gorgeous e/c eyes staring back into his worryingly. "I–It’s nothing. I was being dramatic." He released his grip on your wrist as you took your hand into his. "If you’re talking about what happened back there, then you don’t have to worry; I’ll still be your true love. No one here can change that. I love you." You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Grimmjow’s jealous rage disappeared within seconds after that; your reassurance was what he needed. "I love you too, Fuzzy."

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 so in love with you that he’ll listen to any command you give without any backtalk. You want him to jump off a cliff? He’s going to do it! Kill every living thing around you so he could have you all to himself? Say no more! Once you ask or tell him to do something, his mind is completely set on that task.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 you turn into a bunny, he’ll always play with you! He’ll put you on your back and give you a series of stomach rubs while giving you treats. When exploring outside of Hueco Mundo, he’ll jog ahead of you and laugh as you struggle to catch up with him. Your tiny bunny legs were fast, but not as fast as Grimmjow's running!

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐇𝐄 loves play fighting with you as well. Even if you were his dear love, he isn’t going easy on you. Even when you’re in your bunny form, you've always found a way to strike him, only for him to pin you down by your stomach. He still remembered when you turned into a bunny while fighting with him and how you stood on your back legs with your two paws balled up to imitate a fist. Grimmjow never cracked up that much in his life.

♡ 𓈒 𓈒 ୨୧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 pouted and crossed your arms at your boyfriend, who had tears in his eyes from the endless laughing he was doing. You huffed and leaped on his stomach as he halted for a moment, but when he glanced back at you, his laughter started up once again like an engine. "B–Bunny! You’re hilarious!" The blue-haired man wiped the tears from his eyes as he picked you up and gave your chubby cheeks multiple kisses while still grinning. Since you couldn't talk in your animal form, you glared at him before turning your paw into a fist and waving it around, signaling that he should shut up.

410 notes · View notes

rosemochi · 3 years

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16. Daybreak.

"How much for a room?"

The innkeeper stares. Zack stares back. He knows he's getting blood all over the floor, but it's not as if he can help it, and if the man declines to help him, then the puddle will just get larger. Finally, the innkeeper sighs, and Zack's shoulders sag in relief. "Hundred gil. Only got single beds, though."

He limps towards the desk. It takes a great deal of effort to grab his wallet, considering Cloud is still slung over his back. "That's fine." After a pause, he says, "Sorry about the mess. I'll clean—"

"Don't worry about it." The innkeeper hands him a key. "Room charge includes a cleanin' fee."

Their accommodations are filthy, but it's still better than the lab. Zack sets Cloud down on the bed, strips him of his wet clothes, and covers him with as many blankets as he can find. He still looks uncomfortable — because anybody would've been uncomfortable on such a thin mattress — so Zack takes his own pillow and shoves it underneath Cloud's head, leaving his own side bare. Finally, he collapses into a nearby armchair and watches Cloud with half-lidded, heavy eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

Cloud doesn't answer, of course. The only noise that greets Zack is the sound of the slums outside the window; the bustling crowds, loud, inhospitable, naturally wary of broad-shouldered men in sleeveless turtlenecks. It was a miracle that he'd even managed to find this inn, considering most people in Sector 7 avoided him like the plague. "We'll figure it out." Zack's voice is light, airy, confident; the opposite of what he feels inside. "It'll be fine."

---

It's not fine.

The next day dawns. Zack counts out his remaining gil. There's only enough for a week's worth of food, and that's if he stretches it. Going to the hospital isn't an option, and it's far too late to take a potion, so he eventually resorts to digging out the bullets in his torso with a pocket knife. They make a strange kind of music as they hit the bathroom sink, clinking against the porcelain, accompanied by the steady drip, drip, drip of Zack's blood. Cloud sleeps through Zack's grunts of pain, which he's grateful for — he doesn't want Cloud to see him like this.

As Zack bandages his wounds, he thinks back to the encounter that gave him all of these injuries to begin with. He's pretty sure Cloud didn't get hit by anything, but it's not as if he's conscious enough to say otherwise.

"Sorry, buddy," Zack says. "Gotta do this."

He lifts the blankets up. Cloud's torso looks fine — other than the keloid scar in the center of his chest, stark against his pale skin, and the frightening way his ribs stick out from his body, made thin by five years of stillness and artificial nutrition. Zack doesn't look for very long, because it feels weird; he's oddly flustered by the time he finishes his pseudo-examination.

Once he's finished, Zack goes to sit on the side of the bed and misses it entirely. He slowly sinks to the threadbare carpet, his shirt catching on the rough comforter as he goes down. His head is pounding, as if somebody's hammering on the insides of his brain with a hammer. "Good," he murmurs, relieved. "Just me, then."

---

Zack wakes, his head still aching, and hastily dresses in the only outfit he has. He wants to run his errands before the slums awaken, but Sector 7 is full of early birds... that are naturally wary of Shinra-issued super-soldiers. Zack arrives at a grocery store, dressed in his infamous uniform (sans pauldrons, though it doesn't help much), beelines for the produce, and promptly gets spat at over a bushel of carrots.

"I'm an ex-SOLD—" Zack sighs. The old Wutain woman walks away, muttering curses under her breath. "Nevermind."

He heads to a nearby clothing store and spends far too much money (five gil) on a new set of clothes. The turtleneck, belt, and pants find their way into a nearby dumpster. Now incognito, Zack quickly buys some necessities — food, water, more bandages, a bar of soap — and races back to the hotel room, eager to check on Cloud.

"I'm home," he announces. Cloud doesn't respond. Zack sits on the side of the bed and rifles through the grocery bags, emerging with a container of fruit. "I bought blueberries." He hastily covers his mouth with his other hand as he coughs, his chest burning from the exertion of running up the stairs. "Your—" Another cough. "Your favourite."

---

Could he be a mercenary? He doesn't see why not, really, other than the fact that somebody might recognize him (when he's supposed to be dead). Could leveraging his ex-SOLDIER status help drum up more business? Is it worth the risk? He'll figure it out in the morning, he decides. Zack lies his throbbing head down on the mattress and falls asleep, dreaming of the painkillers he'll buy with his mercenary money.

The fourth day comes. Zack opens his eyes and hisses in pain; the sunlight feels like it's burning a hole through his skull. He flips onto his stomach, seeking darkness, and hears an unfamiliar groan.

It takes him a moment to recognize the sound.

Zack leaps out of bed and immediately sways on his feet. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, but he can't let whatever it is stop him — Cloud needs him. He grabs a bottle of water, brings it to Cloud, and holds his head up so he can drink it.

As soon as the bottle's empty, Cloud asks, "Where are we?"

"Sector 7," Zack says. "The slums."

Cloud's eyes roam up and down Zack's bare torso, pausing at the blood-stained bandages. "I remember the cliff," he croaks. "I thought I dreamed it."

Zack lays back down on the hard mattress. He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "I wish."

The mattress squeaks as Cloud turns to face him. Zack carefully looks at him, emaniciated but animated, taking in all of the features — sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones, dry lips — that display his illness, equivalent to Zack's own sorry state. Still, there's something about the sight of Cloud that Zack finds strangely wonderful, something that makes his heart race — a feeling made stronger by the fact that it's him, awake, present, right beside him.

"We're alive," Cloud whispers in wonder.

"Yeah." Zack smiles. "We're alive."

---

Though Zack might not stay that way for long.

Day five. The morning sun burns his eyes like acid. Whatever's been plaguing Zack has grown infinitely worse, and he suspects it has something to do with one of his bullet wounds — whatever's making his bandages stain yellow rather than red. Or perhaps it's because he sat in soaked clothes for hours upon hours as he hauled Cloud to Midgar, frozen to the bone in the frigid December weather.

Or perhaps it's both.

The reason doesn't matter, really, because that's not the point. Isn't he supposed to be immune to these sorts of things? What on earth was the point of his augmentations if he still gets things like colds and infections?

Zack ventures back outside in search of medicine, for things he hasn't taken since he was a child in Gongaga, fighting against strep throat and bronchitis. He heads to the nearest pharmacy, because he still can't afford a doctor. Unfortunately, he finds out he can't afford basic remedies either.

"You got wounded?" The pharmacist says, eyes wide. "How long ago?"

"Five days."

"Way too late for a potion," he murmurs. He looks Zack up and down, then rifles underneath the counter. "I'm not supposed to sell these without a prescription, but..." He rings up the antibiotics. "Two hundred gil."

Zack grimaces. "I have fifty."

The pharmacist directs Zack to the veterinarian next door: somebody who sells drugs under the table for cheap. Zack pays ten gil for a bottle of canine antibiotics (which is still too much, but he can't take care of Cloud if he's dead himself) and stumbles back outside. His head swims as he wobbles down the street, knocking shoulders with Sector 7's many residents. He hits one woman particularly hard. "Sorry," he slurs.

The black-haired woman whirls around to face him. She gasps. "Wait—"

"Sorry."

The woman says something else, but Zack rushes forward, eager to get back to Cloud. He makes it back to the inn (though he's not quite sure how), tears his way back into the room, and promptly rushes for the toilet. The bile tears through his esophagus as it comes up, leaving his throat raw and scorched in its wake.

Something crashes in the bedroom. Zack looks over the rim and sees Cloud crawling towards him, a blanket tangled around his legs. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," Zack insists, though he's sure he's not doing a very convincing job of it. He flushes the bile away. "Got meds."

Cloud hunts around for the bag that Zack dropped on the floor. Exhausted, he leans back on the bathroom cupboard, rips the bag open, and inspects the bottle. "This says 'for Fido'."

"He said something about 'equivalent doses'," Zack groans. "No idea what that means."

Somehow, he musters up the energy to pull himself up to the sink so he can brush his teeth. Cloud crawls up with him, using the counter as leverage. The image in the mirror is a frightening sight; Zack can barely recognize himself. Cloud reaches up and pulls a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Zack's temple. "When was the last time either of us showered?"

Zack grimaces as he thinks back. "Five years ago?"

It's a good thing they decide to shower together, because they end up having to hold each other up. Cloud doesn't have the dexterity to unbutton his own pants, so Zack does it for him; Zack doesn't have the strength to lift his arms above his head, so Cloud hooks his arms underneath Zack's shirt and pulls. They take turns scrubbing each other clean, trying to make up for each other's deficiencies. Zack's bandages get soaked, but he simply doesn't have the energy to care. "Bend down," Cloud says. "I'll get your hair."

The hot water doesn't last long. Strength spent, they end up on the floor, gasping for air and clutching each other for warmth. Zack's feverish forehead lands on Cloud's cold shoulder; the sensation makes him groan in relief, even though the rest of his body is frozen to the bone. "We might have to stay here forever," Cloud gasps. "I don't have the strength to haul you up."

Zack slowly drags his head up. Droplets of cold water drip down Cloud's chin, his jaw, his neck, collecting in the hollow of his throat. Zack's mouth is impossibly dry; if he didn't know any better, he might've tried to drink from it. "I'd be fine with that," he admits.

---

"Why did you give me your pillow?"

Zack drags his eyes open. Dim streaks of light pierce through the blinds, highlighting the dust in the air. The clock on the nightstand reads 5:30 AM. "You needed it more."

"How?" Cloud croaks. "I was unconscious."

Zack doesn't have a good answer for that, so he stays silent. Cloud sighs and tugs at his shoulders. "Roll over," he says, and Zack slowly complies. His head lands in the center of Cloud's chest — a much comfier surface than the hard mattress. "Stupid," Cloud whispers into his hair. "You're so stupid."

They slowly drift back to sleep. Zack dreams of everything — his childhood in Gongaga, his days as a SOLDIER, the bloodshed in Wutai, the pain, the glory, the atrocities, all blending together into a whirlpool of dreams and nightmares. At the center of the maelstrom, always present, is the laboratory and the years he spent with Cloud, so close and yet so far, within arm's reach but miles away. In his dreams, the glass is impenetrable, no matter how hard he tries to smash it; his screams are muffled by the mako that spills into his throat, filling his lungs, robbing him of freedom.

But not anymore.

Cloud is here. He's in front of him, beneath him, warm, breathing and alive. Cloud's arms rise up to hold him, enveloping Zack in a comforting warmth that feels like home; Zack's hands clutch at Cloud's shirt as if it's the only thing tethering him to the Planet. The fabric underneath his eyes quickly grows damp.

"Still feverish," Cloud whispers, his lips moving against Zack's forehead.

"Yeah?" Zack mumbles, as if he can't tell — though he obviously can. His head is swimming; he feels like a child again, sitting in the bow of his dad's fishing boat, feeling the ocean tug him to and fro. "Not enough dog meds."

"I'll go get them."

Zack's arms tighten around Cloud's waist. "Don't," he says. "They're not doing anything anyway."

"You have to keep taking them for them to work," Cloud argues. He eventually wiggles out from underneath him, though Zack does his best to make him stay put. An eternity passes before he returns, medicine and water in hand. "Open your mouth."

Zack's throat, still raw from bile, aches as he swallows the pills down. Cloud puts the medicine aside and collapses on top of him, utterly spent. They lay there for a while, arms twisted around each other, Zack taking comfort in Cloud's steady heartbeat. "Don't know what I'd do if I lost you," Cloud whispers.

Zack gently runs his fingers through Cloud's sweat-soaked hair. "You'd be fine."

"No," Cloud quietly argues. "No, I wouldn't."

Zack slowly sinks back into unconsciousness. For once, he dreams of nothing; his mind is a dark, cool abyss, a refuge from the fever. When he's pulled back into the world of the living, his surroundings are much of the same. Zack awakens to soft fingers running through his hair, stroking his burning forehead, caressing his sunken cheeks. Is he still dreaming? "Don't stop," Zack croaks. "Feels good."

The stroking continues. The fingers trace his brow, the slope of his nose, the bow of his parched mouth, thumb swiping against his bottom lip — where they suddenly stop. Zack opens his mouth to speak, to breathe, to ask for more, when something else presses against his lips: a mouth as chapped as his own.

The kiss is light, because it has to be; even in his dreams, there's no energy for passion. In its absence, the gentlest of movements becomes profound. Zack sighs as he gently presses his lips to Cloud's, swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, seeking his warmth. A shiver tears through him as Cloud's tongue brushes against his own—

—until Cloud abruptly pulls away. He coughs, his chest rattling as he desperately tries to catch his breath. Zack holds him tight and rubs his back until the coughing fit passes. "Shh," he whispers against Cloud's forehead. "Shh."

Cloud eventually stills. Zack can tell he's feverish too; the skin underneath his lips is hot to the touch. "Sorry," Cloud croaks. The misery in his voice makes Zack's chest hurt. "I'm sorry."

Zack shakes his head. What on earth could he ever be sorry for? "Don't be."

They lay there for what feels like an eternity. Zack drifts in and out of consciousness, through the past and present. The fever tries to pull him under, but he briefly comes up for air. "I'll kiss you properly," Zack croaks, "when we're better."

Cloud's arms tighten around him. "We're not getting better."

He's right. Zack's fever persists, no matter what meds he throws at it; he can feel death hovering nearby, waiting to pull him into the ether. "If you can move," Zack slowly says, "I want you to go to the hospital. Don't—" He coughs. "Don't worry about the—"

Cloud inches himself up Zack's body and kisses him again. He coughs, then kisses the corner of Zack's mouth, coughs, then kisses his cheek; the hacking sound is loud and startling, as if it's tearing his lungs into two. "Shut up," he says. "I'm not leaving you."

Zack's eyes close against his will, robbing him of the opportunity to argue. As he slowly sinks into darkness, he feels something wet drip onto his face, like a familiar droplet of rain from a stormy sky. If he were to open his eyes, would he see dark clouds? Would he still be on the cliff, lying in the torrent, waiting for death?

He opens his mouth to the rain, eager to soothe his parched throat, and tastes salt on his tongue.

---

Zack awakens. The light behind his closed eyelids is warm, soothing, like the sunlight that dries the earth after a storm. A soft breeze brushes against his neck, stirring his hair.

"Hey."

Zack cracks his mouth open. "Hey," he croaks.

The weight of Cloud's body pushes him into the ground. Is he alive? Dead? Has he always been dead? Zack doesn't know much about the afterlife, but he knows it's supposed to be a paradise, and an eternity with Cloud is the closest he'll ever get to it.

The sunlight grows warmer, enveloping him from within. The pain in his body ebbs, replaced by something that Zack can only describe as peace. "I love you," Cloud says.

He turns his head towards the sound. "I love you too," he says, smiling. "Always have."

Another sound slowly enters Zack's consciousness; two sets of heavy boots, smacking against wooden floors. "Somebody's coming," Cloud says. "Shinra?"

Zack wraps his arms around Cloud, holding him tight, tighter, until they're as close as two people could possibly be. Their bodies meld into one entity, one soul, impossible to separate, together for eternity. "I'm not going anywhere without you," Cloud says.

The boots come to a stop. "No," Zack agrees, shaking his head. "Never."

Knock.

Every single thing Zack meant to say over the past five years comes out in a rush. "I love you," he croaks, because he can never say it enough. "I love you, I love you—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I love you too," Cloud says, his voice thick with tears.

"What are you tryin' to do, tear the damn door down?!" the innkeeper growls. "Hold on. I've got a key."

It doesn't matter. None of it does. It doesn't matter what will happen, if they're alive or dead or somewhere in between, if they're spirits wandering through the ether, souls flitting through hazy dreams — because they'll always have each other.

"I love you."

The door opens.

#FF7 #FFVII #Zack Fair #Cloud Strife #Zack Fair/Cloud Strife #clack #drabble challenge #my fic #I wrote this while sick and you can kinda tell

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guqin-and-flute · 3 years

Text

Holding Me Holding You [Ch. 4]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

[Ao3 Link]

[This chapter drops sharply deeper into angst, so there are some trigger warnings under the cut. If you’re worried about any of them, the Ao3 link end notes have summaries to check if you wanna read or skip! 👌 Next chapter will still hurt, but won’t be quite as dark as this one and from then on, it gets lighter.]

[TW: PTSD nightmares, mild unreality, anxiety attack, brief mention of child death, nongraphic description of dead body, general canon typical violence and gore (lots of imaginary blood), mild descriptions of violence, brief mention of suicide, canonical self harm, canonical alcohol abuse, burns, non-graphic description of injuries, Xichen’s worsening mental state, mild emetophobia warning]

The stimulant slowly brightens his mind to a sort of sharpness that borders on unreality. It feels as if his neck is strung with little filaments of wire, pinging with a tension that radiates through his jaw, up into his skull and down his shoulders, even to his hips. But words come easier and the lists of duties can be lined up like neat little stones. It’s alright. It’s necessary.

A-Fu is more animated than yesterday--sometimes he swivels about with keen eyes, sometimes he dozes, only occasionally he whines. At one point, he even proclaims, “S’eepy. Nigh’ nigh’,” and, for all intents and purposes, seems to drop directly into sleep. Mostly, he simply watches everything go by and clings any time Xichen unwraps him. People seem to find him funny. One of the liaisons from Caiyi Town they briefly meet with smiles and leans down to ask A-Fu if he is a little leech who won’t let go. A-Fu just chews on his fingers and stares at him.

Throughout the afternoon, Xichen continues to feed him snacks--little carrots, berries, shreds of buns. The boy holds a few back up to Xichen’s mouth expectantly, sharing again. Xichen smiles and accepts, the tang of the berries bursting over his tongue, bright and startling.

There is even a moment between meetings, just one moment where he sets A-fu down and sits on the steps of a forest path to put his head in his hands just so it would stop spinning. And A-Fu, from where he is latched onto Xichen’s sleeve peering up at him, says, “Sad? So sad?”

“No. No, I’m alright. Tired.”

A-Fu only cocks his head. “Aww, so sad?”

At this endearingly imperfect mimicry of sympathy, Xichen raises his head and smiles down at him, ignoring how that simple movement of his neck has sent white hot pain singing down his spine. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

At this, A-Fu pats (smacks) his palm directly to the right of Xichen’s nose repeatedly, narrowly missing his eye. He announces something utterly incomprehensible with great confidence; it almost sounds like a rhyme, but the vowels are so warped by his young age and half the consonants are missing. Whatever he’s saying seems to satisfy him because he segues directly into being distracted by Xichen’s headband, his other hand trying to hook into Xichen’s mouth for leverage. It’s enough that he chuckles, briefly, before gathering him back up to stand again. In any case, it’s nice to have something that he can physically hold and influence in this moment.

Xichen continues in the flow of the day, feeling like a blind cave fish in a current as everything closes over his head. The air is clammy and chill, bringing the scents of the woods and distant storms. He makes sure to keep wiping the little pebbles of mist off of A-Fu’s face and keeps him shielded when he can. He organizes for more medicine to be brought. He speaks with the doctor caring for Wangji and the sick child. He speaks with his Uncle, with those who are injured and dying. He speaks to the recovering elders his brother had fought, lets their betrayal and rage and disbelief wash over him as he bows deeply and apologizes on Wangji’s behalf and nods and nods.

He lets A-Fu wander around the Hanshi’s main room as he responds to urgent missives from Clans Nie, Jiang, Jin, Yao, Ouyang, and more. Da-ge, as Clan Leader, not as his partner. His heart.

The smooth of his hand over the paper feels almost raw against the prickliness Xichen’s skin has become. He yearns for softer things to send his loves, but now is not the time and he doesn’t have room in between thoughts.

It’s not a question when he takes A-Fu back to the Hanshi to sleep again. He hasn’t the strength to wrestle against his obvious stubborn attachment. Xichen’s skin is crawling like something is underneath it and he is simply unwilling to tempt fate. Let the boy have what he wants. Let him be happy. If it was Xichen who made him so...well, at least that’s something. He will deal with it tomorrow. There is always tomorrow.

Now that it’s dark and the stimulant has since worn off, his sleepless nights are crowding in like unwanted visitors and words and intentions are growing somewhat...vague. He doesn’t know exactly what placations are falling from his mouth like wet autumn leaves--distant encouragement, compliments for his good behavior, mindless crooning. At one point, he can feel himself humming but cannot place when he has decided to do so. It’s dimly concerning, but A-Fu doesn’t seem alarmed by him, simply tired. He curls up right in Xichen’s arms and falls asleep almost immediately after they both fall into bed. Xichen is not far behind, sinking, sinking….

The lull in his pocket of the battle allows him to catch his breath, filling his mouth and lungs with the prickling acid of resentful energy and death. It’s burning like meat. He smells it. Tastes it. It’s as sour as his fear. Shouyue is blood slick in his hand. Sticky. A fresh peal of crazed, despairing laughter blooms above the thunder of screams and clashes. Viscera has turned the ground to slippery mud. He is shaking.

He is turning to search out his brother, fear choking. Finds him leaving. He’s leaving him, flying away, blood raining from his back, spattering down onto the upturned faces below and when Xichen takes a step after him, it’s into the middle of a crowd of corpses. They are Lan and Wen, faces twisted to inhumanity--they are clawing at him, swiping, screaming, savaged and broken. His blood is fire, seething in his chest and gut, running over his skin and everything is wet with it and he--

A scream slices the snarls and Xichen is whipping around, bile flooding up because it’s A-Fu, standing, alone, wailing helplessly in the middle of this slaughter.

No. Not alone.

There is a white form in front of him, hunched over and, all at once, Xichen knows that A-Fu is watching his mother die.

The boy--

He can’t.

My boy--

He shouldn’t, shouldn't have to see--

Xichen is fighting, each step bringing him no closer. He is heavier and heavier until the malicious weight of his own bones drags him down to his knees, incandescent with terror. The swords of the corpses slide home. He is pierced. Pinned to the ground. He is a wild thing, struggling and clawing to get to A-Fu, to shield him from this sight--and the figure is looking up and he sees with a shock of spine numbing horror that she is not Lan Liu.

She is Xichen’s mother, blood bubbling in her breath, weeping, hurting, dying, intestines spilling wetly out, pink and red and black, and he can’t get to them, he’s trying, help, oh gods please no, he can’t move, skewered and heavy and useless, and blood is still somehow raining down, every drop burrowing into his skin as A-Fu just screams and screams and screams, reaching out to Xichen, begging, “P’ease! P’ease!”

Wei Wuxian is rising behind the boy like a shadow unfurling, face an unfamiliar white mask, burning eyes black and empty empty empty. His hands are long, blood rusted knives, rising, curling and Lan Xichen is far past dignity, is sobbing and pleading and screaming please no don't please stop please please please don't hurt him please--

Xichen bolts upright in the dark with his thundering heart shuddering him, an alien moan leaking from his lips. The ghosts of screams. He’s soaked in sweat and terror, shaking in the metal of the cold night air. Breath sawing in and out, he twists, searching.

There. A-Fu is beside him, barely visible in the gloom, sprawled face down on the bed, near the wall, still. He must not have thrashed or called out too loudly. Good. Xichen swallows. He can taste the edge of a sword in his mouth and he swallows again.

It’s still there. It’s in his nose.

Xichen tries to calm his heart rate, to pull in breath slower. Puts a shaking hand on the back of A-Fu’s head and--

He’s cold as a stone.

The world falls sideways through him. Every limb turns to water, every nerve ending ice as he rips back the covers and there’s blood, blood everywhere, devouring the bed, squishing and pooling, black in the darkness and he turns the boy over. It’s A-Zhan, grey and slack, eyes glassy, head lolling. “No, no, no--” Xichen clutches his brother’s face, tries to lift him, but everywhere he touches, he leaves palm prints of blood--the walls, his clothes, his stiff flesh, the pillows--

True consciousness jerks him to life on the floor, knelt on throbbing knees, Liebing in his hand. Some broken sound crawls from his lips like a dying animal and he lets the flute clatter to the floor as he gasps. Stomach clenching, head swimming. A-Fu, is he--is he--

Even as he crawls back onto the bed, something in him is thrashing, is pleading, don’t turn him over, check that he’s breathing and that’s all, don’t make it real, don’t touch him and he can’t, he can’t not. He pulls away the blankets (white) and turns him, putting shaking hands on his face (clean, they are clean) and he is damp and warm in his arms, smelling of sleep sweat and soap. He blinks muzzily up at Xichen, making a vague sound of annoyance before yawning.

Alive. He’s alive. He’s fine.

He sits, shuddering, wrapped around the slightly squirming boy as he fights to breathe. His entire head is throbbing. The terror is not leaving. It’s growing. In the deep of the night, silent and oppressive, he has no idea what time it is or how long he slept, but he needs to see Wangji safe, he needs to go now .

Some part of him is aware that this is not in the least bit logical, knows that he should meditate, should calm himself to coherency and let the boy sleep, but Wangji bleeding, his A-Zhan long dead and cold and the screaming is still so present that he’s certain he will see it with every turn of his head. It’s here, it’s now, and he has to make sure that it isn’t.

With hands trembling so hard he can barely shove Liebing into his sash, he throws himself into an over robe and his boots. He bundles A-Fu in a hasty blanket wrap for warmth and staggers out. The cold wet of the night smacks his face, searing into his nose with the edge of imminent rain. Xichen knows he looks a sight, striding quickly across the walkways in the middle of the night, forehead bare and hair loose, panting and clutching a mass of blankets but he can’t bring himself to care. He can see Wangji’s quarters. He’s almost there. A-Fu is struggling free from his fabric bindings, fighting to look around. “Why?” He asks, plaintively. “Why?”

Xichen can’t answer.

There is no moon and no stars, everything on the mountain deep and muted, save the shimmering dots of lanterns here and there. There is one that drips its dim light down the walls and door to Wangji’s house, to pool on the front porch. The door.

The door is open.

Xichen can’t feel his face. In fact, when he bursts in and finds only an empty, blood stained bed and the lone, sick child still sleeping, he can’t feel much of anything at all. There is a distant bell shrilling somewhere far away.

He’s gone. Wangji is gone.

The room smells sharp and astringent. Familiar, but he is too far away to place it.

Is he dead. Has he killed himself. Will he find his broken body--

Xichen thunks to his knees gracelessly, sets A-Fu’s bundle beside the sick boy. Hears himself say, “Stay here. I’m coming back, I’ll be back, I promise I’m coming back.”

A-Fu is panicking. He’s fighting free of the folds of the blanket, eyes white rimmed. He’s reaching for him, but Xichen fumbles out a talisman, locks the door so it cannot be opened from the inside. “I’m coming back. I’m coming back.”

A light floods through his fingers--another talisman, piercing--and the white stone path blooms with small splatters of scarlet in its brilliance. Blood. Wangji.

His sprinting steps make no sound on the stones. Or perhaps he’s not hearing anything, because when cold begins to patter down on his head, to slither down to his scalp with icy fingers, he hears nothing but the ringing of that far away bell. The blood is scattered. Weaving, wandering down, twisting down the path of the mountain.

It’s being washed away by the steady, slick rain.

He desperately searches instead for any thread of energy, of familiar qi he might sense as the world slowly fills to black and silver needles around him. He finds some, distant, sleeping, not who he was looking for--

A crash, muted and close, and everything floods back in--the hiss of the rain, the rasp of his speeding breath, the hush of treetops in the gathering shower. It had come from the storage building across the clearing. He could have flown for how fast he is suddenly there, seeing the swipe of bloody fingerprints against the gaping screen of the door. The razor clarity of this nightmare unreality tilts him and he is now inside the dry quiet of the building, his clammy clothes and hair cling to him, dripping. Shadows sprawl and jag crazily from his swinging hand light, glints of tidy treasures and weapons wink back from the darkness. “Wangji.” The voice is hoarse and shaking.

A clatter, a flash of white.

Around a line of shelves, Xichen finds him.

He’s alive. (Xichen could collapse with relief, locks his knees against it.)

Wangji is knelt in the debris of cast aside bamboo rods, half draped over a box he is rummaging through, face expressionless, eyes burning. He, too, has no headband, his hair unbound, robe nowhere to be seen. The ruddy bandages on his bare torso sag away from his cracked and gaping wounds. Blood is seeping down his back, staining the waist of his white pants crimson, dribbling onto the floor. The rest of his skin is chalky white, save the blood rusted on his hands. And he seems not to feel a thing.

“Wangji, ” Xichen whispers again as he goes to him, abandoning the glowing talisman on the floor behind him.

When he puts a hand to his brother’s shoulder, Wangji’s head swings around to peer at him with a gaze unfocused and bleary. He smells overwhelmingly of blood and alcohol and sways into his touch. The astringent smell from his house.

Drunk. Very drunk.

Xichen’s heart is still thrashing in the cage of his throat and his stomach is roiling with leftover terror and dawning uncertainty, but he pulls Wangji to him, wrapping his arms around his head to spare his back, burying his face in his hair. Awake. Alive.

Wangji struggles in his grip and then shoves him back, sprawling himself against a barrel before going back to the box as Xichen catches himself on a shelf. “Flute,” he mutters, thickly.

“What?”

“Flute. ”

At a loss, Xichen pulls Liebing from his sash and mutely holds it out to him. For a moment, Wangji takes it in one bloodstained hand and stares blankly. Then, he throws it aside, making it bounce off the wall with a hollow ‘tok’. “ No .”

The light from the talisman is crooked and too low, lighting them eerily from beneath, drawing out the hollows of Wangji’s eyes and rendering his gaunt face cadaverous as he turns back to the box yet again. Xichen catches his wrist, holds him fast when he resists. “Wangji, please. Let me help you. What do you need?”

“Flute.”

“What flute?”

“Dizi.” His brother’s tone is not...flat. It’s practically monotone, but slurred. Lost. “The dizi . ”

‘The’....Oh. Xichen gathers a ragged breath, his temples, his sinuses, his tightened spine throbbing in time with his heart and he captures Wangji’s other wrist, gently. How to explain the idea of ‘never’…. “Wangji, Chenqing...is gone. It went over with Wei-gongzi . We looked but we couldn’t find him.”

He freezes at this name, his blink slow as he stares up into Xichen’s face. His eyes are wide and uncomprehending, shining opaquely in the light.

“Wangji...A-Zhan, I’m--”

“Wei Ying,” his brother says, as if clarifying, as if insisting, and Xichen knows that he knows Wei Wuxian is dead, he was there, but….

“Yes. Wei Ying is gone.” His throat is burning, tightening as Wangji falls silent once more, face vacant and sightless, staring into the murk. The only sounds are their uneven breathing, the shush of rain across the roof, and dripping--from Xichen’s soaked clothes and Wangji’s blood.

All at once, Wangji surges to his feet--he almost collapses back down, but Xichen is there, catching him around the chest. Then, his brother sways, staggering down the row of shelves into the darkness with a white knuckled grip on them, not seeming to absorb anything he was seeing. Xichen could only follow him, helplessly. “Let’s go back, A-Zhan. Let’s go home. You’re hurt. I can carry you, you can have my robe--here,” he fumbles the sash to his over robe open with half-numb fingers and slips out of it, holding it out.

Wangji has halted, braced before a shelf with long, black rods, head bowed. Xichen is about to coax him to lift his arms for the robe when his brother’s hand darts out, fast as a snake. Snatches up one of the rods, deftly twists it around and thrusts it against his chest, over his heart. A wordless shout shocks free of Xichen--but it’s too late.

An ember glow. A hiss and sizzling. The stench of burning flesh.

He yanks it from Wangji and throw it, clattering behind him. He clutches his brother’s arms, staring at him in mute disbelief, shaking. Wangji sways, but his face stays lax and desolate, even as tears seep down his cheeks, even as he looks down at the raw, blackened curls of skin he has branded onto himself. The Wen emblem.

Why why why why--

All of Xichen’s skin is crawling, is buzzing, and he feels like he’s shuddering apart. So he wraps his robe around Wangji and crushes him to his chest. Too hard, too low on his shoulders, but he can’t stop and Wangji doesn’t respond, just hangs limply in his arms. His brother. His little brother.

He smells of burnt meat.

Xichen has failed again. And again and again. Keeps failing. Can’t keep him safe. It will never be over. It will never be enough.

Help. I can’t--

Xichen swallows, hard and rasps, “Wangji--”

“A-Yuan.”

Each new turn shoves him down a mountain, tumbling, groundless. He doesn’t understand. Wangji pulls back, head lolling, and Xichen lets him. He peers at him with intent on his bloodless face, hazy eyes still shining with silent tears. “A-Yuan.”

Xichen is still, searching. Then, weakly, “The...boy?”

“Mine,” Wangji insists.

“‘Yours….’”

Wangji’s hands curl into the lapels of Xichen’s under robe. Smearing his own blood there. “For me.” He’s pleading, Xichen realizes. Desperate. “Mine.”

For him. He’s asking Xichen to let him keep the boy. To do it for him. Anything. To keep you here--anything. “Yes.”

Wangji gives him a wordless shake from his grip on his robe.

“Yes.” Xichen repeats, “I promise.”

It seems to be what he wants because one of Wangji’s hands reaches up to touch his own bare forehead, where his headband usually sits, absence normally betrayed by a paler strip of skin. All of him was pale, now, a ghost of white and black in the gloom, a smear of red on his forehead, left by his finger. “A Lan.” Wangji’s tears are still coming, but so is something deeper--Xichen can see it in the press of the lines by his nose, the tightening of his mouth.

“A Lan,” Xichen agrees automatically. Whatever he wants. Whatever he needs. Whatever Xichen can give. He is shivering from the cold, clammy draping of his clothes and the shock of everything. Fear. Helplessness. Anything. The smell of charred skin is astonishingly overpowering. His brother’s.

He wants to throw up.

Wangji hasn’t blinked. “My son.”

That stutters the breath in Xichen’s chest, but he nods. “Yes, A-Zhan.”

Whatever has been coming up through Wangji is here, dredged from whatever depths by his drunken vulnerability because the usually strict edges of him sag, the habitual distance in his expression ravaged. He looks so young. He looks so shattered. He hasn’t looked away. His hands fist themselves back into Xichen’s robes, this time for support, and in a low, cracked whisper, he says, “He’s gone.”

The entire tract of Xichen’s breathing, from nose to lungs to heart is searing and he nods and nods. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“We killed him.”

The ache of missing Mingjue and A-Yao, multiplied by the eternity of death. The knowledge of what he had meant to Wangji, the brightness he had lent him, the cheer and understanding. The first person besides Xichen to approach Wangji and see him as a man instead of a distant and revered Twin Jade of Lan. A friend. The one he had seen Wangji choose just that much too late. Slipping through bloodied fingers. The one he loved.

The one that had killed so many of their Clanspeople. Had tried to kill them. The one Wangji had left Xichen fighting for his life for.

...burning eyes black and empty empty empty….

There was no right road, no clear path. No matter what, it was wrong. To mourn. To resent. To rejoice. It was all wrong.

“I’m…” he chokes.

Again, Wangji shoves him away and they both stagger back into the shelves. A few things skitter and clatter to the floor. Xichen feels hollowed out. All at once so enormously exhausted--too empty for any more fear or anger or sorrow. Blame. Wangji’s breathing is harsh and wet and he is crying as he had as a child. Contained. Silent. Shaking.

Xichen reaches out. Slowly slips beside him. Loops an arm around his shoulder and turns him into his chest. Wangji stays, shuddering. Xichen holds him. “It’s alright, A-Zhan,” he whispers raggedly into his hair. It still smells of smoke and blood and old sweat. Burning. “You’re going to be alright.”

#YAAAY PARALLELS #I'm gonna go make some text post memes to make up for this angst good lord #Someone hug this man BACK #my fic #3zun raises Jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff

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devilbat · 5 years

Text

The Mummy

Warning: violence, guns, implied smut. Getting handsy.

James Conrad x reader. (This is My first James one shot)

A/n: another one to add to my classic Movie monster AUs Tom Hiddleston character.

Happy Halloween 🎃

This was your first real big break as a archaeologist. You had always been at the desk in the museum working on and restoring old artifacts. When you heard that your predecessor was ill and couldn't not make the Journey to Egypt. You jumped at the chance. Begging him to let you. At first he didn't want you to go. Being you were a woman and a lot could happen during this time and age. With a lot of convincing and arguments, you were on your way with his long time buddy James Conrad a former British army SAS Captain. Now freelance bodyguard as you put it. He was not what you were expecting. When you met him. You were bubbly and looking for Adventure. He was bruty, always on Guard and seemed to be annoyed all the time. Well at least around you.

Handsomely overly attractive how could one man be that rugged, ruff around the edges and still be so damn hot. His jawline line was sharp with a bit of stubble. Oi and let's not forget his deep velvet smooth English accent, could make your panties drop with just one word. He was getting on your nerves. You could never stray to far from him. The first night in Egypt, you just wanted explore the rich culture, the food. James had other plans for you. As you were set to stay in the hotel room until dawn. When you would embark the long travel by camel to the valley of the kings.

To say you were hot was understatement. The camel that was unpleasantly jilting you around on, had this obsession to nip at you ever chance he got when you weren't paying attention to him. Let's not forget he had bit of a smell to him. If you had a hose and some soap he would, damn well get a bath. The long days turned in to short moments of coolness from the heat of the sun. You had decided to name the stupid animal after one of your ex's just because he was acting as an ass. When your group stop to rest. You complained about you ass hurting and in need of a shower. Mostly you were talking with Carl your camel. But you saw the roll of Conrad eyes directed at you. Making you huff, you were sure he just saw you as some rich city girl that knew nothing of a hard life.

James couldn't help be a bit annoyed when his friend asked to take a team of archaeologists to search some dusty old tomb. Sure his friend paid him well. What was one more favor. Even if James save that mans life more then once while they served together. He was no babysitter and the girl, the girl was a bit of an inconvenience. Knowing she was going to somehow get her cute ass in some kind of trouble. Right now all he really wanted to do is go back to some hole in the wall bar and drink himself to death, perhaps.

"Owe, You know Carl we've had this moment there where you didn't nip at me and now you've gone and done it." You hissed softly Swatting at the camel pushing his head away from you butt.

"Why did you name the Camel Carl?" James question, never looking over from what he was doing as he pulled the canteen from the rucksack on the camels back.

"Why are you ease dropping?" You huffed glaring over at the back of the mans head, eyes wondering over his back as ever muscle flexed when he moved about taking a long drink of water. You licked you lips at the sit. His Adam's apple bobbing along as he drank. Sweat trickling down his neck. If your mouth wasn't dry before it was dry now. No amount of water quench that thirst. The thought of running you tongue along his neck. Tasting that saltiness of his skin. You mind started to wonder about the Captain. "Owe! Carl that was more then enough ass the last time" You shrieked. The camel In question bit a little hard this time taking a bigger bite. Carl made a grunting and what sounded like a laughing noise. Making James choke on water as he tried not to laugh. "Hey! Don't side with Carl."

"I think he likes you." James smiled a bit more. You huffed in announce mumbling 'men' under your breath, and walked away. Carl followed closely behind nudging at you backside. "Knock it off." You hissed pushing the camels head away from you. James chuckled more audibly after his small bit of coughing mostly trying to cover his laughter. But he couldn't help it the camel had a thing for you. It was quite cute. Seeing Conrad smile finally after only seeing him with a bruting expression, was kind of nice. He was just as handsome if not more with a smirk on his face. Sure you wouldn't mind kissing it off of him. No wait you wanted to punch it off of him. Cause he was an ass like Carl, who was not taking no for an answer.

The valley of Kings, was without a doubt the most breath taking view so far. After about a month of excavating and exploring. Strange things started happening. You swear you heard your name being called late at night, after everyone was asleep. Thinking it was James messing with you. Calling him an ass later that morning, as you walked passed him. You were digging in an empty room, one of many. You needed some distance between you and the captain. You couldn't focus around the man. So when he wasn't looking you snuck off. With one other, one of the many sent to help you excavate. Everything was going well, until the sand floor of the tomb started to move. Like sand in an hour glass. It took you down with it.

"Help." You called up from where you had landed. You could hear your name from above you. So that meant you weren’t to far down. "Down here." The dark room made it impossible for your to see what was around you. Knowing if you stayed put Jame even though he would be not to please with you. Would more then find you. It was what he did. Even if the itch to feel your way about the area was driving you to scratch.

"Y/n?" You heard your name. It sounded like it was coming from beside you.

"James, I'm down here." You yelled, Not sure if you should move. This eerie feeling crowded up you spine. It almost felt like someone was next to you. You heard your name again. Knowing you had a lighter in your pocked, digging in to retrieve it. Striking the lighter with your thumb, the flame flickered. Helping you see a bit. As you turned around slowly.

A blood curdling scream ripped through your throat. When your eyes landed on the man in front of you. Ratty old dusty bandages wrapped around its entire form. This man looked to have been dried up like he had been in the sun for months on end. His lifeless empty eyes stared at you. A moaning like a zombie, erupted from its throat. It wasn't a man it had to of been one of the mummies you were in Search for. The lifeless corpse jerking as it moved towards you. Another scream was pulled from you as you attempt to move away. Only to fall flat on your bitten bruised ass, damn Carl. Hitting your head on something hard, the last thing you heard was James from above calling for you. Telling you to "stay put." Tell that to the thing pulling at your leg. That was not going to be an option.

Hands that's what you were feeling. Strong boney fingers roaming around expose heated skin. Though your don't remember at any point taking you clothes off for the night. You moaned out James name. His hands were ruff most likely from working with them. Holding a gun with those hands and now they were on you. James strong voice calling your name, making you squirm. You eyes fluttered open, the room was large and brightly lit by glowing flames along the walls. Were you back in the city? Oh but those hands still roaming. Your movement was minimal like there were wall around you. Your were in a sarcophagus. Panic set in as your eyes moved to see those hands that were on you. You shrieked as you grabbed the mummy like hands that moved without a body.

Sitting up you could see the room clearly now. You head felt heavy like something was on top of it. Your hand moved feeling the large head pice. Pulling it off to get a better look. It was incrusted with jewels and a beetle in the center of it. It was beautiful. Looking down you saw that your breasts were cover not by much. But were covered with some kind of bird that laid between your breasts as the wing covered you nipples. It too was covered in jewels. The same went with your lower half. But only shear fabric covered front and back of your legs leaving the side exposed.

This had to be a dream still. Mummies could not come back to life. Nor could they kidnap a girl and dresser her in practically nothing, like some Egyptian goddess. Where was James? Hell where was Carl your loyal ass of a camel. And where the hell did those hands go. Pulling yourself out once you figured it was safe. Standing on unsteady legs, you lurched forward almost falling. Slowly walking around. The sand was cool on the bottom of your bare feet. A shiver ran down your spine.

It felt like something was behind you. And there was, the mummy stood there arms without hand reached out for you as you lurched forward. The dried bones clothed hand grabbed at your ankles cause you to fall on you back and the mummy attack you. Screaming as you tried pulling away. Hands finally meeting arms, as you struggled to get what shouldn't have weighed that much, off you. You name being called from the mummy. Pushing it off of you scrabbles to your feet, it did too. The corpse backing you into a corner. You closed your eyes tears fell free, you called for help. A loud bang followed by another, then another. You opened your eyes to see James in the clearing of the wall. Armed with his pistol, amid at the mummy. It longed at James. But this time James amid for the head. And it seemed the mummy stayed down.

"Y/n, are you all right?" He asked, before he could get a chance to look you over for any injuries, you wrapped yourself around his midsection shanking. Tears soaking his light blue almost grey shirt. "Hey, shhh, it's all right. I'm here, I'm here." He rubbed your exposed back. Finding a tapestry on the wall, he wrapped it around you holding you closer to him. The sun had long set as he guided you out of the pyramid, taking you back to your tent.

"Y/n, I'm going to take a look to see if you’re injured now, ok?" James voice was above a whisper. Setting you on the cot like bed. He pulled the tapestry off your shoulders. He had someone fetch him a first aid kit. His eyes roamed over your form. To say you were absolutely stunning was an understatement. He didn't realize what a Beaty you truly were until he though you were lost or worse. The kid with the first aid kit pulled James out of this thoughts. Clearing his dry throat as pulled the kit open. You winced a bit when he gently dabbed at a scratch. "Sorry."

"Thank you." You mumbled, looking at him as he gently whipped each cut. Each time made you whimper.

"I wasn't going to leave you down there. And that, that.." James trailed off.

"The Mummy." You hissed out as James hit a deep bruise. "I think it's safe to say everywhere hurts. Besides my forehead." You announced when he tried to press on a bandage. Not noticed his sly smile, he kissed your forehead. His warm lips lingering a bit before pulling away. "My cheek as well." James lips moved to your cheek. Lips pressed firmly against it. His stubble scratch just a bit at smooth flesh.

"Anywhere else?" James mumbled against you cheek before he moved away. You hands pressed against you lips.

"And maybe my lips?" You question, before moving your fingers. As soon as your fingers left your lips. His lips were on yours before you could breath out. Finding yourself kissing back. Your own hands gripping the nap of his neck and tangled into short hair. You felt your back on the cot and James chest pressed against yours. His strong warm hands glide easily over your skin. Cupping the underside of your breasts that were exposed. You moaned out His name. His lips left your swollen lips, tracing along your jawline before moving to you neck. His other hand rounded over your backside, large hand grabbing, groped at you. Pulling at your thigh lifting up over, giving him better access.

You gasped at the feel of his length pressing against you. Both of you jumped when you heard a grunt followed by a roar. Both of you looked over at the opening of the tent. Carl head poked through the now opening. Grunting out, his foot stomped and dragged, clearly not happy. James huffed but turned back to you, his lips back on to yours. Trying to ignore the beast. Carl didn’t like this and pulled his body in more grunting his displeasure.

“I don’t think he likes you.” You mumbled against his lips. James groaned in annoyance. Knowing that camel would not stop. James pulled away from you. Which made you whimper. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone at least not tonight.” James smiled and did as he was commanded. Though he did give you his shirt so you wouldn’t be that distracting. It really didn’t help either.

Everything in the camp was packed up. After what happened to you. The locals said this was cursed grounds and would not continue. Leaving you no choice to pack up and leave. Which hurt you to have to leave knowing there was so much that was yet to be discovered. Even with the items that your wore and the tapestry James used to cover you amongst other things. Walking towards James, Carl trailing behind. He smiled at you, still wearing the shirt he given you last night.

“You know, I have to say Carl is a real hero. He really did save my life.” You teased, making James raise his eyebrow at you.

“What about me?” James pouted a bit. Hands pulling you against him.

“Well I guess you helped too. You were like the side kick. Carl and Captain James Conrad. I mean you did do all the heavy lifting.” You smirked wrapping you arms around him.

“Really?” He smirked pulling you in to a passionate heated kiss. His other arm wrapped around your waist holding you close. Carl hissed and grunted in annoyance. Not getting his way, he moved forward nipping James right in the ass. Making the man yelp. You giggled as James rubbed at his ass. Which you may have placed your there instead.

“I think he likes you.” Kissing his cheek. Before pulling away.

“Oh I can’t wait until he is returned to his owner.” James hissed.

“I don’t know I think I might keep him.” You teased.

#james conrad #the mummy au #tom hiddleston #classic movie monsters #tom hiddelston imagine

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luna-redamancy · 5 years

Text

The Glass Slipper pt.3 -Final

Word Count: 1993

Part One

Part Two

The clock struck noon, the bell ringing across the Woodland realm for all the workers to here. It was lunch-time.

But Thranduil couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep, eat, or sit still for very long without feeling nervous and anxious. Pacing across the floor, he could’ve sworn he heard his mother call out ‘You’re going to wear out the wood, you know?’ as he thought of his last moments with you.

Elves were like Dwarves in one way, they only loved once, and if they chose to not be with their destined one, they pass to the Sundering Seas out of grievance,

The chime of the clock brought Thranduil out of his endless thoughts, his icy blue eyes snapping over to the window. Slowly his feet guided him to the window sill. “Where have you gone, my mystery love?” He questioned out loud, pain in his voice over his grief of not finding you.

“(Y/n)!”

You never thought you’d get tired of hearing your own name, after all, it was preferred over ‘wench,’ ‘brat,’ ‘ungrateful child,’ ‘nuisance.’ But still, this was too much.

“(Y/n),” This time it was your stepmother calling you. “Yes, stepmother?” You questioned, minding your manners despite your annoyance. “Here is a list of chores for you to do.” She stated, thrusting a piece of parchment at you before strutting away, a grin on her face.

Raising a brow at her odd behavior, you slowly brought your eyes to the thin parchment.

‘Clean the following:

Kitchen

Seating Area

All the Laundry

Feed all the Animals

Scrub the Stables’

“Scrub the stables?” You mumbled to yourself in confusion, she had hired workers who took care of all the animals and the stables, so why now would she decide to make you do it?

Your shoulders slumped as you made your way to completing the list, wondering when you’d ever get a break from all the yelling and scrubbing.

As you made your way to the back of the house, you missed the sound of the carriage rolling in, Lord Himeldir sitting inside the closed doors as he looked over your father’s home.

“This is the last household, Lord Himeldir,” The coachman announced, pulling to a stop right at the front door. “Hopefully it’ll fit one of these ladies,” Himeldir sighed, stretching his back before stepping out of the carriage.

The home appeared to be beautiful but saddened. Himeldir imagined what it must’ve looked like before, with vibrant light coming from the windows, the smell of a homecooked meal wafting through the door as the lady of the house welcomed their guests. But now, the lights were dim, the only smell leaving the house is the smell of soap and face powder.

Scrubbing the stalls, you leaned up to wipe the sweat off your forehead. The sun was bright and shining, the heat rays beating down your back and bringing your face to a flush as you worked. “(Y/n), you need to clean the inside too,” Your stepmother reminded you before heading inside in a hurry, for once.

Raising a brow, you rolled your eyes as you threw the sponge in the wooden bucket, hoisting it up to drag inside the stall.

The stall was clean, impeccable really. However, your stepmother would always see flaws were there weren’t.

Just as you began to scrub, suddenly you didn’t feel the warm sun anymore. The room almost pitch black, the only light being through the small cracks of the wood posts. “What’s going on?!” You gasped, running to the door to find it locked. No one responded as you pounded on the door to be let out.

“Are these all the young Elleth in the home?” Himeldir questioned, eyeing the two girls as they batted their eyelashes at him. Not like what Thranduil described you as at all.

“Yes, my lord, I only have two daughters,” Your stepmother reassured as Himeldir snapped his fingers, a servant coming behind him and handing him the glass slipper. “Very well, we shall see.” He said impassively, wishing the best for Thranduil if one of these young Elleth were his true one.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you found my slipper!” Drizella gasped as she took a seat on a chair, holding her foot out for Himeldir to slip it on her. Wishing to roll his eyes, Himeldir kept his composure as he brought the glass slipper to her foot. “Not even close,” Himeldir grumbled at her, for her feet were far too large to fit in such a tiny shoe.

“Try me!” Anastasia beamed, pushing her sister out of the chair as Himeldir stumbled back, holding the slipper close to him as she fumbled around recklessly. As he leaned down to slide the slipper on her foot, he felt a whack against his back.

Jolting forward, Himeldir dropped the slipper, watching it fly through the air with panicked eyes. “Catch it!” He ordered the servant who eagerly ran after the flying shoe. “I got it!” The servant declared while holding their breath, barely catching the item with the tip of their finger.

Turning to your stepmother, Himeldir glared as she gave a fake smile, “I am so sorry my lord, I put my cane on the ground and it slid right out from under me!” She excused the dirty trick as he huffed. “Don’t let it happen again, maybe you should sit down,” Himeldir offered as he knelt down again to see if the slipper fit.

“Again, not even close to fitting,” Himeldir announced while standing up, “Do you have any other elleth in the household?” Himeldir questioned again, feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

Taking a few steps back, you looked at the door. It had a lock on the outside, being rusted and old. “I think I can fit my hand through?” You mumbled out loud as you eyed the small opening. Reaching up into your hair, you pulled out a hairpin. “Hopefully this works like how it did in Papa’s old books,” You wished as you began to fumble with the lock, the hairpin sliding and pushing on the lock notches as you wiggled it around.

It felt like forever as you were pushing on the lock until finally, you heard a satisfying ‘click!’

“Finally!” You gasped, shoving open the wooden door as you hurried your way inside. “Stepmother! Why?” You called as soon as you entered the home. You did everything she had ever asked of you, so why would she lock you in the stables?!

“Stepmother?” You called, pushing open the kitchen door to the seating area, to find a lord and a royal servant talking to your stepmother.

“I can assure you there are no other--”

“Then why is there one behind you?” Himeldir interrupted, his eyes wafting over your form as you looked around the room in confusion. Your eyes held kindness while your form held discipline, years of hard work obvious on your hands as he watched you clasp them together.

“I apologize for interrupting my lord,” You bowed your head slightly, preparing to back out of the room.

“Nonsense, my dear,” Himeldir grinned at you as he motioned to an empty seat. “Please, may we try this slipper on you?” He questioned softly, he detected your uncomfortableness as soon as your stepmother began glaring daggers at you.

“O-of course,” You spoke quickly as you took a seat, smoothing out your skirt as you slid off your house cleaning shoes.

Your feet looked small enough, Himeldir thought over as he lifted up your foot carefully. Bringing the slipper towards your foot, Himeldir watched with happiness as he started to put it on you.

‘Whack!’ Your stepmother’s cane slammed again, this time the slipper slipped out of Himeldir’s hands and went straight to the ground. Pieces of glass flew everywhere as you covered your face in hopes of not getting cut.

“No!” Himeldir roared, holding the heel of the slipper in his hand as he thought of Thranduil’s devastation. “What will we do?!” Himeldir questioned, knowing that returning to the castle with no bride to be, and no slipper, would end his days as the King’s Advisor.

“Would it help if I had the other slipper?” You questioned carefully as Himeldir’s eyes snapped up to you, “You have the other slipper?” Himeldir repeated, watching as you reached into your pocket.

You never wanted to leave evidence where your stepmother and stepsisters could find in your room, so you carried it everywhere with you in your skirt pocket. You specifically sewed it for times like this.

Pulling out the slipper, Himeldir carefully took it from your hands, firmly bringing it to your foot and sliding it on. “It’s a perfect fit,” Himeldir awed, his eyes slowly returning to yours. “You must come with us to the castle, Prince Thranduil has been waiting for you!”

“What?!”

“Her?!”

“No way!”

“(Y/n)!”

“Thranduil was really waiting for me?” You questioned Himeldir as the carriage brought the two of you through the castle gates. “Yes, he wouldn’t eat, rest, or sit still enough to relax since you left that night.” Himeldir responded, understanding why you ran off so quickly, the way your ‘family’ took the news about you being the bride to the prince wasn’t very good.

Meanwhile, Thranduil was a wreck. Himeldir had been gone since first light, not saying a word as he left in the carriage with your slipper in his hand.

“They’ve returned,” Oropher announced, taking it upon himself to inform Thranduil. Nodding slightly, Thranduil stared out the window as Oropher rolled his eyes and waited for his son to get it. “You said they…” Thranduil realized, turning around to face his father with wide eyes, a grin on his face as he bolted out of the room, mumbling out an apology to his father before racing down the steps.

“T-Thranduil?” You called out, startled to see him rushing so quickly toward you as you stepped out of the carriage. “My Queen has returned to me!” Thranduil announced as he grabbed you by your waist, picking you up in the air and spinning you around causing you to laugh in delight. “I have returned, My prince,” You responded with a soft smile of your own as he brought you into his arms.

He smelt like home. Fine wine and trees, mingled with the smell of bath soap invaded your senses as you buried your face in his chest. Thranduil finally felt at ease with you in his arms, his soul settling back in place. No longer in a rush to find it’s other half.

“And they lived happily ever after, the end,” You finished, watching his eyes droop down in sleepiness. “Wait nana… That’s yours and Ada’s names?” Legolas said in confusion as you grinned. “What a coincidence?” You brushed off as you pressed a kiss to his forehead before blowing out his lantern.

“Good night my little Greenleaf,”

“Goodnight Nana”

Slowly leaving his room, you carefully shut the door as the sounds of his light snores filled the air. “You were always such a good storyteller,” Thranduil smiled as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pressing his nose into your neck as the two of you walked to your shared chambers.

A grin spread across your face as he peppered small kisses on your neck. “Well it helps that it was a true story,” You argued, turning around in his arms. Chuckling, Thranduil pressed a kiss against your lips before muttering, “And it’s not over yet, My Queen.”

Humming in return, you pulled away slightly, leaning your forehead against his. “Do tell, Prince Thranduil?” You played along as he bumped his nose against yours.

“Why we’ve only just begun, after all, a hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf.”

Tags-

@fndmsrndmyfckinglfe @lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck @xxno-wayxx @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18 @sitkafay @tigereyesf @thefandom02

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raindrenchedstories · 5 years

Text

Contract negotiations

I’ve had this sitting in my drafts since chapter five of FH. So I finished it. Have Henry being a bastard.

“I-i-i-” He backed into a wall. Leaving the man to take in his reaction. He’d found his way in his home again. Sitting on his counter top. One leg crossed over the other. A coy smile playing on his lips.

“You you you?” The man parroted in a soothing roll. A soft chuckle following. “Relax. Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m never here to HURT you. Right pet?” He slid off the counter. Placing his blue jacket over the nearest available chair.

“You say that but...” Courage died where it rose. Knowing well what this night time postman wanted. Never should have taken that deal. It sounded so good at the time.

I can make those problems go away. If you like. All I need is a good meal every so often.

“What’s wrong? Frightened?” The intruder pressed his hands against the mans shoulders, steering him towards a chair. He sat him down carefully, sweeping to the other side and leaning his chin on his palm. “Do you want to cancel the deal?”

“N-NO! No... nothing like that.” The man fidgeted. No. There was nothing wrong with the deal. The unwanted attention was fading. His family stopped harassing him. He was even managing his drinking problem better. With this beings help. He had another vice. One that chased away the nightmares.

It was... the actual vice it’s self. What actually was up in trade. “I... I’m thankful for everything you do for me. Henry. It’s just... I don’t know if this is a fair deal.” He hid his face behind his hands, leaning on the table.

“Wh- Okay. How so? Am I asking too much?” Henry leaned in, blue eyes wide, open, and inviting as always. But no. He couldn’t stare into them. That would be a mistake. Never look a vampire in the eyes. Right?

“I don’t-” He gave a pleading glance to the other. Making the mistake of looking the vampire in the eyes. Just like that, he was pinned. Staring into those blue pools. Slowly, a red haze came over them, filling the spaces where there was once white, and blue.

Henry had him trapped now. Caught. He didn’t mind, really. Just a passing thought. “Okay, elaborate.”

He couldn’t shut up. All his worries and concerns boiled up and let go right there in a constant stream. “You made them forget me. Made the people leering look away with that charm. And then you come here. Every month or so. It’s not fair. I just give you more of something you already have. I know about your home. I know you keep food on hand. So why do you even need me?”

He was released. His mind eased out of his oncoming panic, and to a sort of calming afterglow. “I see. It’s not JUST about the blood you know? I’m in a position where I can’t just do something for nothing you know?” Henry leaned away folding his hands on the table.

“So, I’m willing to change the deal. But BOTH parties must be satisfied in the end. Yes?”

He fidgeted in his seat. Wanting nothing more than to drive the being far from his home. Far from himself. Henry on the other hand, wanted an answer. Something in trade. The man took a breath. Leaning his head back in his hands. “What do you want then?”

Henry quirked a brow. Leaning back in his seat and thinking for a moment. “Oh. I could think of many things. I could have you clean my home. Perhaps we could get you under my employ. Or...Perhaps you could offer someone else. In trade?”

“W-I can’t just throw another human being at you!” He shot up from his seat. Henry watched him with mock surprise. “That’s another- I’M another person. Don’t you get that?”

“Hm. I wonder if the chopped up cow you just devoured felt the same?” The Vampire rose. Drifting into the kitchen, he began filling the sink with water. “You really should do your dishes more often my boy.”

“What?”

“Your dishes. It’s a royal pain having nothing to eat from. Wouldn’t you agree?” He added soap to the water before turning the faucet to the second basin.

The man watched him for a while. Before slowly following him to the counter. Gathering up a towel. No way he was going to owe this monster another favour. “No. I meant your point about the cow.”

A small smile flickered over Henry’s features. “Ah. Yes. THAT. Well. Let me ask you this. When you really look at the source of your meat. You look for a healthy, happy animal. Right? You’d rather your meals have the best life possible before they’re slaughtered.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm. I notice you buy ‘cruelty free’ meat as well. So you really care about this. Yes?” They’d made it through three plates and two glasses before the man even noticed how close he was to the being. He shuffled a little further from Henry.

“Well. Yeah.”

“Right. That’s a luxury I don’t often get.” Henry passed him a frying pan. Taking note of the distance between them.

“Wha-”

“Your nervous. Yes? That translates to blood. Now. I could pamper every meal. I could dip them in luxury and delight. But then. Where would people like you end up? If I never stepped in. What would have happened to you?” He leaned on the counter. Eyeing the man.

He was silent. Standing over his dish rack. “My situation would have escalated.” He grumbled.

“Hm. Exactly. Now. I’m not the nicest person about it, I understand this. But I can’t always afford to be. There are...watchmen so to speak. People to keep the balance of things. No free favours from magical beings.” The vampire shrugged.

“So. You don’t want to put me through this?” The human perked up a small bit.

His reply was a shake of the head. And a gesture to sit at the table once more. “Yes and no.” His shoulders slumped. He slowly trudged back to the indicated seat and dropped hard onto it’s surface. Groaning.

Henry swept behind him. Leaning on the man’s shoulders. “Your case is special. Normally, I just take your harassers as payment. You demanded otherwise So~” He just felt the tingle of breath raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Luckily, Henry backed off. “But if you wish to change the agreement.” He sat himself back down in front of the man and gestured for him to speak.

The man felt his throat go dry. He had to think of something. Some more favourable situation. “I...Assume you don’t want monetary compensation?” He tried.

“Afraid not. I make good money already.” Another shrug.

“I was worried you’d say that.” He was running out of options really. “You said you had a position cleaning?”

“I was more or less joking.” Henry slumped in his seat with a sympathetic look.

The human ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Can we at LEAST negotiate a schedule for this? So you’re not dropping in unannounced. Leaving me anemic the next day?” He begged.

Henry’s eyes widened before he simply gave a nod. “That’s a fair request. But may I ask. Is that the ONLY problem you have with our arrangement?”

He gave it some thought. Shaking his head a moment after. “No. But it’s the one I know how to solve now.”

“Fair enough.” He folded his hands on the table leaning in to listen, “So when’s best for you?”

That night. If he were to be honest. He didn’t have work for two days. No one looking to spend time with him. Nothing to do. He grimaced. Then there was another question that had hung in the air unanswered. “Do you actually see me as another person?”

Henry sat back, crossing his arms. “Short answer? Not really.” His heart dropped, along with his head onto the table. Henry continued.

“You have to understand, I’m immortal. A human life is a fleeting fancy. Oh don’t get me wrong. I’ve not forgotten my roots. I’ll never go out of my way to bring misery to the undeserving. But to me, you’re about as much of a person as a cat, or a dog. Recognized as a friend. But not quite on the same level as you.” A cold hand pet his hair while the man absorbed this.

“I can’t afford to think of you on the same level. It would only bring heartbreak.” He glanced up slowly to a sympathetic smile.

With a groan of despair the human announced “Tonight’s fine. I’ll text you my days off at the end of the thirty days.”

Henry gave a short nod. Standing to pull the man onto his feet. “You’re still tense. Do you want me to put you under first?”

“No. I have to face the music some time.” He was tugged towards the sofa. Shirt removed from his person as Henry began the usual preparations. A juice box and cookies within reach. A soft blanket was folded behind the mans back.

Finally Henry emerged from the bathroom with a warm washcloth and a bowl of water. Like he lived there. “Where do you want it?”

“I guess the usual place works. You’re oddly caring for someone who sees me as a cow.” He allowed his head to be tilted. Feeling the warmth of the cloth clean away any sweat or dead skin from the area.

“Mh. If your cows could talk at you, wouldn’t you make concessions for their comfort?” The Vampire made a point to lay the heated fabric on the mans shoulder. Just letting it relax the muscle below the skin.

“I don’t think I’d actually eat anything from a talking creature.” The human retorted, holding the cloth in place while Henry prepared the last of it. His nerves causing a sick twist in his gut.

Henry pulled the cloth away. Taking a firm hold of the human before him. “Fair point. I don’t have a choice in the matter. Ready?” There was something cold about his handling. Though Henry was by all means caring in the general sense, he was all business when it came down to it.

It made this arrangement worse if the man were to be honest with himself. Couldn’t this mean something to the vampire? “Uh. I changed my mind. Can you put me under?” It would make it easier. He didn’t have to think when his brain was mush. Didn’t have to remember a damn thing if he didn’t want to.

There was an affirmative hum, before the man was made to look Henry in the eyes. Suddenly there was no worry, no pain, no cares, just an easy sense of calm. Henry nudged his head aside, there was a mild sting. Something moving numbly against his shoulder, and an odd pull started to drag him back to consciousness.

His head was foggy, and he was more than aware Henry was drinking still. One hand rested beside them. The other held the man steady. Talking would only get him a warning squeeze to his shoulder. So, in dull silence, the man waited it out.

It was odd. Having a someone as old as his grandfather sink his teeth into his neck. Though this interaction was starting to become normal. A slight pain, a moment or two of sitting patiently while this bastard was way too close for comfort. Then a full month away from him. Until he inevitably invaded the apartment all over again. The man regretted his lasting permissions to enter.

Finally Henry released him. His shoulder ached as he was held in place, and cleaned off. A salve was massaged into the wound. He knew it. It would itch for an hour then fade, along with the injuries. Henry made a point to place a heavy bandage on it.

Afterwards, he was manipulated into a comfortable position, one of his DvDs played quietly in the background. Henry was seated a respectful distance away. “You can go, you know. I’m not going to go jumping off any roofs.” The man sighed.

“No. But you can be childish at times. I’m simply staying around until the bite heals.”

“Prick.”

“Yup. Now shut up and drink your juice box.” Henry smirked.

#Vampire #m/m paranormal #Platonic

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ladymacbethsspot · 6 years

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Superfecta Box

(Kenny and Levi- Modern AU, Gen)

Sunday was race day. Kenny always said he didn’t like priests and gospel nonsense. Said he didn’t believe in no miracles from anyone else’s grubby hands. Said he’d rather pray to Lady Luck. So, instead of struggling on the starched, itchy, white button down and combing his hair with water until it sat flat in the back like he had when Mom had been alive, Levi pulled on a hand-me-down little league t-shirt with the arms cut off and climbed onto the passenger seat of Kenny’s old pickup.

The track was thirty minutes away, and the sun beat down hot in the car, making Levi drowsy as Kenny rolled the windows down and cussed out the broken a/c. Once they rolled onto the highway it didn’t matter, too much air blew in through the windows like a humid hurricane and buffeted against Levi’s lolling head as the radio blared country music.

That Sunday, for the first time Levi could remember, there were real, live horse at the racetrack. Levi ran up to the fence while Kenny went off to get his race program. Brown and black, even a few gray horses made their paces along the dusty track. Tall and lean, their coats shiny in the heat, Levi watched them eagerly.

The horses were interesting up close.

Usually they just ran by on the screens inside the track building. He’d sit, fidgeting, next to Kenny, bored beyond belief as his uncle watched and pored over his books. When he got too bored, legs itching to do more than just kick back and forth in front of the high wooden bench, Levi would slip quietly away. He’d run around the uneven, sloping floors of the concrete hall, tennis shoes slapping. Dodging old men who held the morning paper two inches from their face as they waddled through the building, skipping out of the way of already-drunk good-for-nothings who stunk and lurched.

He’d always find himself down by the track.

Empty, uncovered, its scoreboard dark, the green grass beautifully mowed but in all other ways abandoned.

But today it was full of horses, and handlers, and riders, and staff. They wheeled out the big metal gate, one Levi had seen on plenty of screens, that looked much bigger and much brighter in the summer sun. The horses wore socks, or masks on their faces. Their handlers decked out in bright colors and numbers as they paraded the animals. Levi stared, mesmerized by the muscular beasts and healthy, shining coats. If he looked closely, he could almost imagine their personalities. One pranced as it walked, short high steps that were light and pretty, just how Levi imagined a fancy lady would. One kept flicking its head aside, uninterested in its handler’s instructions. A third raised its tail and- oh, shit. Levi wrinkled his nose. That horse just shit. It just shit in the middle of the track. Gross.

A whack on his shoulder made him turn around. Kenny held the program, already folded over and smacked him lightly on the head with it.

“Get inside. Races are starting.”

Levi’s face scrunched up, disappointment welling.

“I wanna’ see the horses.”

“You can inside.”

“You’re not betting on the TV?”

Kenny shook his head ‘no’. Levi’s eyes widened. Kenny always bet on the TV. He bet on three or four. Always.

“You’re not betting on the TV, so we can watch out here.” Levi didn’t say it as a question. He knew Kenny didn’t like too many of those.

For a moment Levi was afraid Kenny would get mad. His uncle got that faraway look as he stared out over the track. Sometimes that look wasn’t a good one. But this time was fine, and Kenny looked down at him and just gave an exasperated sigh. “Alright. Can smoke out here anyway.” He dug in his back pocket, pulling out a smashed carton of cigarettes and lighting one up as he trudged over to a picnic table behind them.

Levi turned back to the horses. They were still being walked around, but their riders had joined them this time. They wore bright uniforms, helmets with a small bill, their sporty look sleek and exciting. Levi wondered what it would be like, to be one of them. To ride a horse, to feel it moving with all those muscles and all that power, to go around the track and see it from high up on horseback.

He leaned on the chain-link fence, pressing himself close to the hot metal, imagining riding in the race. An announcement came over the loudspeaker that last bets were being taken. The larger-than-usual crowd shifted and murmured. Levi didn’t have to look back to know that Kenny had already gotten up to go place his bets at the window. Counting out old folded bills, smoothing them in his palm before handing them over reluctantly. Kenny might be a gambling man, but he didn’t bet lightly. Each dollar was gas, and soap, and cigarettes, and bread, and eggs, and never enough of those. So, Kenny only bet on a sure thing.

That’s what he said.

The horses lined up, getting into the confined space of their individual gates, and Levi felt excitement bubble in his empty stomach. His fingers tensed on the fence, metal digging into his skin. With the crack of a shot, the horses were off, and Levi sucked in a quick breath, eyes wide, attention trained on the track. They surged forward, legs pounding the earth, kicking up dust as they sped around the curve. Moving so fast, Levi could barely believe how the jockeys held on, standing up in their saddles and moving with the horses. Around the tight curve they fought for the inside, two already falling behind.

On the back stretch they looked small, much further away, and Levi realized just how big the track was. On TV they were always close, always the same size with the camera trained on them. But here he could see how fast they really were, how they fought for position and sped down the track. On the curve they went out of view, hidden by pretty plantings and equipment. Maybe if Levi was taller he could see them, but he’d just have to wait, holding his breath, wondering if the horse he’d seen at the front would still be there when they reappeared.

As they rounded the turn, Levi could see that they’d spread out. The ones at the front pushed hard. They were so close to each other, almost glued together, all trying to be first. As the track straightened, Levi held his breath. The horses plummeted through the dirt. Closer, faster, getting larger. Dirt kicking up, sweat shining on their bodies, riders crouching: poised. Two ran neck and neck at the front. But a third was picking up the pace, making a final move. As they neared the finish line it pulled alongside, one of the original two falling back. With a final burst it strained forward. Neck leaning, body full of speed. As they plummeted past the finishing posts the newcomer got ahead. By a neck. No, by a hair. Barely, but he made it.

Levi let out a breath. The horse had won by so little, the other places were so tight was well. He’d have to wait for the numbers to flash on the scoreboard to know who had even come in third. Staring at the horses as they began to walk and cool themselves, jockeys dismounting as they were hosed down and cared for, he let his grip loosen on the chain-link fence. The metal was too hot after all now that the excitement was over.

Levi heard and felt a whack and looked up to see his uncle frowning down from the brim of his big old hat. Kenny blew a lungful of smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Oi, Brat.” Levi tried to read his uncle’s weathered face and failed.

“Want a hotdog? Won the Superfecta.” Pointing with the rolled-up program, Kenny indicated the scoreboard. “Lucky fucking 8, 3, 7, and 10. Good horses.”

Levi nodded eagerly as his stomach growled to life. He was going to get mustard, and ketchup, and onions, but none of that gross sweet relish stuff. Kenny gave him a look that wasn’t a frown, where the wrinkles in his forehead look a little less deep, one that Levi sometimes saw him get when he looked at old pictures of Mom.

“Hell, Runt, I’ll buy you two.”

#levi ackerman #kenny ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #snk #attack on titan #ackerfam #i went to the racetrack #and geez it was so mood #i could picture kenny there so easily #kid!levi #drabble #my writing

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weightlossfitness2 · 5 years

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Better Ways To Start Effectively Managing Stress

Your psychological and bodily well being could be deteriorated by any current stress in your life. Learning to deal with anxious conditions successfully can decrease your blood strain. You should perceive the conditions that create your stress earlier than you possibly can deal with them successfully.

Make preparations for the day forward. This will show you how to begin your day feeling much less confused. Each job you need to do to organize for work within the morning may cause stress to pile up. Be positive to organize the outfit you intend to put on prematurely. Get your lunch prepared the evening earlier than. Then you may be much more organized within the morning.

TIP! End every day by planning for tomorrow, and if you wake you’ll really feel far much less confused. Little issues, like making your lunch or setting out your garments prematurely, may also help the following day run extra easily, thereby vastly reducing your cumulative stress.

Smelling nice aromas may also help you take care of stress. The scents of important oils like chamomile, eucalyptus, thyme and peppermint can have a robust calming impact. Fill a small screw-top vial with a pinch of mineral salt, and a drop or two of your favourite aromatic oil. Whenever you are feeling the necessity, take a deep breath of the scent.

Take the problems which might be inflicting you stress and assign each a quantity from 1 by way of 10. While 1 could be a bit troublesome, 10 could be terrible. By monitoring your stress on a scale, you may be higher outfitted to deal with points appropriately.

TIP! Try labeling your stress with numbers, from 1-10. If at one on the size there means solely minor issues, a ten then indictaes main issues.

Get to know your stress. You ought to search for the locations in your life which might be having an influence in your stress. It is normally a response to one thing like an object, particular person or occasion. Once you slim down what the causes of your stress are, you’ll determine methods to take care of these issues.

Create an announcement that’s temporary, constructive and true that can help you in redirecting your ideas and coping along with your stress. Leveraging off of constructive statements can enhance your temper and assist appease your anxiousness. Inform your self that you simply’re able to coping with it, that you’re calm, or no matter affirmations may also help you are feeling higher.

TIP! Come up with your individual private affirmation, a short, encouraging assertion that permits you to deal with constructive ideas. By repeating the affirmation you may have created, you possibly can quell that unfavourable interior voice that so many people expertise when below stress.

Video Games

Get along with a bunch of buddies and go and have some enjoyable train outdoors within the contemporary air. Not solely will the train work out pressure, it’ll additionally show you how to to flush out toxins in your system by way of sweating. Go working or jogging to remove stress out of your life.

TIP! If you may have a number of buddies, arrange actions comparable to walks in a park or jogging on climbing trails. Not solely will the train work out pressure, it’ll additionally show you how to to flush out toxins in your system by way of sweating.

Some of your downtime actions can truly improve your stress. Video video games, for instance, generally is a enjoyable technique to unwind, nevertheless, for those who play video video games for extreme quantities of time, you might negate your private care and it will trigger plenty of stress within the close to future. This generally is a motive for lacking out on a lot wanted sleep, or time spent getting ready and consuming a wholesome meal.

Pets are a good way to alleviate stress. There is analysis that signifies that merely petting an pet for a few minutes lowers stress ranges.

TIP! Being round animals could be stress-free. Something so simple as simply petting a canine for a few minutes will work to scale back your stress, and this has been verified by analysis.

The first step to getting a grip in your stress stage is to take an analytical have a look at how you would enhance your strategies of coping with it. Monitor your responses to anxious circumstances over a specified time period. By the way you take care of stress, you possibly can determine if you’re coping with it within the right means. If your responses depart one thing to be desired, begin cultivating new stress-handling measures to take higher care of your day-to-day stress.

Getting concerned with gardening is an incredible technique to take care of stress. If you reside in a home be at liberty to place a backyard within the entrance or again yard, however you should definitely ask your landlord for those who hire.

TIP! Gardening could be an efficient launch for dealing with anxious ideas. A wonderful backyard could be created in both the again or entrance of nearly any residence.

Music generally is a implausible stress reliever for those who work in an surroundings that permits you to hearken to your tunes everytime you need. Listen to decrease key music in order that it might calm you. Contrarily, music with a sooner beat is liable to make you are feeling upbeat and completely happy if it has a constructive message.

If your work permits it, listening to music of your alternative can give you a fantastic profit. Music which is extra soothing and downbeat is finest to play at work. This is all subjective, however for those who play music that’s extra aggressive or at a sooner tempo, select one thing that can actually put you in a constructive mind set and won’t distract you out of your work.

TIP! If you possibly can, play your favourite music at work to alleviate a few of your stress. Keep music low key, in order to reinforce your interior calm.

If you employ unfavourable habits as a way to take care of stress, deal with creating extra constructive, more healthy habits to have interaction in as an alternative. Instead of counting on consolation meals, flip to train for reduction. A extra well-rounded, wholesome coping mechanism will probably be more practical for managing stress, and it’ll additionally enhance your general well being.

A good way to alleviate stress is to drink a soothing tea. You might discover reduction from natural teas that embrace botanical components like kava kava or chamomile. Steeping the teas for about ten minutes imbibes the teas with the herbs’ most energy. Have a cup earlier than mattress to unwind or a cup within the morning to organize for the day.

TIP! Drink some natural tea to assist relieve your stress signs. There are many types of tea that assist with stress, comparable to chamomile or kava kava.

Whenever you hear a joke or humorous anecdote, file it in your journal. When you return to learn the journal, it may be a technique to take issues in perspective. In addition, merely writing down these completely happy or amusing experiences focuses your thoughts on enjoyable issues. It will allow you to see the lighter aspect of your life.

If you might be utilizing unhealthy habits to take care of stress, search for higher and more healthy habits for your self. Try to train if you’d normally eat an excessive amount of, since you’re stressed. If you deal with stress by doing wholesome actions as an alternative of unhealthy ones, your physique will develop into stronger and extra resilient as you take care of stress on a regular basis.

TIP! If one of many belongings you do when your stressed is apply unhealthy methods of consuming, attempt to discover a higher and extra wholesome technique to substitute your behavior. For instance, for those who are inclined to overeat when confused, it is best to as an alternative think about exercising.

When you go to the wonder provide retailer, purchase physique lotions, soaps and shampoos which have nice fragrances. If you get pleasure from the best way you odor all through the day, it is best to routinely really feel nice about your self, and that can show you how to calm your stress. So, spending a couple of dollars for some scented lotions and physique shampoos is a superb funding.

An incredible approach for decreasing stress is daydreaming for brief intervals. Imagine a spot that you simply need to be and permit your thoughts to take you there. Taking such a bit psychological trip can actually enhance your general capability to deal with stress.

TIP! A little bit daydreaming can show invaluable in defusing the stress you are feeling in life. Allow your thoughts to wander wherever it desires to go and see no matter it desires to see.

Deep Breaths

If you might be all the time on the go, there’s a good probability that you’re considering and transferring too quick. Make positive you simply decelerate and breathe deeply to place your life in perspective. If you are feeling your self tensing and beginning to panic, decelerate and attempt to chill out.

TIP! It is kind of frequent when your day is transferring at 1,000,000 miles an hour, that your mind is three ft in entrance of the remainder of you. Take a break occasionally to mirror in your state of affairs and hold it in perspective.

An incredible, but straightforward, suggestion to recollect when you’re coping with stress could be to take deep breaths regularly. Taking deep breaths if you really feel afraid and overcome will show you how to to relax and it has been confirmed that when practiced constantly, it’ll assist cut back stress.

Take deep breathes with a view to management any state of affairs that may make you confused. Remove your self from the state of affairs at hand and provides your self time to breathe deeply. After counting to 10, it is best to have the ability to rejoin the setting with no ailing results. Waiting just a few seconds will show you how to management your anxious response and behave extra calmly and extra professionally.

TIP! Take just a few deep breaths earlier than appearing to get good management of dangerous conditions. Breathe deeply and rely to 10 earlier than getting concerned once more.

As was mentioned to start with and all through this text, stress can have a unfavourable impact in your psychological and bodily well being. Hopefully, this recommendation given cannot solely show you how to determine what’s inflicting you stress, however may show you how to type it out and reside a extra completely happy and wholesome life!

If you might be in class and having issue with a topic, hunt down a tutor. Doing so gives you with very important assist in order that you do not really feel confused. The finest technique to lower anxiousness is to ensure you are ready for the state of affairs that’s arising.

TIP! When you might be going through the stress related to a troublesome course at college, think about hiring a tutor. This will show you how to to get the help that you simply want so you aren’t stressing out when it comes time to take your take a look at.

The post Better Ways To Start Effectively Managing Stress appeared first on Weight Loss Fitness.

from Weight Loss Fitness https://weightlossfitnesss.info/better-ways-to-start-effectively-managing-stress/

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snarky-bee · 7 years

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Zevwarden Week Day 2: Domestic

Kallian was leaned over pulling out a bar of soap from her bag when Zevran’s Antivan leather boots appeared out of the corner of her eye. Without a sound, as usual, but at least she had seen him before he started speaking. Too many times already she’d started as his voice sounded out of seemingly thin air.

He simply stood there though and she stood up, raising an eyebrow as she turned around. “Something I can help you with, Zev?”

“No, no, mi querida, simply enjoying the marvelous view. Do carry on with whatever it was that had you bending over at such a pleasing angle.” Amber eyes were alight with mischief, no shame in announcing he was staring. “Bath time? It is a rather dark night out; things could be lurking. Much safer in numbers, no?”

It was bath time. A towel shoved into a pail, a fresh bar of soap in her other hand, and an Antivan looking for an invitation. She gave him her cheekiest grin. “Probably best if I have someone come with me then.” Kallian whistled sharply, “Fang!” And her Mabari came trotting over to her side. “But there’s always a use or two for a handsome elf,” she parroted his own words back at him, spoken months ago.

Her fingers threaded loosely through his, and she nibbled on her lips briefly before tugging him towards her for a kiss. Plush lips melded to her own. It was hot, yet sweet in its brevity.

“You’ve thoroughly convinced me to tag along then - for your safety,” he added, keeping up the pretense. The smile was still resting on his lips, tongue darting out to lick his bottom one.

Kallian snickered. “Come on then.”

They walked close enough to hold hands, the backs of their fingers brushed up against each other as they swung by their sides, enough for Kallian to notice the tingling warmth his touch left in its wake. She cast a sidelong glance to her mabari, happily keeping pace with the pair of elves. Now she almost wished the bath was just a pretense. Dragging Zevran to her tent sounded much more appealing.

At the edge of the riverbed she unfurled the towel, hanging it on a branch before taking the bucket down to the water.

“Is this not normally the part we get undressed? Sinful touches and even naughtier moans fill the night sky?” Now Zevran was the one at a loss, normally the suave seducer, instead stopping short of the water as Kallian filled her bucket with water.

“Pretty sure Fang won’t care either way,” she responded with an air of casualness. As if she didn’t know exactly what she’d lead Zevran to believe. “Are you going to help or not? C'mere puppy.” She snapped her fingers, urging Fang to the edge of the water where she tipped the water over his back. He only whined briefly as he adjusted to the cool temperature, but was soon wagging the little stump of a tail when Kallian held a palm out with bits of meat in it for him. “Who’s my good puppy?”

“Cruel woman, you are.” His eyes narrowed as it became apparent there would be no groping of water slicked bodies tonight. “There are so many things I need to say here but I fear all of them will be lost on you as Fereldan as you are.” While he poked fun at her love of the dog, he was shaking his head good-naturedly. “At least admit he is hardly a puppy.”

“He’s my big puppy and he’s perfect. Right Fang?” Tongue hanging out of his mouth, it almost looked like he was grinning up at Kallian in answer.

“Fereldans,” Zevran scoffed. But he didn’t leave. He took the bar of soap from Kallian and crouched beside the big dog, lathering fur that truly had started to get that distinctly animal smell to it. “Sometimes I think you spend more time cleaning this dog than your own things.”

“Laundry isn’t exactly my top priority!” Her retort was indignant, but she really had meant to wash her shirts the day before. Only so much sweat a shirt could soak up before it became truly rank - and most of hers had. Enough for Zev to point out they needed washing. Though it was dark, she was certain Zevran had no trouble catching the red that tinged her cheeks.

To add insult to injury, Fang added his opinion to the mix, and shook from head to tail, spraying both elves with watery suds all over their hair, faces and soaking their clothes.

“I take it back. Not my good puppy. Andraste’s tits Fang, you did that on purpose. Piece of, fucking - I get it. I’ll wash my clothes.” She grumbled away, and Fang didn’t even have the decency to look sufficiently reprimanded. It definitely was on purpose too! He liked the attention of baths, didn’t try to run away or shake off the water. What a little shit.

All while Kallian cursed and wiped soap bubbles from her face, Zevran laughed heartily, the full hearty laugh that had his shoulders shake. It was always amusing to him to listen to such curses fall from such a pretty girl’s mouth, but it had the added layer of satisfaction now. “My warden,” he was still chuckling, mirth in his eyes as they creased at the corners, “do come find me whenever your ‘puppy’ needs a bath. It turns out the view isn’t half so bad. There are certainly perks.”

Brown eyes followed his amber gaze, not aimed at her eyes, but at her white linen shirt, now drenched and see-through where her in fact ‘perky’ breasts were visible for his enjoyment. For a half second she narrowed her eyes again, and then fast as lightning she rushed towards the pail, lay tilted on its side by the water still.

Zevran was after her just as quickly, catching on to her intentions, and he wrapped his muscled arms around her body, pinning her arms to her sides before she could scoop water up to dump on him.

“Zev!” She cackled, still trying to wrestle away from him. It was mostly half-hearted. Kallian enjoyed being locked in his arms far too much to readily admit.

“Nice try, my warden. But what good would that do, really? We are both already-”

Kallian dropped her weight, hoping the surprise would make his grip loosen, but he held on and she lost her footing in the loose gravel, sending them both careening into the water with a splash. And Fang was off chasing them into the river, his feet kicking up more water as they both sputtered and pushed long hair out of their faces.

With wet hair sending rivulets of water down his neck, the moonlight glinting off his shining skin, Zevran slinked towards Kallian in the water. Surprise from falling had shifted into leering that promised more than the sweet kisses they shared earlier. “Now that I have you here. Bath time?”

#zevwarden week #zevran/tabris #zevran/warden #oh look im late again what a surprise #she says sarcastically #snarky writing

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themurphyzone · 7 years

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His World: Fairy Tale Act 3

Suggested by @arendalphaeagle! And we’re to our last chapter! Thanks for reading!

Part 1

Part 2

Lydia regretted her choice of fairy tale for the third act. She could’ve gone with something familiar like “Sleeping Beauty” or “Thumbelina” but no, she just had to choose a fairy tale that required every single person to appear on the stage at once.

A surefire recipe for disaster.

Amanda was dressed in a sparkly magenta dress, a pointed cone with a lightweight cloth at the tip perched on her head. A week ago, she had threatened to withdraw from the play if Lydia didn’t take out the puffed sleeves on her princess costume. Lydia had balked at that, saying she thought puffed sleeves were cute. However, Amanda eventually convinced her that they were terrible for movement and that the left sleeve didn’t hold as much air as the right.

So no puffy sleeves. It was a shame too. She was secretly hoping they would make a comeback.

“I like your dress,” Milo blushed, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s purple.”

“Thanks,” Amanda developed an interest in the stairs leading to the tower where she would be staying for the majority of the act. “Um, I really like your-er, boots.”

“Remind me to get you a book of compliments,” Lydia tugged on Amanda’s arm, pointing her up the stairs. “Save the lovey-dovey stuff for later.”

Amanda sputtered. “L-lovey dovey! We were just complimenting each other!” She giggled as Milo kept his eyes locked with hers as she was dragged away. He tripped over his backpack, though the grin never left his face as he toppled backwards, giving a thumbs-up.

“Uh-huh,” Lydia said, unconvinced. “Remember, you can’t laugh until the end of the act!”

“Fine,” Amanda nodded. “I will not laugh. I am thinking depressing thoughts.”

“What kind of depressing thoughts?” Lydia asked.

“Unorganized schedules, the end of the world, and how I have to put up with my mother’s Filipino soap operas,” Amanda said.

Lydia winced in sympathy. “Yeah. Girl, how do you stand all that noise?”

“I can’t,” Amanda muttered. She lifted her dress and carefully walked up the stairs to the top of the tower where she was to stay for the last act. “Think you can handle things without me?”

“Give me more credit. Everything will be just fine,” Lydia smirked, signaling Mort. He nodded and raised the curtain.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we present Act 3: Hans, Who Made the Princess Laugh!” Lydia announced proudly. She was just glad the evening was almost over.

She had already regretted her choice in fairy tale. Now the regret was directed towards the narrator.

“Once upon a time, ugh, can we not start with something so cliche?” Bradley groaned.

“Excuse you, Mr. Sunshine, but I poured blood, sweat, and white chocolate mocha on this script,” Lydia growled. “Stick to it before you get the hook.”

Bradley scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say. There was once a king with a beautiful daughter, you know, the whole blonde hair and blue eyes deal heroes always have in fairy tales.”

Chad unfurled a scroll, a crown slipping down his head. “Anyone who can make my somber daughter laugh shall receive half the kingdom and her hand in marriage!”

Amanda stood motionless in the window, her gaze fixated on the far wall. Zack approached the base of the tower, flashing a grin. “I shall make you laugh, dear princess. A witch, an ogre, and a knight walk into a bar and-”

Amanda grunted, a gloved hand resting on her cheek in boredom. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one. They’re all equally terrible. Leave.”

“To nobody’s surprise, this pattern continued for weeks,” Bradley said. “If I was stuck in a tower with nothing but bad jokes from potential suitors, I would be pretty miserable too. The princess remained stoic no matter how many pranks, jokes, and tricks people tried to pull.”

“I bet I could make her laugh!” Milo exclaimed.

“Yeah, out of pity,” Bradley shot back.

The smile didn’t leave Milo’s face. “A pity laugh is still a laugh!”

Yawning, Bradley paced around the stage as he narrated, ignoring Lydia’s glare. “Hans’ father was reluctant to let him go, since he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Furthermore, the princess had to suffer stupid puns at the hands of the elder brothers. Humor doesn’t exactly run in the family.”

“Please, Father,” Milo begged to Mort. “Allow me to visit the palace so that I may try to make the princess laugh.”

“Hans, there is no use in trying. It’s a lost cause,” Mort said.

Bradley coughed. “But because the youngest always wins in these kinds of stories, the father relented and allowed him to go.”

Milo bowed to Chad, unable to laughing at the unnecessary formality. “Is it possible to-heh, sorry-get a job here at the palace? I could fetch water and firewood for the kitchenmaid.”

Thinking for a moment, Chad nodded. “The extra help would be much appreciated.” They shook on the agreement.

“The next day, Hans was distracted by a fish while he was out collecting water,” Bradley sighed. “First day on the job and already shirking work.” The fish in question was a singing plastic bass that had been torn from the board.

As Milo slipped the bass into a bucket, his fingers accidentally brushed a button and it burst into a screechy rendition of Gitchee Gitchee Goo. Lydia silently smacked her forehead with her palm. She knew she forgot to tear out the voice box.

Melissa carried a model of a golden goose, humming as she passed by Milo. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Milo said cheerfully. “Would you like to trade your golden goose for this lovely fish?”

“I’d love to,” Melissa smirked. “But this goose’s feathers are coated with a magical substance that makes a person stick fast to it. So be warned.”

“I get stuck in situations all the time,” Milo shrugged, taking hold of the goose. “No worries!”

“In that case, he’s all yours,” Melissa said, pulling away. But her hands remained stuck to the goose’s sides. “Lydia, what did you put on this thing?”

“Superglue,” Lydia replied, realizing her mistake too late.

“Why?” Bradley rounded on her. “You know Milo plus sticky substances equals catastrophe!”

“Oops,” Lydia rubbed her head sheepishly. “Mind the audience, Bradley.”

“Sure,” Bradley grumbled. “Hans continued on like nothing happened, and met another woman who wanted the golden goose for herself. Because walking into a town in the middle of the afternoon while carrying golden poultry surely wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.”

Crystal waved. “Excuse me, good sir. For how much are you willing to sell the golden goose?”

“It’s not for sale,” Milo explained. “I’m on a mission to make the princess laugh!”

“If you’re wasting that valuable piece of waterfowl on a useless mission,you might as well give it to me so I can make some use out of it. A fine price this will fetch!” But when Crystal tried to forcibly snatch the goose, her hands became entangled in the glue as well. “That’s some strong glue.”

“Along came a man who was angry about the woman stealing his goat and-”

“HOLD IT!”

Bradley paused in his narration, whipping around to glare at Elliot, whose hair was ruffled from the waterfowl chasing him out of the auditorium. The crossing guard folded his arms. “Sir, if you aren’t part of the cast, I’m gonna have to ask you to vacate the stage immediately,” Lydia ordered.

“I’m up here because this one of your cast members is clearly in violation of the Safety Czar Pact: Article II, Section 5,” Elliot pointed an accusing finger towards Milo.

Melissa groaned. “Please tell me he did not just write an official document about his delusions over Milo.”

“He did not just write an official document about his delusions over me,” Milo repeated. “Though I’m surprised he managed to find the time to do it between helping students cross the street, tracking Murphy’s Law on radar, and attending therapy sessions to get over his anatidaephobia. How are those going by the way, Elliot?”

“Going well, I think,” Elliot responded. “We’ve moved on to systematic desensitization. I can go within thirty feet of a duck in a cage without freaking out now and-ugh, why am I even telling you this? The Safety Czar Pact: Article II, Section 5 clearly states that anyone with Murphy’s Law cannot carry around models of animals in theaters to prevent incidents in which a live animal mistakes the model for its offspring, mate, rival, or prey.”

“But Diogee hasn’t mistaken the goose for anything,” Lydia protested, feeling a vein pop in her forehead. “My script doesn’t call for paranoid volunteer crossing guards to interrupt the act, so sit down before I decide to not refund you at all!”

Elliot threw up his hands. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” As his left hand dropped down, it became stuck to the goose’s head. The color drained out of his face. “Um, what did she use on this thing?”

“Superglue,” Milo, Melissa, and Crystal chorused.

Breathing heavily, Elliot turned to Milo. “You are waiting in the back to cross the street from now on, Murphy. If I get out of this alive.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Melissa muttered.

“After being so rudely interrupted by the village idiot,” Bradley continued despite Elliot’s indignant noise. “the ragtag group slowly made their way back to the palace, where the royal blacksmith also got stuck.”

Zack’s hand laid close to Crystal’s. She couldn’t hide her blush. “There better be a plan to get us unstuck from this mess,” Zack muttered.

They stopped at the tower’s base. “Princess, I’ve come to make you laugh!” Milo shouted.

Amanda’s giggles turned into full blown laughter. “I’ve found my future husband!” she called.

Milo blushed. “So you wouldn’t mind marrying me even if I’m stuck with the rest of these guys?”

Stifling her laughter for a moment, Amanda grinned. “Nope!”

“Hans indeed received half the kingdom and the princess’ hand in marriage. And they got married and lived happily ever after. Good. We’re done here,” Bradley finished.

“And that concludes Fairy Tale!” Lydia declared. “Come on out and take a bow everybody!”

Everyone who wasn’t stuck to the model kept their distance as they bowed to the audience, who stood up and clapped enthusiastically. Lydia looked up, letting out a sigh of relief when she heard some people whistle and shout encouragement.

“So Lydia, what’s your next play going to be?” Amanda asked.

Lydia sighed in exhaustion. “It’s gonna be about an aspiring playwright and actress who take a break from this mess for a while.”

“Sounds like a good plot!” Milo laughed. Diogee popped out of the back with Milo’s backpack in his mouth. He set it in front of his owner, rummaging around for something. A small spray bottle rolled out, and Zack picked it up with his free hand, coating the model in the liquid until everyone’s hands came loose.

The model clattered to the floor and broke, Diogee leaping upon the neck and shaking his head furiously as he growled it.

“I told you kids it was a violation,” Elliot said smugly. “I’ll have to-NOT AGAIN!”

“I changed my mind. He is not getting that refund,” Lydia said, calmly watching the grand finale of Elliot running away from yet another duck.

“Does anyone else feel like something’s missing?” Chad asked.

The curtain crashed behind them, completely destroying the sets from the previous acts.

“That’s more like it,” Milo said. “Guess we all broke our legs today! Talking in the theater sense of course. That would be bad if someone broke their leg literally.”

Lydia was just glad the auditorium was still standing.

And that’s the end of this story!

#milo murphy's law #lydia #bradley nicholson #fairy tale #his world #mort schaeffer #melissa chase #zack underwood

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mandimormon-blog · 7 years

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Seaweed and Dirty Filters

Typically, as I type a blog, I have bullet points or a keyword list stored as a note, on my phone. Not because I forget everything, but I forget everything UNLESS someone offends me. In the case, I remember the exact year, day, weather, time, location, minute, what clothing we both were wearing, and whether or not I was having a good hair day.

Last week, as I pecked away at the keyboard, I forgot a little gem. It’s probably because my mind shifts focus dozens of times and when I remember where I was originally going with something, it’s too late. It’s posted.

Picture this. We go about the same weekly, school routine, day-by-day. We arise and shine forth, extra early or most of the time not a minute before 7:00 a.m. expecting to be arriving at school sometime between 7:55-8:05. A long time ago, (like last school year), I used to be up before the sun, getting five miles in and starting morning chores long before 7:00 a.m. rolled around. This year, however, my son began all-day Kindergarten meaning, I have about seven hours a day to get household chores underway, a run in, weights in, and all of the errand running done (because let’s face it – it’s easier to fly solo when purchasing the weekly groceries). I require my sleep. I even get lots of stars on my FitBit for getting enough sleep per night. Yep, that feels like a participation trophy but it’s a good feeling to get enough sleep not to mention healthy, so I’m not ashamed.

Back to rolling out of bed at 7:00, dragging my feet down the stairs, “inspiring” my children to get dressed in the clothing they laid out for school, the evening before. Mamma-pedia’s Definitition of “inspiring” means bribing; repeating up to, but not more than 12 times; announcement of privileges; threats of privilege-removal; threats of calling the parent (in the restroom upstairs) into the conversation; and shouting, as a final resort.

Then a breakfast compromise, naturally, because no two children enjoy the same thing at the same time. Then hair. Oh hair. Have you met my middle child? Undoubtedly, everywhere we go this little chicky receives a minimum of three compliments on her naturally curly loose locks. Caring for these gorgeous locks isn’t a beautiful process. This little girl is very independent and stubborn. Every. Single. Day. Is a battle over the hair. Every. Day. If I choose to pull it into a ponytail or bun, she’ll remove it immediately because it wasn’t her choice. After the effort to catch her running around the couch, bar, up the stairs, around the table, and spray detangling all over her, the floor, sometimes even my husband if she has to be lovingly restrained, hair styled and then it’s removed, in the blink of an eye, you can only imagine how frustrated I become. Actually, not that frustrated anymore. I can’t be fazed. I just look like the Kermit memes or the emoji with its mouth closed straight across and eyes shut.

Hair, eventually check, usually minutes before 8:00. Then it’s teeth brushing, book bag gathering, shoe placement or shouting about shoe placement, and running out the front door.

As parental blood pressures return to stable, we call on someone to give a morning family prayer, (yes, on the way to school in the truck, the whole family), and discuss the children’s agenda for the day. On this given day, it was Friday, and as we slowly inched our way closer and closer to the drop-off location. I remembered it was Friday and Jude’s show-n-tell day. I said to him, “Jude, is today show-n-tell?” His response, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”

I looked to my left and to my right. “Well, maybe we can find something in dad’s truck you can take in.” He held up a paint-stir stick, “I can take this!”

I opened the glove box and pulled out the contents. Without thinking and laughing a little, “Here’s a Book of Mormon, you could take that.” He began hopping in his seat, “Yes, Yes! I want to take that!”

I looked at my husband, who tried convincing him it probably wasn’t a good idea to take that to show-n-tell. But Jude was insistent now. He was so excited, so we couldn’t take it from him. We just hoped for the best. After dropping the children off, my husband and I conversed about how this was going to go down. I laughed and said there would probably be a note sent home with him. But, honestly, I wish I had the faith this kid has to be bold and absolutely satisfied with things I choose to do.

The day went by, that was the day we went to the temple last week, so my mother picked up the kids from school. She told us this story when we returned from our day-date. Note, she usually waits in the carline. Today, a few classes were out to recess while she waited.

She said as she was sitting in the carline she was looking around at all of the children playing on the playground. She noticed one little boy, but thought it couldn’t possibly be Jude because that child had no hat and no gloves on, this day was chilly. But then she realized that little boy absolutely had to be Jude because he was running around the blacktop, carrying a Book of Mormon in his hands.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at this. I even pulled Jude into the conversation my mother, husband, and I had, to ask about taking his show-n-tell to recess. Sure enough, he let us know he did have it, it took it outside for both recesses.

Jude seems to be on a roll and has been for a couple of years now. I’ve always heard the baby of the family is the comedian.

On Wednesday, I was terribly busy. I know you’re probably thinking ‘Yeah right’. Valid. Truly valid. But I dabble in a lot of extracurricular activities. For one, I run. I like to 5-6x a week. So maybe an hour, hour and a half a day. Weightlifting. That’s 20-40 minutes. On this particular day, I had to run, weightlift, runner-bathe… ‘Mamma-pedia’s Definition of “runner-bathe” – wash face, blow-dry sweat into hair, wipe off body with a damp towel and a little bit of soap, air dry, dress for the day.’

Then my mother and I ran over to Crawfordsville and hit up Kroger. Have I mentioned how much I love their organics and gluten-free selections? Wow, I do. Then since Wednesdays are early release, I ran inside, make a salad, inhaled it, and went to the school for pick-up. I hadn’t really been home all day. I didn’t realize how much of an impact this would make on my children until we all walked through the front door and Reis, stopped dead in her tracks, “Mom, why is the house a mess?”

Job Security. That’s what I wanted to say. I clean, clean, clean, every day. A normal day those three kiddies walk in and everything is put away, the counters are clean, all articles of clothing clean and put away, the house is fragrant of essential oils from mopping or the diffuser, and even sometimes dinner is in the crockpot or ready to be prepped. This particular day, not so much… the cereal bowls were still on the counter from the morning, a hair brush on the table, detangler out, hair cream. Sink with several dishes, the counters weren’t wiped down a couple of pairs of shoes appeared sporadically on the floor, the couch was looking crazy. The zipper is broken, so sometimes the guts of the couch hang out, you know what I mean? The white stuffing. Toys on the living room floor. A hamper full of clothing next to the washer and dryer. Barstools disheveled.

As she said this I didn’t take offense, past the job security tidbit, I was like, “You are right. I have to clean it now.” I’m not OCD. Not even a little bit. My sink had blue clay residue for a couple of days around the bowl and like I mentioned my couch is undressed half of the time. If I were OCD that brown couch would be curbside. I just have a routine I go about day-by-day, thinking no one noticed, but now I know they do.

So, here I am straightening things up, Jude’s following me around at this point, discussing something with me. We usually have very adult conversations together. I opened up the utility closet door to place the vacuum back. While it was open I hung another bag up on its hook, the furnace filter caught my eye. It was still dust-covered.

To my son, I commented, “I want to text your dad and ask him to get a furnace filter, but I’m afraid to, since I’ve already asked him, nine times.”

Jude replied, “Maybe he’s getting it for your birthday.”

Backing it up, on Monday my girls (plural) had 4-H meetings. Remi is now old enough for Mini 4-H. Reis has done 4-H since 3rd grade, but not Mini. I, however, did Mini 4-H in second grade. In second grade when times were simpler. For example, you could bake cookies or build a birdhouse.

In 2017, you can pick from a slew of projects, similar to the bigger kiddos, and this year you can even get a mentor and show a smaller livestock animal. No cows.

Reis had her first meeting of the year, too. It was very successful and she’s stoked a friend of hers is taking a project this year.

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day. That day was crazier than the Wednesday, I’d described. But only because I choose for it to be crazy and I was crazy-proud of that.

I set my alarm a little bit earlier than normal. It wasn’t 7 a.m. prying myself out of bed like a zombie. I had a hop in my step, because I had big plans for the fam.

While they were sleeping, I made gluten-free blueberry muffins, homemade gluten-free fresh strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes, and fresh strawberries cut into hearts, with “pink milk” (aka Strawberry Milk – we don’t even do regular milk in our home, we usually opt for almond everything but this was a special day).

I gave my husband a box of one of his favorite kinds of a candy with a cheesy message on it and later in the day, I made him a loaf of gluten-free banana bread. He said it was good. But to me, the texture appeared very dry. I couldn’t try it, AIP still going strong. Speaking of AIP, I read the guide to reintroduction, a few days ago, and laughed out loud. It said as you reintroduce a food group, you should take a small nibble of the food, wait 15 minutes, consume it and then don’t reintroduce anything else new for five days to note your reactions. AIP Founders must not understand my life. If I’m trying a food I’ve been forced to avoid for 30 days and my meals consist of vegetables with the exception of nightshades, no grains, no seeds, no nuts, no dairy, no soy, no processed foods – do you think I can just take a little nibble of something? The answer is no. No, I inhale that food and then eat more of it. I did try an egg yolk a few days ago, so I’m going to venture to say it didn’t affect me in a bad way, and I should probably hard-boil more eggs. Oh, the sacrifice!

I ran, tossed around some weights, and got ready. I went by the flower shop to send an arrangement to someone and noticed I was the only female, aside from the staff, all men on Valentine’s Day. I was planning Miss Remi’s Valentine’s Party. Of course, I had been for the past couple of weeks. I delegated almost everything, but I still took in my insulated bag of backups, in case they were needed and a gluten-free party mix.

That morning, I decided to attend Jude’s party, too, since it was a half hour before Remi’s party. After his was over, I rushed to Remi’s, and feeling great about that one, because the moms did an exceptional job with their delegations. Did I mention Remi and I both wore our matching Mommy and Me LuLaRoe Valentine Leggings? We so did. She even wanted me to wear them to match her. I had so many compliments because of how “festive” my leggings were.

I began to walk down the hallway, headed out of the building after her party, but noticed my oldest daughter in gym class. I tried discreetly tapping on the window but it was probably super loud in there, so I just let myself in and yelled her name. I’m sure she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

She and her friend came quickly to me, probably hoping I didn’t yell her name, again. I asked if she’d had her party and they told me it was in the next ten minutes. I told them, I would probably come then.

Classroom parties must be my weakness, because I know I described previously how proud I was at the beginning of the school year when I only signed up for one party per child so I wasn’t so stressed going to three parties and making three contributions or more for each holiday.

I ran outside and moved my vehicle away from the bus lane, and went in for round three. I unloaded a few things that wouldn’t be needed and reloaded my Mary Poppins insulated bag. I was able to contribute a gluten-free party mix to this one, for my little Celiac Lady.

After school, I rolled out gluten-free (do you wish you had a quarter for every time I said gluten-free?) pizza dough, I made from scratch. I was crossing my fingers it would taste good to my children. This variety, how about I say GF now? GF anything carby – like breads, buns, donuts – are rarely yummy. They usually have a funky texture and grainy taste. I always speculate it’s because it’s crushed up almonds or some other kind of nut. It lacks fluff.

I made a huge heart shaped pizza for the children. My husband isn’t a pizza fan. (Which I’ve heard means Telestial Kingdom for him.) So I made one of his favorite meals (that my children don’t like); Chicken Tetrazzini.

Chorus for Reis, Kettlebell Tabata for me, and Ballet for Remi – by the end of the day, I was about to die from exhaustion. The pep in my step had long gone away. And I felt like that zombie I described I usually feel like when waking up of a morning.

On Friday night of this week (not to be confused with last week, since I did talk about that, too), we went on a double date to Fujiyama – the new hibachi restaurant in Danville. What a neat experience! We were seated at a grill and the chef entertained us while cooking our table’s food. Lots of fire and laughter, the food everyone got looked out of this world. My husband was particularly fond of the rice, which was surprising. My GF food had to be prepped in the kitchen. Boring, I know.

My friends and husband even made fun of me because I got a seaweed salad and sashimi. Even more funny, when I tried to tell the waitress I couldn’t have gluten, she asked me what I was saying 4x in a row. Then finally she was like, “Oh, gluten-free?” I guess the “free” on the end clues people in.

When I was asking about the details of the seaweed salad, she told me none of the people she’s ever waited on had ever gotten it. Danville doesn’t eat seaweed, I guess.

I am really excited to take our children there to have this food experience! After we finished up, we choose to bowl. We also agreed Covington was a good idea. Called, they said there was open bowling so we arrived. The parking lot seemed swamped. When we went in we were told it would be hours because the school was there. Sure enough, high-schoolers, high-schoolers everywhere.

Bummed because we were just in Danville, mind you ¾ of us are Mormon, we decided to go into the bar, where no one was, and play pool. We drank gigantic ice waters and played pool. The most stressed out I’d been all week, trying to figure out which pocket to aim for. ;-)

Reis had a couple of friends spend the night, so they were quite busy being social butterflies. On Saturday, Remi had another basketball game, where she made three baskets and had a few assists, too. Jude was able to attend baseball camp, where he hit the ball multiple times and loved that. Then Allen took him out for a Daddy-Son Date, Lazer Tag and lunch.

Saturday was a busy, busy day, too, but it was gorgeous out. Today, piggybacked the busy-ness. We had a Youth Fireside after church. I think I’ve said before, we have a three hour block for church. I have a meeting beforehand, unless my husband is out of the building, then I go on time. Throughout the year, our youth ages 12-17, have Firesides or meetings they select the topic and speaker and we eat lunch together and listen before going home.

Today, was the Standards Fireside. Our Young Women had submitted questions and scenarios they’ve encountered and the panel (they choose) of ‘cool and trendy’ adults, answered them with life experience and the “why”. The meal was my task. So, I had to prep everything for ‘Walking Tacos’ or ‘Tacos in a Bag’. I made a few up and they smelled awesome. I’d heard from several people, too, they were awesome. I pretended my lettuce with mushrooms and cucumber in oil and vinegar and apple was actually a Walking Taco. You’re killin’ me, AIP. Sundays are usually a binge eating day for me, since I’m gone for so many hours, I like my body reacts as if it’s important I refuel and tank up, just in case I’m gone away from the fridge for that period of time, again.

Here I sit, it’s now dark outside, and I need to go to my happy place. My bed.

#LDS #mormon #mommyblog

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