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commonwealthoccurences · 4 years ago

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Companions React: Sole Finds Their Pre-War Teddy Bear

The set up:

Scavenging wasn’t as easy of a job as some made it out to be. Sanctuary was running low on spare materials and had searched for someone willing to go out into the junk piles of the wasteland and bring home materials that could be turned into something useful.

That’s how Sole and their companion found themselves picking through piles of what appeared to be garbage, climbing over refrigerators long out of service and cracking children’s toys. Skeletons of lives past, remnants of individuals who wouldn’t be remembered in a world that left them behind. Sole stood at the top of the pile, a hand over their eyes to scan the wreckage, when they spotted something they thought long gone and took off running.

Cait:

Though she’d refuse to admit it later, Cait started when Sole took off, scrambling down from their perch at the top of the junk pile, dead set on a goal she couldn’t make heads or tails of. Their vision had locked onto something and it appeared they weren’t going to stop until they got what they wanted. “Hey! Where the hell do ya think you’re goin’?” Cait scrambled after them, boots slipping over car parts and rusted metal as she fought to keep up.

Her shout didn’t stop Sole, though they did skid to a stop at the bottom of a pile, tossing scraps of metal aside without a care in the world. Cait kept her distance to avoid being caught in the crossfire and only stepped forward when Sole straightened up, something clutched tightly in their hands. Nearly slipping and grouchier than before, she picked her way through the mess to stand in front of Sole and rolled her eyes. “Ya really nearly killed yourself over that garbage?”

Sole looked up, their expression vulnerable and a little bit guilty. Gently, they brushed some dirt off the teddy bear they held, though it didn’t do much to fix it’s battered appearance. Somehow Sole looked even more haunted, like they were seeing into a world Cait had barely a grasp on. “This is mine.” They whispered.

“What?”

“It’s mine. From before the war. I didn’t think… how the hell did it survive?”

Cait’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Fockin’ hell, that thing’s more durable than most people.”

Sole laughed, though their mind still seemed so far away as they traced the edge of the teddy’s ear with the tip of their finger. Cait moved closer to them, swearing harshly when she nearly slipped and fell again. One of its eyes was missing and the threads were coming loose from it’s face, but there was something about Sole’s affection for it that made Cait see something cute. “It’s survived, I’ll give it that.” Her tone was begrudging, but deep down, she knew if someone ever tried to take that thing away from Sole, there’d be hell to pay.

Curie:

Curie’s worry spiked when Sole nearly slipped and fell. The potential for injury was great amongst the piles of garbage; who knew what laid under a poorly supported tarp. Concern running high, Curie climbed her way after her runaway companion, carefully testing each place for proper support before putting her weight on it. The going was slow and by the time she reached their side, Sole had already found and dug out what they were chasing after.

It was a teddy bear, covered in grime and layers of dirt from being out in the Wasteland. “I’m sorry, Mx, but what is the significance of this… thing?” It was difficult for her to hide her distaste at the object, which could barely be seen past the filthiness.

“It used to be mine. Still is, I guess. I never thought I’d see it again.” Sole’s voice was barely above a whisper as they cradled the stuffed animal like a child.

“The garbage?” Curie was confused.

“It’s not-” Sole pressed their lips together, suppressing their distress.

The possibility of their teddy surviving the war was unbelievably low, and yet both of them had managed to beat the odds. They were overcome with a wave of emotion. Something so fragile and seemingly insignificant to everyone else had managed to survive and they had never identified with something so much since they had awoken in this nightmare.

Curie managed to pick up on the mood despite her confusion and folded her hands together. “There’s a river just down the hill if you’d like to clean it off.” She stated quietly.

Sole nodded, smile a little watery, and looked up at Curie. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. Lead the way, Curie.”

Danse:

“Soldier! Don’t be so reckless!” Danse shouted after them, struggling with whether or not to go after them. Climbing in wreckage wasn’t the easiest in power armor.

He watched them charge down the side of the garbage pile, skidding to a stop at the bottom and beginning to rip the piles apart with no regard to how it may affect the stability of what they were standing on. Danse huffed, having never seen them acting like that, and began making his way over to them, careful to place his weight in stable areas, lest he become part of the metal scrap in the piles. He was beyond astonished to see them bent over a teddy bear that seemed to have gone through the wringer. “Is this what you took off over.” He scoffed in disbelief.

“This belongs to me.” They whispered, still crouched over it, nearly shaking.

Danse failed to understand what they were saying until they looked up at him with teary eyes. It didn’t just belong to them, it belonged to them before the war. He suddenly understood their reaction, and was flustered at the way he’d reacted. He should’ve known Sole wouldn’t take off over something insignificant, especially without communicating to him. He looked over to the horizon before glancing back down at them, where they were stroking the teddy bear’s fur, mesmerized. “Put it in your backpack. We still need to work while we have daylight.” Too harsh, he thought. “We can clean it up when we get back to Sanctuary.” A little better.

Sole grinned up at him and wiped a stray tear off their face, inhaling as they stood and hugged it tightly to their chest. They muttered something to themself before swinging their backpack to the side and adjusting the teddy bear “comfortably” in it. Danse looked away to suppress the affectionate smile that crept across his face.

Deacon:

“Oh, shit. Why are we taking off, Boss?” Deacon was a little alarmed at their sudden movement.

In an attempt to keep up he nearly slid and ended up on his ass. He waved his arms comically for a moment to keep his balance and remain upright before charging after them just as recklessly. He wasn’t one to question why someone was running. The wasteland was a run first, ask questions later type of place, and he’d survived so far with that policy.

When they skidded to a stop and began digging, he stumbled to slow down and came to a stop behind them. He couldn’t quite see over their shoulder, but when they let out a victorious shout and the scraps stopped flying, he leaned forward. They were clutching a teddy bear. “We aren’t gonna get much spare cloth from that garbage, I’ll be honest, Boss.” He said skeptically.

They stood and whirled around, a broad grin on their face as they held the teddy bear out. “It’s mine!” The joy on their face was contagious, but he was still confused.

“What do you mean?”

“From before the War! I can’t believe it survived.” Their tone turned to one of wonder as they rubbed their thumb over where one of its eyes had fallen off.

Deacon couldn’t help his chuckle. “It is cute, I do have to admit. Let’s get it cleaned up though.”

Gage:

“What the fuck?” Gage’s head snapped towards where Sole had taken off, tracking them through the crumbling piles of garbage that scattered under their weight.

He groaned under his breath, rolling his eyes as he looked up at the sky. He’d sworn they were smarter than the last Overboss and yet he could almost predict them slipping and breaking their neck over whatever they were chasing. God knows it couldn’t be that important. With a huff, he dropped his cigarette and began slowly following after them.

Maybe it was the way they were desperately tossing junk aside, or the fact that he’d never seen Sole act like this, but he was almost wary of coming up behind them. He wasn’t trying to take a shard of glass to his good eye. He waited for them to stop scrambling before he came up beside them and caught a glimpse at what they were holding. “A fucking teddy bear? Are you kidding me?” He rolled his eyes, trying to find patience somewhere in the back of his brain.

“I… Gage this is mine.”

“You- what?”

“It’s mine. From before the war. I’ve had this since I was five.”

“How the hell did this fucker live longer than most people do?”

Sole laughed and hugged the teddy bear tightly. Then, they held it up next to him, Gage dodging to avoid being touched by the filthy stuffed animal. “You guys look exactly the same. Teddy bears covered in dirt.”

“You better move your ass before I kick the shit out of you.” He grumbled, pushing past them to hide the slight flush on his face.

Hancock:

“Hey! Sole!” Hancock was frozen in place, mildly stunned by their reaction to whatever they’d seen.

Yanking at his coattails as they got caught on a sharp piece of metal, he began the trek to catch up to them. Luckily, they stopped not far from where they’d taken off, kneeling in a pile of discarded clothing. Pieces of clothing were tossed behind them carelessly before they stopped and grabbed something. Hancock caught up to them shortly after, boots slipping against the slimy hood of a car before he made it down to stand next to them. “What’s going on Sole.”

They turned and stood and began looking between him and the teddy bear expectantly. “You could’ve cracked your head open runnin’ over here, Sunshine. For a piece of grimy trash?”

Sole shook their head and flipped over a tag to show him before they looked back up, even more expectant. “It was mine!” The tag on the bear’s ear was nearly shredded, but once pushed together, had their name in smudged handwriting.

Hancock felt like an ass for calling their teddy bear a piece of trash, but to be fair, they had never argued when they saw previous teddy bears laying on the side of the road as they travelled. He sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry about calling it trash, Sole. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, I get it. I probably would’ve too.” They laughed, their fond gaze still turned to the teddy bear.

“Hey! We should get a matching hat for the bear. It can be the mascot of Goodneighbor.”

Haylen:

Haylen groaned, struggling to keep up with Sole once they’d taken off. She already was slightly behind, on the other side of the mountain of trash as they scrambled their way down, and was fighting to not get her foot caught and go tumbling down into the piles. She managed to get to Sole’s side without major incident, though she was sporting a new scrape on her palm by the time she stopped next to them.

The sun was already starting to set, but it wasn’t hard to see what Sole was holding so cheerfully in their arms. A teddy bear, covered in dirt and God knows what else. “Christ, Sole. You could’ve gotten hurt and I can’t carry you back home. Why the hell did you do that for garbage?”

“It’s not garbage. Haylen, this is mine.” Sole looked up at her with an expression Haylen had never seen from them before.

“What do you mean?” Her tone softened.

“It’s mine. I had this before… before.”

“Oh, Sole.” She sighed, kneeling and putting her hand on their shoulder.

They blew out a shaky breath, turning the teddy bear over to examine it carefully. Haylen reached over and brushed some of the loose dirt off in an attempt to clean it despite the obvious staining. It didn’t do much, but Sole turned and smiled at her appreciatively. “Put it in my backpack so it gets home safe, okay? We have to keep moving, though.”

MacCready:

At least they weren’t standing at the top of a hill, possibly the worst place to be when a trained sniper could be looking for a target. However, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head as they took off towards wherever, seemingly blind to possible danger. With a grumbled “I don’t get paid enough for this” he started to go after them.

It was a bit of a hike and by the time he reached them, he was sweating. Once he stopped he leaned against a rickety storage cabinet, fingers mentally crossed it wouldn’t topple over and take him with it, as he stared down at the teddy bear in their hands. With a huffed breath, “What was that.”

“Sorry, I just-” Sole stared in wonder at the little bear. “I thought this was gone forever.”

“What do you mean?”

“This was mine. Pre-war. I… it was a gift for my third birthday and I thought I’d never see it again.”

Something about the look on their face made him pause in his distaste for their impulsivity and the tattered cloth bear that rested in their grip. He sighed and dropped into a crouch next to them and took the teddy bear from their hands. He turned it over, examining the damage, and began brushing what he could off of the bear. It was disgusting, but salvageable. “Alright. I’ll get the sewing kit out once we get back to Sanctuary.”

Nick:

“Hey, kid!”

He watched them take off in disbelief, alarmed at what could be going through their head to go charging off so quickly. It was difficult to navigate the wrecked landscape but he managed to make his way across the landfill and get to where Sole was cradling something in their arms. With a reluctant curiosity, Nick leaned over and took a look. “You’re holding garbage, Sole.” His voice was unimpressed and confused.

“It’s not garbage.” They protested, meeting his glowing, yellow eyes. “It’s my teddy bear. I’ve had it since I was young!”

Nick tilted his head, trying to picture what the teddy bear could look like before the war had taken its owner too far away to take care of it. Despite the layers of grossness, he could see something Sole would label theirs affectionately. That thought stuck with him as he spoke. “Look at you, always finding those that need you. Should we go get it cleaned up?”

Old Longfellow:

“What- ah, damn’t. Where are you takin’ off to, cap’n?” Longfellow’s voice was gravelly, carrying across the wasted landscape.

Sole paid no mind and kept running, determined to reach their destination at any cost. He felt his knee creak as he climbed over the rusty parts and pieces of pre-war buildings, remnants of lives past. He cursed under his breath, but kept climbing after them, hoping the creaking, shabby structures would hold together as he moved. Eventually, he got to them. “Really? For a piece of trash, Sole?”

Sole shook their head vigorously. “This is my teddy bear. From before the bombs. I… Jesus.” They looked up at him as if they’d had the breath knocked out of them.

Longfellow looked at it carefully, understanding that now wasn’t the time to be so brash. They reached out for a hand up and he gave it to them, gripping their arm tightly as they stood, careful not to lose their balance on the shifting scraps. Once they were properly balanced, they reached out, teddy in hand in front of them. “I want you to hang onto it for now, okay?” It was hard to say no to them when they looked at him like that. With grumbling reluctance, he took the teddy and settled it in his backpack.

Piper:

“Blue?! Be careful!” Piper yelled after them, preparing to follow them by heaving the strap of her backpack further onto her shoulder.

She’d spent more time than ideal dodging traders as she chased after Nat when they were younger, so she’d gotten skill in quickly finding the best footing. It wasn’t difficult to keep pace as long as she didn’t stay on one leaning piece of discarded trash for too long. Nimble as ever, it wasn’t long before she was stopping at Sole’s side.

They had dug in the pile of junk, dirt coating their hands with tiny flecks of rust for decoration, and pulled out a weak looking scrap of cloth. No, not just a scrap of cloth. It was a teddy bear, well worn and overdue by way too long for a good washing. “Sole, I can’t believe you ran like that for trash. What’s going on?”

“It’s mine.” Their voice was hushed, as if they were sharing a secret.

“From… no way.” Piper got a good look at it and yeah, it certainly looked like it had been around for hundreds of years.

“Yeah.”

They looked up at her in awe, a childlike grin on their face, reminding her of her own baby sister. With a reassuring smile, she patted them on the back. “No worries, Blue. We can get it back home and fix it up in no time, I bet. I’ve got some old recipes for stain remover we can try out, if you want.”

Preston:

“General? General!” He shouted after them, quickly moving into action to keep up with them.

Preston was never more than a few steps behind them at all times, and that wasn’t going to change now. Despite things sliding out from under their feet, Preston managed to continue finding the footing to leap after them, nearly colliding with their back as they slid to a stop and kneeled at the base of a pile. He got to his knees next to them to see what they were doing.

When they began prying something out from under a scrap of metal, he lifted it to ease their way, despite his confusion. They yanked out a teddy bear that may have been light at some point, but was now coated in just about everything you could find in the wasteland, and missing it’s tail. Sole let out a disbelieving laugh, their jaw dropped from the shock. “What’s going on General? What is this other than garbage?”

“It’s mine! Holy shit, I can’t believe it survived!”

“From before the war?” Preston’s own eyes widened.

Sole nodded eagerly, the joy from this miracle evident on their face. He’d never seen the General so elated and took it in stride. “Sturges should be able to work his magic once we get back to Sanctuary. We’ll keep it safe until then, okay?”

Travis:

“S-Sole?” Travis was hesitant to take off after them, unsure if any part of this was safe.

His steps were probably even more cautious than they needed to be as he made his way across the landfill, cringing every time metal slid against metal once he’d shifted his weight off of it. It was a good bit before he got to where Sole had launched themself towards, and by then, they’d already stood and clutched whatever they were holding to their chest. Upon further examination, he realized it was a teddy bear. “Uhm, is that… supposed to be a teddy bear? It looks like trash, to be honest.”

Sole’s gaze caught him off guard when they looked up at him with excitement shining so bright it could rival the stars. He sucked in a deep breath and looked away, examining the teddy bear again. “It’s mine! Travis, I had this before the bombs dropped!”

“Oh… oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to call it trash-” He became flustered with himself, scratching the back of his neck as his face flushed red.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sole laughed quietly. “It does look pretty bad, doesn’t it? We should be able to fix it up, anyway. Nothing’s past saving.”

Travis relaxed in relief when they brushed off his comment and returned a small smile.

X6-88:

“Mx. Mx!”

They’d taken off without a word after an already pointless mission. Impatience was thrumming across his body, all the way down to his fingertips, which twitched on the handle of his baton. Lips pursed in annoyance, he moved to follow them, taking his time, considering they’d stopped by the time he got moving. Sure, he was going to protect them, but if they were going to get themself into dumb situations by taking off recklessly, they could handle themself until he got there.

Once he’d made his way closer he started looking for what had set them off so badly. He couldn’t see anything of significance amongst the discarded trash. The urge to reprimand them rose in his throat, but he suppressed the insult. “What’s going on?”

“I found it! I can’t believe it’s still here!” They laughed, looking up at him with bright eyes.

When X6-88 looked down he found a tattered, nasty teddy bear looking back at him; seemingly the perfect representation of how he viewed the wasteland. “Mx, I don’t think this is an appropriate use of our time.”

“Six, you don’t understand. This was mine. Before the war.” Their tone pushed him to understand.

He paused. It definitely needed some help, but obviously this was something important that he was somehow struggling to understand. He really wasn’t one for anything sentimental, but he’ found that sometimes entertaining these ideas would play in his favor. This must be one of those times; Sole may get upset if he were to dismiss their determination to make him understand. “I’m sure we have something at the Institute to… repair this.”

#thank you again for your request #fallout 4 #fo4 #companions react #Cait #Curie #Paladin Danse #Deacon #Gage #Mayor Hancock #RJ MacCready #Nick Valentine #Old Longfellow #Scribe Haylen #Preston Garvey #X6-88 #Travis #Fluff

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thebiscuiteternal · 4 years ago

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“A Bird in the Hand” Friendship <3, Mutual Interests (Sorta Not Really), Hidden Identities, Kidnapping, The Ship Is A Huge Spoiler Sorry

__________

Having decided he was going to lose his mind if he had to listen to the constant chatter about scores and techniques for one more moment, Nie Huaisang quietly slips out of the dining hall and heads out into the early evening air.

Just a little time to himself to clear his head, that’s all he needs. A short walk, and then he’ll go back. If Da-ge gets upset about him wandering off here… well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Movement in the bush next to him startles him a little, but not enough for him to miss that the small reddish-pink form darting out of the leaves is flying very oddly.

Wing damage at the very least, he calculates. If he doesn’t intervene, it’s probably going to be a predator’s meal soon.

Concern replaces his earlier exasperation; he changes course from the path he’d been planning to take and begins tracking where it might land next instead.

---

The erratic flight pattern makes his task a little more difficult, but there is still a bit of light left in the sky when he finally snares the wounded and bedraggled puff of feathers -a rosefinch, one he hasn’t ever seen this particular color and pattern of- and very gently deposits it in his lap.

“Shh, you’ll be fine,” he soothes, carefully rubbing the poor thing’s cheek with a fingertip to calm it down before reaching into his sleeve for his usual pouch of supplies. “See? I’m here to help.”

Once the bird is gorging itself -no, himself- on seeds, he begins inspecting and carefully cleaning the injuries. He was right about the wing, plus there are nasty cuts to a leg and another to the neck. Claw marks, most likely. “Poor darling, you must have just escaped a cat,” he coos softly as he takes out thread and thin strips of cloth.

“Interesting.”

Nie Huaisang only just barely manages to avoid jostling his patient when he jumps slightly at the unexpected new voice, then freezes when he turns his head to find a young man wearing red and white robes. “Ah! I’m sorry if I entered a restricted area, I just-”

“It’s fine,” the Wen stranger says with a smile. “You haven’t left the guest territories yet.”

“Oh… good. That’s good.” The rosefinch cheeps in his lap and pecks his hand and he looks down and clicks his tongue as he resumes threading the needle he’s holding. “Demanding now that I’ve been nice enough to feed you, aren’t you?”

“May I observe while you work?”

He doesn’t hear the Wen disciple move at all, so when he looks up and finds the young man standing barely a step away, he has to restrain himself from scooting away on reflex. “Er- I suppose? Most people don’t want to,” he says, watching as his new companion takes a seat on a rock next to him.

Up close, there is something slightly unnerving about him. It's the same feeling he notices when Da-ge is trying to intimidate people around him less, like there's something big and dangerous being forced into a too-small hide.

Nie Huaisang swallows and ducks his head, reaching into the supply pouch to produce more seeds for his patient. He finishes prepping the needle and gently coaxes the rosefinch into a better position, feeling an intense gaze on him all the while as he begins the first neat, tight stitches. The bird makes an unhappy noise of pain, but more seeds and petting keeps him from attempting to escape and he only cheeps grumpily to himself as Nie Huaisang works.

"You're very skilled to make it trust you so easily."

Despite himself, he feels his face heat at the rare compliment. Though Da-ge and their cousin Nie Zonghui often try not to get bored whenever they visit the aviary, the only person who’d ever actually been interested in watching this sort of thing was-

He bites his lip and shoves that thought aside. “It’s a lot of practice in patience, mostly,” he says as he finishes with the leg and turns his attention to the wounds that might need to have feathers clipped for proper treatment. “You have to learn how they work, how to follow them without getting them so stressed they accidentally hurt themselves worse, observing flight patterns, all that.”

“Seems like a lot of effort to put in for someone who so infamously avoids it.”

Nie Huaisang stiffens, then forces himself to calm down.

Stupid. He’s wearing Qinghe colors and this disciple probably just saw him hanging around Da-ge. He’s not hard to identify, and his reputation… well.

Still, the unease lingers, though he tries to shake it off by remaining focused on his task. By now the rosefinch is comfortable enough with him that he’s able to gently remove some damaged and bloody feathers. “I just… I like doing this. That’s all.”

“Understandable. A reward only counts as a reward if you want it.”

It’s gotten dark enough for people in the buildings down the path to begin lighting their lanterns, but he’s well-acquainted with working in such conditions. He finishes the neck and wing injuries quickly, the strange disciple remaining in his spot for the duration.

“There we go, all ready to get better,” he croons sweetly, coaxing the finch to his shoulder, where the bird snuggles into his collar.

An elegant hand reaches into his view. “May I?” the disciple asks.

“If he’ll let you,” Nie Huaisang says, tilting his head to give space. The rosefinch is having none of it, however, and ducks to hide under his hair with a grouchy little squawk, tiny claws pricking at the nape of his neck. “Or not. Sorry about that.”

The other man’s lips curve in amusement as he draws his hand back. “It’s fine. Patience, as you said.”

Nie Huaisang begins packing up his pouch. The unease from before has faded into a more readily ignored feeling, especially since the disciple hasn’t actually done anything to deserve it. “Do you want to walk back to the pavilion? Da-ge won’t be happy if I stay out much longer. He’s probably not happy with me for staying out this long already, actually.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the other man says as he stands and needlessly dusts his clothing. “But I live in a different part of the compound.” Another smile, slow and interested in a way that makes Nie Huaisang’s face grow warm again. “There are still two more days left in the tournament. Perhaps we’ll cross paths another time.”

“Ah- well- shouldn’t I know your name, then? You already know mine.”

The strange disciple bows, smooth and sharp, not even a fold of cloth wrong. “This humble one is simply Han-er. I look forward to our next meeting, Nie-er, gongzi.”

It is only later, after Nie Huaisang has returned to his own room with the rosefinch, that he realizes somewhere the ‘perhaps’ had become a certainty.

---

They do cross paths again, more than once, in fact.

After the second encounter, Nie Huaisang can’t help but notice that Han-er always seems to find him when he’s entirely alone.

A spy, maybe?

Maybe not. He’s been keeping track, and Han-er has never asked him anything particularly pointed about Da-ge or their cousin or anything about them that might be considered ‘vital information’, just the occasional offhand curiosity about their relationship dynamics. Their sects may be on bad terms -very bad terms- but Han-er has been nothing but polite.

By the time of their fourth meeting, he feels guilty for ever having had such suspicious thoughts about the man.

“And how is Minsheng doing this morning?”

“Besides being crushed under the weight of such an auspicious name?” Nie Huaisang asks cheekily, earning another of those amused smiles.

“You cannot deny he has earned it.”

He can’t, really. Once no longer in constant pain, Minsheng has become chatty enough that the finch has received at least one threat of being roasted and eaten. “He’s recovering at a good pace. I worry about taking him home, though. With the differing climate, he’ll be miserable while his feathers are growing back in.”

Han-er inclines his head and looks away. “Why not leave him with me?” he asks after some consideration. “I do not have your experience, true, but our time has been... enlightening. And he likes me well enough, now.”

It’s… not a bad idea, really. If Nie Huaisang changes the bandages again just before he leaves, all that should be left to do surgery-wise would be to remove the stitches, and he’s seen that Han-er has a steady enough hand for that… “I can draw up some notes for you this afternoon and deliver them and Minsheng before the closing ceremony, would that be alright?”

“Perfect.”

---

He doesn’t actually see Han-er again before his sect departs to go home to Qinghe, having been forced to leave Minsheng and his notes with a guard who’d smirked at him in an extremely discomforting way. It brings back the troubled feeling lurking in the back of his head and leaves him unsure whether he’s unhappy to have missed the meeting, or somehow relieved.

When word comes several days later that the Cloud Recesses have been burned, he decides on relief.

---

His stomach churns unhappily in a mix of unsatisfied hunger and nausea as they’re dismissed back to their cells after another day of grueling work and so very little food. Each step feels like he’s trying to slog through knee deep mud, and by the time he makes it to their designated hallway, he’s starting to feel dizzy.

Something… something’s wrong. Had the food been spoiled? But no, no one else seems to be...

“Young master?” asks one of the other Nie disciples.

“I’m fine,” he lies, even as it feels like the floor rolls under him like the deck of a boat.

He falls and doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

When he opens his eyes again, the disorientation persists. Something noisy is going on nearby and whatever he’s lying on, it’s too comfortable to be the paper-thin pallet mattress he’d been subjected to for over a week.

This isn’t his cell… Where…?

What is that noise?

Confused, head swimming, he tries to sit up and finds that his hands have been bound behind his back. Before he can start to panic, gentle hands squeeze his shoulders and assist him in rolling over.

He dimly registers that the sound he’s hearing is the chattering of a bird.

But why would there be a bird-?

A familiar figure leans over him, long fingers sweeping his hair out of his face and down his cheek in an affectionate caress. For the briefest moment, he is grateful to see the face of… perhaps not a friend, but at least someone he knows.

Then ice cold terror seizes his insides when his eyes register the crown on the man’s head.

The Eternal Sun.

“Tell me, little bird,” Wen Ruohan says, smile sharp as a knife’s edge and gaze hungry. “Was I patient enough?”

__________

((Author Note: Okay, so, like, if I’m not remembering wrong, Novel!Ruohan is described as ridiculously young-looking because of his high cultivation. Like, we’re talking 19-ish even though he and Jin Guangshan are the only Great Sect leaders who have at least one fully adult child at the time of the Phoenix Mountain competition. So I thought, what if he leaned in to it? Suckered the other sects by having an older proxy take his place at meetings and conferences so that no one actually knows what he looks like except for some of the Wen Sect’s inner circle?))

#mdzs #nie huaisang #and a secret friend!#fanfic

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

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Ball Debrief (2/16/2021)

So on the Sunday before Mardi Gras, Alastor and Sir Pentious a.k.a. Telly (@usedhearts) went to a Mardi Gras ball, got drunk, and made out. On Mardi Gras evening, Sir Pentious a.k.a. just-Sir-Pentious-still-because-he’s-never-asked-Alastor-to-call-him-anything-else (@hiss-and-vinegar) found out from Telly that he and Alastor went to a ball, and messages Alastor to ask about it.

Alastor comes over to tell Sir Pentious about it, reassure him that he’s NOT replacing him with a new snake bestie, and then starts panicking while trying to summarize the ball because oh god he’s not ready to face the possibility of Romance.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 SO, ALASTOR. WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME THAT IT WAS THE OTHER SIR PENTIOUS THAT YOU'D GONE OUT WITH?

🐍 YOU LEFT THAT OUT FOR SOME REASON, AND IT SEEMS AN IMPORTANT DETAIL.

🐍 DID YOU NOT WANT ME TO KNOW?

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I was going to tell you my plans the last time you and I hung out! I just didn't get around to it before you had to go.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 OH.

🐍 AND YOU AND HIM GOT DRUNK? I SUPPOSE THAT IS A CARNAVAL ACTIVITY...

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Nothing to drink there but champagne and wine, I'm afraid.

🎶 Truth be told, I got much drunker than I should have.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 YES, I WAS SURPRISED TO HEAR YOU'D GOTTEN HUNGOVER, TRUTH BE TOLD.

🐍 MUST HAVE BEEN A WILD PARTY!

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Wilder than it should have been.

🎶 But yes, some exciting things did happen! Very exciting!

🎶 Actually—do you want to meet? It's so much harder to have a conversation over text, and I'd like to tell you about my evening if you want to hear about it.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 VERY WELL, LET'S MEET. TEXT IS DIFFICULT TO ASCERTAIN THE MEANING OF CERTAIN THINGS.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Where do you want—hotel, airship, other?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 THE AIRSHIP.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I’ll be there in five minutes.

Alastor

Guess who! It’s Alastor, just like he promised. Wearing what looks like a costume constructed completely out of multicolored fabric fringe trim and carrying a bowl of gumbo. He sort of rustles when he moves. “Hello~?”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious was awaiting him in the sitting room, looking kind of SULKY..... Draped over the couch......

Until he sees whatever the fuck Alastor is dressed as. SNRK. HE STARTS LAUGHING.

"WHAT THE *HELL* IS THAT??"

Alastor

He looks down at himself. Oh, right. “It’s a costume!” Very informative, Alastor. “An old and *noble* Mardi Gras tradition! You see—we wear these to steal chicken.” He holds out his bowl. “Speaking of which! Gumbo?”

Sir Pentious

Ah- RIGHT, Mardis Gras..... Sir Pentious sinks down again..... He's looking away.....

Alastor

Alastor slowly lowers the gumbo bowl. “I made sure this serving got the tender meat chunks.” ~~PLEASE LIKE HIM.~~ “I’ll just... set it over here and you can put it in the ice box later.”

He takes a seat near Sir Pentious. “So! Here I am!”

Sir Pentious

He likes you SO MUCH but he THINKS you DO NOT LIKE HIM AS MUCH!

He *siiiighs*........ So dramatic...... and he looks at Alastor.... Glances away.... Glances back....

"THANK YOU FOR THE GUMBO, I AM NOT YET HUNGRY AT THE MOMENT..."

Alastor

PENNY YOU FOOL.

“Sure! Not a problem! It’ll be there later!” DEEP BREATH. “So! You... wanted to know about the big shindig, I think?”

Sir Pentious

Deeeeep inhale.......

".... YESSS...... THE ONE WHERE YOU WENT WITH A *DIFFERENT* SSSIR PENTIOUSSSSS.... AND DIDN'T TELL ME, BUT BECAUSE IT NEVER CAME UP....." Oh. Mopey..... His arms are folded....

"A NEW SSSIR PENTIOUSSSSS TO DRINK WITH, TO PARTY WITH...."

Alastor

*Oh.* Okay, all right, Alastor senses a brewing crisis. He’s going to put the party report in a box and shove it in a closet until he deals with this.

“Hey, now!” He scoots closer. “It’s not like that! It was a... a sort of a last minute thing, is all—we made plans barely a week before the ball, and you and I didn’t really talk that week except the one night you got the big news—and, well, what’s a weekend party plan next to news like *that*...” He trails off awkwardly. Then starts again: “He’s not the ‘new Sir Pentious.’ He’s not replacing you, my friend.”

Sir Pentious

He doesn't move away at all when Al scoots closer, which is a good sign, but he's still having a hard time making (all) eye contact, sighing again....

"HE ISSSSN'T?"

Alastor

“No! *You’re* still my best friend, and that’s not about to change! Sure, you’ve—got quite a bit in common—and I appreciate what you’ve got in common—“ oh now he’s embarrassed, he’s looking away, “—but I told you once that I like you for reasons that are unique to *you,* and that’s still true.”

Sir Pentious

Tongue flicks.... He looks at Alastor again, hood kind of droopy as his hands wring together.....

"WE ARE *RATHER* DIFFERENT, YESSS. SSSSIMILAR IN LOOKSSS, QUINTESSENTIALLY DIFFERENT UPBRINGINGSSS."

Alastor

“Different upbringings, different tastes, different hobbies, different demeanors... I can’t imagine him ever tackling me in a hotel lobby!” Alastor laughs. “If I only hung out with him, I’d miss *you.*”

Sir Pentious

Oh. He tilts his head a bit.... Moves a little closer, as subtly as a snake can... And bumps shoulders with Alastor.

..... CLEARS HIS THROAT, "*WELL*, YOU SSSTILL SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME EARLIER! I COULD HAVE AT THE VERY *LEASSST* HELPED YOU *PREPARE* TO HANG OUT WITH A SSSSSNAKE!"

Alastor

Alastor bumps shoulders back. "And what kind of preparation would you have given me? Don't I know how to hang out with snakes?"

Sir Pentious

He looks smug, throwing an arm around the other's shoulders.

"DO YOU REALLY? SSSOMETIMESSS YOU BLUNDER ABOUT HALFHAZARDLY! HAHAHA!"

He's teasing, and to prove so, he winks.

Alastor

He flings an arm around Sir Pentious's shoulders. "Well, you haven't excommunicated me yet! I must be doing *something* right!" He laughs. This is so much *simpler.* It's a relief.

Sir Pentious

PRR PRR PRR PRR. The relief is MUTUAL... Penny wouldn't have been able to handle losing his best friend to another Pentious.

He CACKLES, "WELL, THAT COULD CHANGE! IF THE GUMBO ISN'T UP TO MY SSSTANDARDSSS, I COULD DROP YOU THROUGH A TRAP DOOR!!"

Alastor

Now he's got *both* arms around Sir Pentious. "Try it and you're coming with me!"

Sir Pentious

Prr prr prr! That cackling continues, Sir Pentious flicking his tongue at the other. Flip flip flip flip.

"YOU ARE *NOT* SSSSTRONG ENOUGH TO TAKE ME DOWN! I RECALL CRUSHING YOU WITH MY ENTIRE WEIGHT!"

Alastor

"That's when I was playing fair! Drop me down a trap door, and I start calling my friends! Anyway, what *I* recall is fighting you to a draw."

Sir Pentious

He gives a *face*, "YOUR MEMORY MUSSST BE *FAULTY!* BUT WHATEVER, TELL ME ABOUT THE BALL, THEN! RARE TO SSEE YOU GET INTO SSSUCH A HUNGOVER SSSTATE!"

Alastor

"Oh." Alastor is immediately awkward! "I shouldn't have drunk that much. I wish I hadn't. But, well." He shoves aside the awkward and tries to act normal. "It was a masquerade ball! Either black tie or costumes. Not *this* costume," he flaps an arm to set all the fabric fringe rustling, "but a proper one. Uh—dinner and a drag show for the first half—Mardi Gras balls always have a presentation of the royal court by the krewe that put on the ball and they're always so *dull,* I found us a ball by a gay krewe that actually did something interesting with it. And a dance for the second half of the ball."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious enjoys the rustling sound, watching that wacky costume flutter about.

"A *GAY* KREWE? HMM, MUSSST HAVE BEEN MUCH MORE COLORFUL, FLAMBOYANTLY SSSO." You're one to talk, Penny. "A DANCE, A DRAG SHOW, AND MASQUERADE!! WHAT WERE YOUR COSSSTUMESSS? DID I HEAR THAT YOU WERE A PIRATE OR SSSSSOMETHING?"

Alastor

"My goodness, yes! Some of the best costumes I've seen in years! Some of the krewe's costumes had decorations so wide the tables nearest the runway had to duck!" Alastor laughs. "He, uh—wanted to do a sea serpent theme. Obviously I can't pull off the 'serpent' part very well, so we cobbled together something somewhat piratical for me so we'd match. Mainly, it meant a lot of blue and green and pearls."

Sir Pentious

Sea serpent. Of course he would. Penny's face wrinkles a little at the memory of swimming, before he rubs it off, "OH? I IMAGINE THAT SIR PENTIOUS LOOKED RATHER STUNNING AS A SEA SERPENT! WE HAVE NATURAL GOOD LOOKSSSS." Probably not. the most smooth thing he's said, since he's aware of Alastor's crush BUT he wasn't *trying* to tease him, just speaking earnestly.

"I SHOULD LIKE TO SSSEE YOUR PIRATE ATTIRE! I IMAGINE YOU HAD A MASSSSK ON? CAN'T HAVE THE ENTIRE BALLROOM RUNNING IN FEAR AT THE SSSIGHT OF YOU!"

Alastor

The awkward's back! As well as embarrassment. Alastor has to look away. "He did, yes."

On to the next topic. "Oh, of course. I always go to Mardi Gras events in a mask! I'll pull the whole thing out sometime soon to show you."

Sir Pentious

HEE HEE. "OH, I WOULD LIKE THAT!" Though he's tilting his head a little at Alastor's head turning away. "WELL, IT SSSOUNDSSS LIKE YOU HAD FUN. DID YOU DANCE?"

Alastor

The slightest wince. "... We did, yes." He's just gonna twist his hands together in his lap and fidget. "By that point we were both too drunk to dance particularly *well,* but..."

Sir Pentious

It's very weird to watch this colorful paper mache of a man fidget his hands together. Sir Pentious leans his head in CLOSER, as he is ought to do, and flicks his tongue. Blelelele.

"YOU DON'T SSSSEEM HAPPY ABOUT IT?"

Alastor

"I kissed him." The words tumble out like he's confessing to a long-secret murder. His smile's hanging on by a thread. "*He* kissed *me.* There was reciprocal kissing, is what I'm trying to— We kissed." Having finally gotten this heinous crime off his chest, he buries his face in his hands.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious' tongue snaps back into his mouth much like measuring tape. His eyes are wide as dinner plates, and his brow is only ascending higher and higher, the longer he's spending processing *that.*

Alastor

"*I know.*" Alastor doesn't even have to look up, he can hear that awkward silence. "It was the end of the night, we were both completely inebriated—*God*, I hope he doesn't remember it..."

Sir Pentious

He's still processing what to say--mostly he's trying to imagine what it must have looked like for Alastor and Telly to mash their faces together. He *RESISTS* the face scrunch, expertly.

Penny opens his mouth, then closes it again.... then GRABS Alastor by the shoulders, "YOU *KISSsssssssED???*"

Alastor

"*Yes!* I'm sorr— Why am I apologizing to you?" He squirms out of the shoulder grip, don't look at his face, he's miserable. "I couldn't even go—how long have I known him—less than two months?!—without doing something unforgivably stupid!"

Sir Pentious

He's not sure if this feels like a breath of *relief* or like he's filling with *apprehension.* He can clearly see the alarm on Alastor's--well. Body language. Penny shakes his head, looking up at his hat, which appears to be looking down at him like *dont look at ME!!! IDK!!!*

"HAVE YOU *SSSS*POKEN WITH HIM SSSINCE???"

Alastor

"Just once. Just a generic 'how's your headache, I had fun,' no specifics. He asked if he left his fan with me, he didn't remember. That was also at the end of the night, so maybe he forgot." His head is in his hands again and his fingers are in his hair.

Sir Pentious

Penny considers... petting Alastor's head but after word like that, you know. Maybe that would be a bad idea. His tongue flicks in concern, and he can't help but think back-- before Christmas, in fact, when Alastor had told him that the only one he'd had a crush on was himself-- that is, Penley Dreadful, *not* Pentell.

It wasn't necessarily upset he was feeling, but... it was cause for concern, here. For once in his life, Sir Pentious considered someone else's feelings, instead of just his own.

"ARE YOU... FEELING *GUILTY* OVER THISSS, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

"Yes." The word sort of comes out like a choked croak. "Guilt and regret and terror and... and grief, and..." Just curling up farther. His head is *under* his hands now.

Sir Pentious

He reaches a hand up move some of Al's hair out of his face, at the very least....

"YOU MENTIONED IT WAS *RECIPROCATED*, YESSS??? CLEARLY, THAT SSSAYS A LOT TO *ME*. WE SIR PENTIOUSESSSS ARE NOTHING IF NOT DELIBERATE IN OUR ACTIONSSSS, INEBRIATED OR NOT...."

Alastor

"*You* kiss me. On the forehead, sure, but—*his* weren't on the lips either until I went and..." It's all garbled noises and radio static for a moment as Alastor rubs his eyelids with his thumbs. "It could be platonic! He could have meant it platonically! And what if it *wasn't* platonic?" Alastor asks this like it's the most horrifying possibility of all.

Sir Pentious

Penny looks to the right. Then the left. Then back at Alastor.

"THEN YOU MAKE A DATE?"

Alastor

"*Then I get smited by the god of death* that he's *dating,* Sir Pentious! *He is dating!* He's in a relationship! I've become the kind of person who kisses a taken man!" A pause. "... Smited? Smote?"

Sir Pentious

*SMitten?* Wait no, don't say that one out loud.

Sir Pentious tilts his head, tongue flicking, "HMMM .... YESSS, THAT'SSS A THING, ISN'T IT?" What *does* one do in that situation? .... But more importantly...

"... WHY DID YOU KISSsss HIM?"

Alastor

"Because I was drunk." Surely that explains everything.

Sir Pentious

".... NO, BUT...." How to... phrase this delicately................ "BECAUSE HE ISSS SSSSIR PENTIOUS?? OR BECAUSE HE ISSSS *TELLY?*"

Alastor

He hesitates before answering; but he can't hesitate for long. He knows the answer, he's just ashamed to give it. "Because he's Sir Pentious."

Sir Pentious

Penny isn't able to hide the sorrowful look that crosses his expression... not out of his own sadness, but rather, *concern*. He's looking off to the side, without turning his head, navigating his way through thoughts.

".... IF *TELLY* KISSED YOU IN RETURN, REssssCIPROCATED, AS IT WERE, THEN IT LIKELY ISSS NOT BECAUSE YOU'RE *ALASSSTOR*. HE DOESSSS NOT GET ALONG WITH THE RADIO DEMON FROM HISsssss OWN HELL." Another pause. ".... IT'Sssss BECAUSE YOU ARE *YOU.*"

... He clears his throat, "AT LEASSSSsssT THAT'SSS MY SSSPECULATION ON THE MATTER. THAT MAN WEARSSSS HISSSS HEART ON HISSSS SLEEVE, FROM THE TIMESSS I'VE SSSSPENT WITH HIM."

Alastor

"I know." He finally drops his hands. He's not smiling. Not even close. "He does. He's—tender and open and sweet—and none of those words are compliments! It's not what I want! ... Except when I'm around him, and then..." He shrugs helplessly. "I hate this."

Sir Pentious

His head swivels, cobra-like in every way, and Sir Pentious pets down his hood, thinking.

"... ALASSsssTOR, I THINK YOU REALLY NEED TO SSSORT OUT YOUR FEELINGSSS ON THE MATTER, BECAUSE YOU COULD BE HEADED FOR SsssOMETHING RATHER DANGEROUSSSS. WE SSSIR PENTIOUSSSSESSS DON'T ACCEPT HEARTBREAK *GENTLY.*" Tongue flick. Oh fuck he's goddawful at being comforting, but what does one SAY?

"AND IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESSSSTED IN *HIM*, THEN YOU NEED TO TELL HIM THAT, TOO. OR EXPLAIN THAT YOU WOULD RATHER REMAIN FRIENDSSSS. BUT IF YOU *ARE* INTERESSSTED IN A MAN WHO IS ALSO IN A RELATIONSHIP... A MAN FOR HISSS OWN MERITSSS, AND NOT JUST ONE WHO HAPPENSSS TO LOOK LIKE.... WELL, YOU KNOW." Cough, "THEN YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT THAT EVEN MORE! BETTER TO *KNOW* THAN *NOT.*"

Alastor

“I’ve been trying to sort out my feelings for the last two days! Longer than *that,* actually,” he laughs bitterly, “but it’s an emergency now. Did you know that it’s damn hard to think logically and feel emotions at the same time?” Cue that “the more you know” sound effect.

“It’s not *just* that he *looks* the same, it’s—you know, the same—same *mind,* same ambitions, same inventiveness, same laugh...” He crosses his arms tightly over his stomach and hunches forward again. “But I don’t want—that, with him. That is—I *do* want it—but I don’t want to want it. I want to not want it. I want to shut it *off.*”

Sir Pentious

Penny is reminded of the things Alastor told him, when he'd BIT the radio demon and Alastor's apologies upon apologies tumbled out. How he hated being attracted to Sir Pentious, how he hated feeling like this. That's right, he hated this feeling. His tongue flicks in thought and... he reaches a hand over to place it on Alastor's shoulder. Carefully......

"WELL, AL, I DON'T THINK YOU *CAN* SHUT IT OFF. YOU SSSTILL HAVE THE CAPACITY TO FEEL THISSS WAY IN HELL OF ALL PLACESSS, THEN IT'SSS JUSST GOING TO HAVE TO SSTAY. MOVING FORWARD, WHAT ISSS THERE TO BE DONE? YOU DON'T WANT TO WANT IT, BUT WHAT IF TELLY WANTSSS IT?" He doesn't even talk about Hel. He's NEVER MET HER, and he's not about to talk about a third party he's never met.

Alastor

He responds to the touch by immediately sitting up just enough to lean against Sir Pentious. *Fwump.* That’s the whole weight of the Radio Demon against Penny’s shoulder. “I know. I’ve been trying to shut it off for fifty-four years, if it hasn’t worked by now... You’ve made a cringe-powered weapon, can’t you make an attraction-powered one? Just, jam a couple of probes into my skull and fire until it’s all been drained out?” One corner of his mouth twitches up, haha he made joke—but it wilts again. He’s not really joking. He actually wants that.

What if Telly *does* want it? What does Alastor do then? “Block him on voxblr, leave the hotel, change my broadcasting frequency, and never speak to him again.”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious puts his arm around Alastor, encouraging him to lean against him as he slips his tail around his friend, even as they sat on the couch. His face splits in a grin, "I'VE BEEN *WANTING* TO TURN YOU INTO A GUN, BUT PERHAPSSS NOT SSSOMETHING FOR *THAT* PURPOSE."

The grin lessens, and he shakes his head.

"I CANNOT AGREE WITH THAT. RUNNING AWAY WILL NOT HELP YOU, AND IF ANYTHING, I CANNOT ALLOW YOU TO HURT THAT MAN LIKE THAT."

Alastor

He lets out a long groan. It’s more of a whine. He lets out an extremely long groan whine.

“You’re right.”

Although he doesn’t *like* it.

“All right, Sir Plato, if you’re going to ask me questions that you already have the answers to—what *is* there to be done? What *do* I do?”

Sir Pentious

He looks so smug. Let him sit here with the perfect >:) face.

And he turns to Alastor.

"YOU ARE GOING TO TALK TO TELLY, ADDRESS WHAT HAPPENED, AND EXPLAIN YOUR INTENTIONSSSS. ISN'T THAT FAIR? NOW, IF YOU HAPPEN TO REALIZE THAT MAYBE YOU *WOULD* LIKE TO HAVE SSSOMETHING *LESSsss* PLATONIC, IT'SSS WORTH THINKING OVER IN YOUR MIND."

Was it weird to imagine Alastor banging an alt of himself? Absolutely. But knowing that Alastor already had a crush on Snakes BEFORE himself, made it a little less weird. As long as he didn't hear the details of whatever they could get up to in the future, then that would be GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM.

"BUT, IF YOU ARE ssssCERTAIN THISSS IS NOT sssSOMETHING YOU WANT-- THEN YOU OWE IT TO TELLY TO BE *HONESssssT.*" He remembers holding Telly in his arms, the way that snake sobbed from every eye as he talked about being mocked, about being hurt over and over. That moment, plus the other's strange insistence on Penny swimming, was enough to endear the smaller snake to Penny. "YOU WERE HONESSST WITH ME, AND WE ARE SSSTILL FRIENDSSS."

Alastor

Alastor nods thoughtfully.

He thinks that over.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I’m going to do any of that. Thank you for the excellent advice, I’m rejecting all of it.” He pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. Fetal position piñata man. “Everything’s been more stressful since you found out. I don’t want that again. Have any advice that lets me rewind three days and go off to the ball with a flask of ginger ale and white grape juice so I don’t do anything stupid?”

Sir Pentious

FACE SCRUNCH.

"WHAT DO YOU *MEAN* EVERYTHINGSSSS BEEN MORE SSSTRESSFUL? FOR *WHO?* FOR YOU????" He folds his arms now, huffing, "YOU MAY NOT LIKE IT, BUT I KNOW NOW, AND I'M *GLAD* I KNOW. AND MAYBE THAT DOESN'T MEAN MUCH TO YOU, BUT IT PUTSSS ME AT EASE!" Sir Pentious shakes his head. "YOU *KISSED* THE MAN, NOW OWN UP TO IT, ALASSSTOR!"

Alastor

“Well, if it hasn’t been stressful for *you,* then yes, for me! But I’m glad that having my deepest secrets sitting naked on the couch next to us every time we interact has been a walk in the park for you!” He crosses his arms tighter and scowls at his knees. “He can own up to it first, he started it.”

Sir Pentious

OKAY, WELL, HE'S NOT GOING TO RESPOND TO THAT, if Alastor wants to be a PISS BABY, Pentious isn't going to even DIGNIFY THAT with an answer. His arms fold tighter, and he scowls, too.

"WHAT DO YOU *MEAN* HE SSSTARTED IT? BY BEING A SSSIR PENTIOUS? YOU TOLD ME THAT *YOU* KISSED *HIM* AND THAT *HE* RECIPROCATED! IF ANYTHING, *YOU* SSSTARTED IT!"

Alastor

“He kissed my mask! Twice! On the nose *and* the cheek! And on the lips before that, but we were both wearing masks then, and we were doing an improv dramatic dialogue as Greek gods then, so I don’t know if it counts—but the nose and the cheek were all him!” And his voice is edging back into panic as he reports this.

Sir Pentious

Well this was weird. Is this how everyone else felt all the time? Being able to just clearly recognize something as romantic or flirting, while he consistently never saw anything weird about it? Intent always had a lot to do with that, but here........... I mean.

"...." Penny turns to Alastor, brow raised as he leans in close and rests his elbow against the back of the couch, his head resting on his palm, "I THINK HE'S INTO YOU, MAN."

Alastor

“You kiss my forehead all the time!” It’s happened like, three times. *All the time.* “AND I had a mask on, it doesn’t count!” He turns to squeeze Sir Pentious’s shoulder and give him a desperate look. “Don’t ruin this for me, I don’t want him to be into me!”

Sir Pentious

"I'VE NEVER KISSED YOUR FOREHEAD WHILE *DANCING* AT A *GAY MARDIS GRAS MASQUERADE BALL* WHILE DRESS-ED LIKE A SEA SERPENT AND YOU LIKE A PIRATE!!!" His hands FLAP! "I AM NOT ATTEMPTING TO RUIN ANYTHING, ALASSSTOR, I WANT TO HELP YOU, BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TO SSSELF IMMOLATE OUT OF *FEAR!*"

Alastor

DEEP BREATH IN. “Right. Yes. Thanks. I’m... very good at self-immolating out of fear.” Deep breath out. He sinks back on the couch again.

Sir Pentious

SIGH. What to DO about this. Penny presses two of his talons against his forehead in thought.

"KISSING YOUR FOREHEAD IS AN ACT OF PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP FROM ME, AND MOSSSSST CERTAINLY NOT ROMANTICALLY INTENDED. I CANNOT KNOW WHAT TELLY WAS GOING FOR, BUT RECIPROCATION OF A KISS ON THE MOUTH DOES SSSTRIKE ME AS MUCH DIFFERENT...."

He puts his tail on Al again, "SSSO WHAT ISSS IT YOU ARE AFRAID OF? HEL?? THAT SSSEEMS A REASONABLE THING, THOUGH SSSTRANGE OF TELLY TO JUSSSST.... CHEAT ON HIS GIRLFRIEND LIKE THAT." Penny you are NOT helping.

Alastor

“He definitely kissed me first, but they might have been platonic friendship kisses. He might have only reciprocated on the mouth because *I* kissed *him* on the mouth. And, again, we were both very drunk.”

He drums his fingers on Sir Pentious’s tail. That’s Alastor’s tail now. “I’m afraid of being one of those lovelorn googoo-eyed idiots who’s so desperate for some no-account loser’s affection that they’re willing to be the secret side piece. I’m afraid of that dazed, drugged, brainless look Shirley Jones gets on her face when she spontaneously decides Robert Preston has switched from pain in the posterior to walking dreamboat. I’m afraid of my happiness being dependent on someone else’s happiness. I’m afraid of what happens to me if anything ever happens to him. I’m afraid of what happens to *him* if everyone finds out what what he means to me. I’m afraid of... losing my personality in another person.” His fingers slowly still. “Getting smote by a goddess is somewhere low on the list, but if I can’t get out of this, I think it might be a mercy.”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious listens, fingers laced together as Alastor is very honest in regards to his fears... Hmmm....

"THEN PERHAPSSS YOU SHOULD TELL HIM THAT YOU CANNOT DO IT, THAT YOU WOULD RATHER REMAIN PLATONIC, THAT DESPITE YOUR.." He thinks. "INCLINATIONSSS? IT WOULD BE TOO AWFUL FOR YOU, SSSSPECIFICALLY BECAUSE OF RELATIONSHIPSSS NOT BEING YOUR THING." It wouldn't be a HAPPY ending, but it would be an honest one.

"BECAUSE EVERYTHING YOU DESCRIBED IS.... WELL, MANY OF THEM SSSSOUND LIKE A FEAR OF BEING VULNERABLE..... I ONCE HAD SSSIMILAR FEARSSSS MYSSSSELF..... BUT SSSINCE BEING WITH VALERA, I'VE NEVER FELT MORE SECURE IN WHO I AM." He's playing with his ring now, smiling at it fondly.

Alastor

Alastor watches Sir Pentious play with his ring for a moment. Then shakes his head and looks away. “It’s not vulnerability, it’s... Here’s the thing, I know exactly who I am and what I’m about. Or at least,” scoff, “I did *before* I felt like this for the first time. Whenever I feel like this—I don’t feel like myself anymore. I feel like a stranger. Whoever that man is, I don’t want to be him. I’ve never felt *less* secure in who I am.”

Sir Pentious

A soft exhale.... Sir Pentious shakes his head. "THEN IT SSSEEMSSS OBVIOUSSS TO ME. BE HONEST OF YOUR INTENTIONSSSS, AND HAVE SSSOME SSSELF CONTROL! OTHERWISE I FEEL LIKE THIS IS THE KIND OF SITUATION THAT COULD SSSSPIRAL OUT OF CONTROL."

Alastor

“And what’s the ‘obvious’ solution to you? Because you told me I should tell him I don’t want anything with him, and then in the same breath told me that falling in love was the greatest thing that ever happened to your sense of security and I’m just scared of being vulnerable.” He leans into Sir Pentious. Bump. “Are you telling me my intentions ought to be to go for it, or to run for the hills?”

Sir Pentious

"YOU TELL ME THAT YOU DON'T WANT IT, AND I'M NOT SURE IF ITSSS BECAUSE OF A FEAR OF *CHANGE* OR ACTUALLY NOT WANTING IT!"

He folds his arms, "THEY ARE NOT THE SSSAME. BUT IF YOU ACTUALLY DO NOT WANT IT, YOU NEED TO BE DIRECT WITH TELLY!! BECAUSE IF YOU'RE NOT, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THERE WILL BE CONSSSSEQUENCESSSSS."

Alastor

“It’s because of *actually* not—“ He stops. He thinks about it. That’s too reductive. He sighs and tries again. “There’s a part of me that... wants... to be with him. There is. That’s the part of me that’s... *attracted*. The rest of me doesn’t *like* the part of me that’s attracted. If I could choose between ‘being with him’ and ‘not being attracted,’ I would *prefer* to not be attracted... but there are different parts of me that want both.”

He shrugs heavily. “It’s not a fear of change—a fear of *change* means a fear of the *process,* doesn’t it? Dreading all the work and upheaval. I can handle change. I *like* change—external change. What I’m afraid of is changing *inside.* Looking in the mirror and—and not recognizing myself anymore!” A pause. “... Although I don’t think I’ve recognized myself in a long time, anyway.” Another pause. “And whoever I’d turn into—he probably wouldn’t care once all this was over, would he? He’ll probably be happy to be whoever he is. The person who was afraid would be long gone.”

He glances over to catch Sir Pentious’s gaze, and then rolls his eyes, as if they’re together mocking some third person’s terrible romantic quandary. “Well, I was trying make things *less* confusing! I did a swell job of that, didn’t I?” Cue the laugh track. “Here’s the one thing I know for sure—I don’t want to hurt him. Whatever else I do, I want to do it in a way that won’t harm him.”

Sir Pentious

The laugh track has Hattie looking amused, even while Penny is giving Alastor the HAIRY EYE BALL.

He turns to look upon this colorful paper disaster man, from head to toe, then jabs him in the shoulder with a talon.

"I KNOW FOR SSSSCERTAIN THAT YOU HATE THE MAN YOU WERE, AND ARE. EVERY SSSSTORY YOU'VE TOLD ME ABOUT YOURSELF IS *LACED* WITH HOW MUCH YOU DISLIKE YOURSELF. SO THEN WHY *NOT* CHANGE?"

He spreads his own hand against his chest, splaying his fingers, "I UNDERSTAND, IN THAT CAPACITY! YOU KNOW, I HAVE ENOUGH SELF LOATHING TO CREATE A WHOLE NEW MAN! BUT THE MAN I'VE *BECOME* HAS A BETTER TRACK RECORD THAN THE ONE BEFORE. YOU KNOW I HAVEN'T BEEN HUNGOVER IN *MONTHSSSSS.*" he looks so proud of himself.

"AND! I HAVEN'T ENTERTAINED THOUGHTSSS OF SSSNOGGING A 45 CALIBER!" Look how he preens.

"WHEN I *THINK* OF WHO I WAS BEFORE VALERA.... I DO NOT WANT TO EVEN *ENTERTAIN* THE FANTASY. I'VE GROWN MORE *POWERFUL* THAN I WAS BEFORE." He bumps shoulders with Al, "IN MY *EXPERT* OPINION, YOU OUGHT TO EMBRACE THE CHANGE.... YOU'VE ALREADY SEEN WHAT HAPPENSSS IF YOU AVOID IT.... RATHER *DESSSSTRUCTIVELY* SSSO. WHY NOT GO THE OTHER WAY???"

Alastor

“I do *not* hate the man I was!” He places a hand over his chest indignantly. “I *like* the man I was! Quite a bit, in fact. The man I hate is the one I became after—”

*After I fell in love,* is what he almost says. But that isn’t true, is it. Because he fell in and immediately avoided it. *Destructively so.* Alastor actually has no idea what he’s like when he’s *in love*—only when he’s *heartbroken.*

“... after I ran away.”

Alastor’s damn sure he won’t get more powerful. He’s pretty damn sure Sir Pentious didn’t get more powerful, either—Alastor would bet money that it’s a placebo effect. He doesn’t believe those feelings *do* that. But Sir Pentious got one thing right, Alastor hates who he’s been ever since running from that opportunity. Hasn’t he wondered, a hundred thousand times, how everything would be different if he’d made the other choice? Hasn’t he longed for a second chance?

“You’re right.” Deep breath, heavy sigh. “There’s no good reason not to tr— Oh sh—“ BEEP “—he’s still got a girlfriend.” He flops back on the couch. DAMMIT. “Okay, I draw the line at being a home wrecker or a secret affair! I’m not going to do that!”

Sir Pentious

Look at how smug he looks.

You're right he DOES KNOW HOW RIGHT HE IS. The smugness is STARTLED by the BEEEEEP,

And he rests his entire weight on Al. Fwump.

"THEN YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO *BLOODY* TALK TO HIM!!"

Alastor

FWUMP. He jerks half upright under the sudden assault and then lays back again to rant at the ceiling. “But! What! If! He’s! Not interested! And then he’ll know *I* am! And I’m *right* back with him where I am with you. Except worse, because he and I aren’t as close as you and I are.”

Sir Pentious

More snake on Alastor. He's become a cinnamon bun. Loaf. "HMMM, THAT DOESSSNT SOUND ACCURATE, I DO NOT RECALL EVER *RECIPROCATING A KISS* AFTER GOING TO A GODDAMN GAY BALL!"

Alastor

“Fine, next time I’ll invite you to the gay ball and we’ll see how it goes.” Laugh track. “I kissed him and I’m closer to you than I am to him, and you’re just going to have to deal with that knowledge.”

Sir Pentious

"ITSSS A DIFFERENT KIND OF RELATIONSHIP !!" He presses his HAND to Al's face.

"I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU!!! BUT I AM INTERESTED IN BEING YOUR VERY EXCELLENT PAL."

Alastor

“*I* know that! So don’t *you* say you’re less close than he is.” He’s gonna test his luck. He’s gonna. Lick that hand.

Sir Pentious

First of all, he's wearing gloves.

Second of all,

HE MAKES SUCH A SOUND!!! PULLS OFF HATTIE. AND SHOVES IT OVER AL'S HEAD.

THOONK.

Alastor

He cackles laughing, and the hat only muffles him for a second before he's got it adjusted to where he can wear it and keep on laughing. Can he see? No. That's optional.

His look is now complete.

Sir Pentious

Hattie looks entertained, and that's all that matters. Sir Pentious leans back and *HUFFS.*

"ANYWAY!! I'M NOT *WORRIED*, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE I THINK IT'SSSSS GOOD FOR YOU... THAT ISS, IF IT ISN'T A HOME WRECKER SSSSITUATION. THAT WOULD BE ALSSSSO ON TELLY."

Alastor

"Fingers crossed," Alastor mutters. "It certainly doesn't feel good for me." But he's got his smile back on now, that's something.

He reached up and taps Hattie's brim. "Hey, you can shapeshift, can't you? Think you can do something to match my costume?"

Sir Pentious

Hattie looks down at Alastor, wiggles its brim, and then transforms into..! a crown. Good. This is what you wanted, right? Sir Pentious blinks, "ARE THE FESSSTIVITIESSSS SSSTILL GOING ON, THEN? OR ARE YOU JUSST PROUD OF YOUR COSSSTUME?"

Alastor

That's definitely not what he wanted, but he'll take it. "No, they're pretty much over. I just didn't change clothes before coming over."

Sir Pentious

SNRK.

Sir Pentious slithers off the couch, going to inspect the GUMBO..... THEN STOPS, turning abruptly.

"DO YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE THE RAY GUN FAN WITH YOU? I AM CURIOUSSSS OF IT'SSSS CONSSSTRUCTION!"

Alastor

"Oh! Yes! Hold on!" He unzips his ridiculous top—he's wearing his normal shirt underneath it—and fishes out the fan from an inner jacket pocket. "I haven't had a chance to test it out yet! Maybe sometime tomorrow."

Sir Pentious

Excited clapping of his talons... He takes the apparatus carefully, looking it over. It does open like a nice fan, and he's going to be playing with it for a while, finding out the way it fires without having to fire it!

"THISSSS IS VERY WELL MADE. OF COURSSSE IT WAS MADE BY NONE OTHER THAN SSSSIR PENTIOUSSSS. YOU DON'T GET CLASS AND SSSTYLE LIKE THIS ANYMORE!"

Alastor

"Isn't it?" Alastor's expression brightens. "It's quite the clever contraption! Both form *and* function." He leans closer to watch as Sir Pentious figures out how it works.

Sir Pentious

He's not going to FIRE IT in here, but he has figured out how to change it to firing Mode.

PRR prr prr prr PRR PRR! Penny just LOVES things that are secretly weapons. He hands it back to Alastor.

"THISSSS ISSS A PRECIOUSSSS GIFT, ALASSSTOR. BE SURE TO THANK YOUR BEAU *GRACIOUSSSSLY.*" He winks, teasing. Hee hoo.

Alastor

He’s smiling goofily when Sir Pentious changes the mode, delighted just at seeing it work. He loves these things.

But his expression snaps back down to his default minimal smile at the word *beau.* “He’s not m—” Stop. Glare. Oh, Alastor sees what Sir Pentious is doing. “You know what, maybe I will! Something a little like this?” He flings an arm around Sir Pentious’s shoulders to support himself, snaps open the fan, and fans himself like a dainty Southern belle fighting off a swoon. “‘Oh, *Sir Pentious*, I can’t *begin* to tell you what such a gift *means* to me! Oh, to be able to *hold* and *cherish* one of your own, hand-crafted weapons, at any time I want! My heart *flutters* with the—‘ No, no, I can’t keep this up, it got too weird.”

Sir Pentious

FACE SCWUNCH, but he sees what ALASTOR is doing and he makes an AAAA-HAAA type face,

"WELL, OF COURSE!! YOUR HEART DOESN'T FLUTTER!! NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

He earned The Scwunch, he’s counting this as a victory.

“It’s as dead a piece of meat as you’ll find!” He’s got that melodramatic Southern belle-ish voice back on. “I suppose this fan will have to do the fluttering *for* my heart.” Flutter flutter flutter. Just to solidify his victory.

Sir Pentious

"MAY YOU *ACCIDENTALLY* SHOOT YOUR FOOT OFF, ALASSSTOR!" Shit eating GRIN.

Alastor

“Joke’s on you, it can’t fire while it’s open.” Pause. “I don’t think it can.” He closes it and looks it over. Hm.

Sir Pentious

HEE HEE HEE.

"DID HE NOT PRESENT YOU WITH THE MANUAL? NYA HA HA!"

Gumbo time.... He's flicking his tongue at it.

Alastor

"Well, he showed me how to switch it from fan to gun and back, how much more do I need to know?" He opens it again and tries to see if there's a way to activate the gun mechanism... then decided that's probably a bad idea to do inside and airship, shuts it, and puts it away. "That gumbo's no New York knockoff! That's some genuine Cajun cuisine—and half the ingredients were alive this morning!"

Sir Pentious

A GOOD IDEA, Alastor. Please do NOT shoot the thing while inside of the airship. Sir Pentious would not appreciate that AT ALL! Alastor starting to talk about the food in question has him remembering the trip to New York, and the food he didn't really eat too much. He turns and smirks at the radio deerman.

"HA! WERE THEY. HOW DELIGHTFUL. I KNOW YOUR COOKING, ALASSSTOR, YOU UNDERSSSSTAND MY TASSSTESSS QUITE WELL!" He's going to retrieve a spoon from inside his coat (yep) and dip it in to take a TASTE.

Alastor

Alastor beams at the praise! "It's not entirely *my* cooking—Mardi Gras gumbo is a communal thing, everyone in town contributes a little something to the pot—but I wouldn't have brought you some if I didn't think it would meet your tastes!"

Alastor completely fails to register the fact that Sir Pentious was carrying a spoon inside his coat for some reason. Not weird at all.

Sir Pentious

He's a LITTLE SUSPECT of that comment BUT he will trust his friend here.... And with a mouthful of gumbo (GAOMPH), he DOESN'T unbite! Instead, he pulls the spoon from his lips and smiles *wide*, flicking his tongue.

"MM! THISSS IS VERY TASSSTY!" Listen to those pleased *hums*, even the tip of his tail is wagging.... Time for another mouthful.

Alastor

Alastor beams wider! He's defended his good friend credentials for the day. "Glad I was finally able to get you some *proper* gumbo."

Sir Pentious

He's going to scoop it and offer some to Alastor,.... Then he GRINS REALLY BIG, PURRING.

"YOU SHOULD MAKE THISSSS FOR TELLY, SHOULD THINGSSSS PROGRESSS FAVORABLY."

Alastor

Alastor leans over to take a bite—and then pauses with his mouth open. "Ah." Awkward fidget! "I'm—already cooking for him, actually. And he said he wants to try New Orleanian cuisine, so I'm sure I'll be making gumbo sooner rather than later." He looks away all embarrassed.

Sir Pentious

NO LOOKING AWAY. Pentious SWIVELS the spoon around to bump against Alastor's lips, and should he bite down, Penny will TURN his head FORCEFULLY to GRIN! TO! HIS! FACE!

Alastor

He *does* fall for it and bite. He *does* get turned around to face Sir Pentious's face. ~~You can't do that to him, it's hot.~~

He lets go and leans back. "What?"

Sir Pentious

TONGUE FLICK.

He takes the spoon to dip it back into the gumbo, and starts to LOUDLY hum The Wedding Song.

You know the one.

Alastor

He DOES know the one. He makes a series of undignified flustered static noises. "Don't read too much into it! He needed somebody who actually *knows* how to cook helping him out. His kitchen is staffed by eggs."

Sir Pentious

Look at Penny, he's daaancing, swaying from side to side!

"YESSS, IT WAS DEFINITELY BECAUSE OF THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEART, *NOT* CAUSE YOU *FANCY* HIM, HMMM HMMM~"

Alastor

"Oh, come now, it's hardly like that! I cook for you all the time, don't I?" A pause. "I realized the flaw in that argument as soon as I said it, you don't need to point it out."

Sir Pentious

HE'S SMILING LIKE SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT. LOOK AT HIM. *LOOK AT HIM.*

Alastor

Alastor draws himself up with great dignity. "I cook for *everybody.* I'm keeping one of my alternates fed too."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious takes out a nail file from his coat. *He has so much stuff in there, apparently.* And he starts to slide it against his claws, purring, "YESS, OF COURSSSE! BUT, YOU DIDN'T SSSNOG THAT ONE AT A GAY BALL, DID YOU?" HEE HOO. Look how pleased he is. Playful.........His body is rolling up like curly fries.

Alastor

... Why does he keep a nail file with his spoon?

Alastor tips his chin up. "I most certainly did not, nor do I want to! Which is conclusive proof that I do not feed friends because I *fancy* them!" The embarrassment is genuine but the big show of burying it under a layer of self-righteous indignation is just that: a show. All right, okay, he's the entertainment right now, he'll play his part. On some level it's a relief they can discuss this at all without it being a giant wedge jammed between the two of them; the sharp point of the wedge has been shunted off to the side, to point at some third party that isn't present. He'll take the hit to his dignity in exchange for the reduced pressure.

"You look like a spring, all coiled up like that." The corners of his tight, thin-lipped smile twitch, threatening to crack out into a real grin. "If I jumped on you, you'd bounce like a pogo stick."

Sir Pentious

HEE HEE HEE!!! He appreciates that Alastor is going along with it--although Pentious is a bit slow on cues, he just assumes Alastor really IS that flustered! And look at how he wiggles, lowering his body until his hands are flat on the ground. SILLY MODE.

"ARE YOU *GOING* TO JUMP ON ME, SSSSSTICKBUG? YOU WOULDN'T DO ANY *REAL* DAMAGE! YOU WEIGH *NOTHING!*"

Alastor

He really is that flustered. He just knows his entertainer duties come first.

"Well, not if you're down there! Jump on a pogo stick when it isn't upright and you're just going to break it in half." He shakes his head, tutting. Sir Pentious don't you know anything about pogo sticks?

Sir Pentious

No, he can't use them. Therefore, he doesn't KNOW anything about them. But he does know something else-- how to STRIKE FAST. He SLITHERS FORWARD, going to try and swipe twinkle toes' legs out from UNDER HIM.

Alastor

Twinkle Toes twinkles his toes (hooves?) right over the swipe. You can't knock a dancer off his feet! ... and also Alastor saw it coming.

"Oh, is that all you've got?!" Alastor is *tap-dancing* out of range.

Sir Pentious

It was wrassle time. It had been FOREVER since their last wrassle!! Penny wiggles, his body scrunching like an accordion, before he LAUNCHES out, swiping at him once more with those claws of his.

HYAAAA

Alastor

Alastor ONCE MORE dances out of the way!!

Except that he doesn’t. He avoids the full mass of a giant reptilian accordion colliding with him, but a hand gets one leg and knocks him off balance. He crashes to the ground with a sound of cymbals and bicycle horns (???) and a flurry of fluttering costume fringe.

Sir Pentious

WHAT A CACOPHONY! Sir Pentious lets out QUITE the WAAAAAAHAAAAAA HAAAAAAA A at having knocked him over, enjoying seeing that FRINGE FLY.

And then he's gonna sit on him. Victory.

Alastor

Defeated. The mighty Radio Demon brought low. On Mardi Gras of all days.

He contemplates trying to roll them over, considers his odds, and decides he’ll have better chances at being irritating. He starts poking Sir Pentious’s tail. “Do I make a comfortable chair?”

Sir Pentious

Penny's head swivels, and he peers down at Alastor like that one Duck image.

"NOT REALLY, YOU'RE *RATHER* BONEY, AS IT *WERE*."

Alastor

“Well, what kind of a fool sits on a chair that isn’t even comfortable?” He switches from poking to smacking, he’s drumming on Sir Pentious’s hip with his hands. Plappa-plappa-pap

Sir Pentious

........ HE LOOKS SCANDALIZED,

"ARE YOU SLAPPING ME????????" It BARELY counts as slapping, Penny is just DRAMATIC. He looks down at Alastor like a CAT upset by butt smacks.

Alastor

He freezes mid-plap. “I was using you as a percussion instrument.” He gives Sir Pentious a winning smile!

Sir Pentious

HMM...........HE BEGINS TO SLITHER OFF OF ALASTOR.......... *Scales scales scales scales.*

"WELL ALASSSTOR, WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT TO DO? I IMAGINE YOU MUSST BE HEADING OFF TO MORE PARTYING, WITH YOUR GET UP!"

Alastor

HA! His plan WORKED. He sits up and slings an arm around Sir Pentious’s shoulders before he gets too far off the ground. “Just finished, actually! Maybe I’ll find some quiet balcony to watch a night parade, but the courir is *exhausting!* I’m all partied out.” He gives Sir Pentious a sweet look. “I wouldn’t mind spending a comparatively lowkey evening with a treasured friend.” He’s batting his lashes, check it out. What a darling deer.

Sir Pentious

Look at that BATTING of the LASHES.

Sir Pentious SNICKERS, then flutters his fingers, "OH? REALLY? HMM HMM~ ARE YOU *SUUURE* YOU WOULDN'T RATHER SSSPEND IT SSSNOGGING WITH TELLY?" He's so glad he added that last part in, otherwise it would have been AWKWARD!

Alastor

“Listen. Sir Pentious. My pal. My chum.” Alastor squeezes Sir Pentious’s shoulder with his hand, and for a split second, there’s a look of absolute terror in his eyes. “Right now, *there is nothing that I want less.*” Maybe the next time Alastor’s around him, he’ll find himself warmed all over by the welcoming light of romance. But from this distance, that light looks like the lure of an anglerfish.

And then Alastor’s totally normal. “So! Wanna see a parade or stay in?”

Sir Pentious

Oh that was a little bit harrowing. Sir Pentious can almost feel the way the warmth sucks out of the room--but then it's back! And a balmy temperature indeed, for this giant snake man.

He clears his throat, "HMMM... WELL, I'M NOT *DRINKING* MUCH NOW, SSSO SSTAYING IN MAY BE A TAD *BORING*. A PARADE SSSOUNDSSS FUN!"

Alastor

“Oh, I’m sure we can have *plenty* of fun without drinks—but that said, I prefer the parade myself! We’ll get a couple of colorful drinks with next to no alcoholic content, pretend they don’t taste disgusting, and find a high vantage point!” He stands, pulls out what looks like a map, and unfolds it. It’s a big schedule and map of parade times/routes, public balls, and other events. Tourism board doesn’t fuck around with Mardi Gras. “There’s still a couple of big ones that haven’t gone, but we’ll have to hustle! Shall we?”

Sir Pentious

That actually sounds like a LOT of fun. He makes a big smiley face, and offers his arm to Alastor.

"YESSS, WE SHALL!! I HAVEN'T BEEN TO A PARADE IN *DECADESSS.*"

Alastor

"Haven't you?! Why, then you're in for a treat! They're getting bigger and better every year! We'll have to get a *prime* seat for you—but not too high! What's the fun of being too high to catch throws...!"

He hooks his arm in Sir Pentious's, and off they go!

#hissandvinegar #chat log

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gainerstories · 5 years ago

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Freshman Fatties: Chapter 5

“Fuck, I’ve actually gotten fat now. This gut has a life of its own, half the time I don’t even realize I’m eating and then I look down and there’s junk food in my hand.”

“You’re fine Andy, you’ve just put on the freshman fifteen. That’s all.”

“Babe I’m pushing three hundred pounds. That’s almost an eighty pound gain since last summer. This,” Andy grabbed his gut with both hands, “ain’t no fifteen pounds. I’ve really packed it on since we met.”

“I think you’re sexier for it.”

“I know, but coach is not happy. He put me on a diet plan, he says I can’t play quarterback like this. I need to lose at least thirty pounds by summer.”

“By summer?! It’s already February. Screw your coach, I’ve gained weight too you know. I’m at two hundred for the first time in my life! We like to indulge there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I can’t lose this scholarship though, I gotta shed the weight. I gotta.”

“Babe, calm down. We have dinner plans tonight with Sarah and Landon, remember? The gift card I got you? The Calvin Klein shirt, my jockstrap? Let’s just have one more night of indulgence okay?”

“Well, okay… anything to see you in that little jock strap.”

Truthfully, Benjamin was a little flustered by his own physique as well. Andy’s gluttony was reaching new heights and those habits were definitely rubbing off on him. There was only one difference. Whereas Andy grew a massive beer gut framed by broad shoulders and anchored by meaty legs, Benjamin was becoming a proper marshmallow.

Everywhere he turned he’d gotten fat. His legs, his back, his chest, his stomach, his neck, even around his junk. He’d already grown out of the jeans he’d just bought and all of his shirts now clung like a second skin. The few clothes he could squeeze into fit differently than they used to and he found himself taking up space in places he never considered would be a struggle. His ass filled the entire toilet seat. Bathroom stalls were awkward. Squeezing through a crowd was difficult. Bending over was a chore.

Both boys put these fears aside as they washed up and prepared for their dinner plans. Benjamin looked sharp in a tan cashmere sweater that only slightly clung to his love handles, paired with straight leg pants that showed off his plump bubble butt. Andy, on the other hand, was definitely looking a tad uncomfortable in his black button up. His range of mobility was clearly limited and the buttons just barely closed. He felt like a Victorian woman in a corset, but he powered through for his boyfriend’s sake.

They met Sarah and Landon at the restaurant and were seated relatively quickly. Sarah was Benjamin’s good friend and had been incredibly supportive to their coming out as a couple. Landon was simply her boyfriend who always seemed to be around but had nothing to say. He was nerdy, with a bit of a paunch himself and generally affable. They weren’t the ideal dinner dates but Benjamin thought it was important for the couple to spend time with other couples.

The restaurant was a contemporary Italian spot near the campus and they all chose the three course chef’s special per Benjamin’s demands. Surprisingly, for an upscale restaurant the portions were incredibly large which left both boys satisfied. The first course was a Caesar salad that left everyone impressed and looking forward to the rest of the meal. Andy particularly went to town on the salad. His secret plan was to fill up on greens before the heavy dishes so he wouldn’t pig out on the pasta. Despite what Benjamin said, he needed to get a small head start on this diet. However, by the time the main course of pumpkin ravioli arrived, Andy could barely contain himself.

The hulking jock polished off his plate before anyone else and gladly accepted Sarah and Landon’s leftovers. Benjamin also cleaned his plate with ease and even stole a few bites of the leftovers. Frankly, he was hungry for more but didn’t want to get in Andy’s way. Andy, on the other hand, was so consumed by the delicious food that he was blissfully unaware that his shirt was getting tighter by the second. He finally came to when he realized his bladder was full, but was afraid to use the restroom out of fear of what would happen to the seams of his shirt while standing up. Out of the corner of his eye, Benjamin glanced at the buttons beginning to strain across his boyfriends belly and felt a sense of satisfaction.

Dessert was a truly massive slice of cheesecake and ice cream for each individual. It looked as if one cake had been divided into quarters and served to the whole table. Everyone slowly dug in except for Andy, who gobbled one heaping spoonful after another. Benjamin could sense the subtle surprise and judgment on Sarah and Landon’s faces. It was clear that Andy could no longer contain his gluttony, and just the taste and aroma of delicious food turned him into an absolute pig.

Benjamin was rapidly becoming full but made an effort to keep up with his boyfriend’s pace in a lame effort to normalize the jock’s blatant gluttony. Sarah and Landon could not finish their cake and naturally offered it to Andy, as it seemed the only logical thing to do. Of course, the hungry football player accepted, devouring every last bite.

With no food left on the table, Andy leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Benjamin immediately glanced down at his boyfriend’s bloated belly fearing the worst. The sound of a seam ripping emanated from Andy’s side as three buttons shot across the entire restaurant and skittered across the floor. A significant portion of Andy’s belly was now exposed. Bloated and slick with sweat, no one in the restaurant could remove their eyes from the football player’s massive exposed gut. Andy’s face turned beat red.

“See what I’m saying,” Andy whispered to his boyfriend. “Fucking time to diet.”

“Not now,” Andy reprimanded and peeled off his own Cashmere sweater.

It was evident to everyone in the room that there was no way Benjamin’s sweater would fully cover Andy’s gelatinous ball gut, but it was better than leaving him exposed. Andy struggled into the sweater, stretching it past his exposed abdomen and as far down as he could manage. With the sound of a few threads ripping the sweater stopped just below his navel which was good enough. Thankfully, the waiter expedited the bill and got the fat couple out of the restaurant as soon as possible. They apologized profusely to Sarah and Landon before heading home.

Although the couple was stewing in a complex emotional mixture of embarrassment, anger, confusion, and frustration, the second they shut their door behind them they began passionately making out. Benjamin’s pants were off in seconds as his ass bounced around in the tight jock strap. It took a bit of a struggle to get the sweater off Andy, but once it was removed Benjamin ripped the rest of the Calvin Klein shirt off leaving it in tatters. Finally free of their restricting clothing and sweating from their fullness and horniness, Benjamin anointed the former jock’s massive three hundred pound gut with his mouth and cock.

#gainers stories #freshmanfatties

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rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 7

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin, Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education

Summary: A little making out, and family time.

Notes: Soft chapter, but one that was difficult to write. Definitely look up the song Wei WuXian plays on the dizi. There’s a version on YouTube played with the xiao, and it’s lovely. Last week of summer semester, so it might be a bit before I update.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 |��3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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

Though at first their teeth collide a few times, Lan WangJi discovers that kissing, as with anything else, is a skill one can improve with practice. He is startled a bit when Wei Ying opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he finds the sensation of his tongue against his own more than enjoyable.

He finds it even more enjoyable to be able to finally give attention to the mole under his lip that has taunted him all these years. Wei Ying seems to realize his focus because he laughs, joyous and breathless and beautiful.

Lan WangJi hooks his arm around Wei Ying to pull him closer, but he freezes at his pained hiss.

Of course; Wei Ying was injured by Wen Ning, and likely hurt himself last night falling to the hard cave floor in his haste to escape the dog spirit.

As much as he would prefer to continue this, Lan WangJi forces himself to stop. He can’t help but remember Wei Ying’s reminder that their union hasn’t been consummated, and that doesn’t make it easier. He has, after all, been waiting since he was fifteen.

“You are injured,” he says softly, sitting. “And malnourished.”

Wei Ying pouts, but doesn’t protest vocally or move to get up, which tells Lan WangJi he truly is in pain, and judging from the way his eyelids are drooping, absolutely in need of more sleep.

“I will meditate here, and we will have breakfast together when you wake. We should also discuss my brother’s impending visit.”

“Ah, I guess you want to tell him we’re married, then?” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Can we at least ask him to keep quiet about it until after shijie’s wedding? She deserves better than to have her happy day overshadowed.”

Lan WangJi has not, in fact, thought yet of how he will tell his brother he married Wei Ying all those years ago and neglected to tell him. But he does agree that the news should not detract from the marriage of Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan, though he disagrees with the idea that the their marriage could be a dark thing.

“Agreed, but…”

He pauses, considering how to say what comes next, how not to risk driving Wei Ying away again.

“Please consider telling my brother you no longer have a golden core, if not the circumstances,” Lan WangJi finally says.

He is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, only grimaces, but his relief is short-lived.

“You think he’s more apt to help if he knows I’m broken,” he whispers.

Lan WangJi feels his jaw drop, horror rising as he realizes just how deeply Wei Ying’s self-loathing goes. He wishes he could assure him of his own worth, but he also knows it will take time to convince him. But this, he knows, is his fault. He did not help Wei Ying until he knew the truth, when he should have helped from the beginning, should have trusted him.

Does Wei Ying believe he pities him? The idea chafes.

“You are not broken,” he tells him, “and certainly not simply by virtue of being without a golden core.”

Wei Ying snorts derisively.

“Then what am I? A cultivator who can only cultivate on the crooked path?”

Lan WangJi gently pulls Wei Ying closer until he’s pillowed in his lap, until he can look at him directly, if upside down.

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You need be nothing more.”

His zhiji looks away, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight. Lan WangJi feels helpless in the face of his despondency, knows he is in part the cause.

“I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng. He’s going to be so angry.”

He understands; the secret involves his brother, and he has a duty to tell him first, regardless of how long it will be before he sees him next. Wei Ying’s public break with the Jiang clan makes that uncertain, and it is not the sort of revelation that would be appropriate in a letter. In fact, if it were known he sent a letter to Jiang Cheng at all, problems could arise.

Perhaps XiChen could send one on their behalf, though, asking Jiang Cheng to at least visit in secret.

“I will tell no one, Wei Ying. Not even xiongzhang, if you do not wish it. But… eventually you will no longer be able to hide it.”

Lan WangJi strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, hating to have to think about or reference the inevitability of his mortality. Hating that it is an inevitability.

“I ask only that you consider it, nothing more. I will honor whatever decision you make.”

Wei Ying doesn't reply, instead curls closer, shifts until his face is hidden against Lan WangJi’s side, his arms around his waist, his body further in his lap.

“You are not broken,” he repeats, running his hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “You are beautiful and honorable.”

He wishes the rest of the world could see Wei Ying as he does.

In the silence, he has little to focus on, noting the brittleness of his hair, how it seems as unhealthy as the rest of Wei Ying. But Lan WangJi has never had much opportunity to touch him this way—after XuanWu and when he fell after Wen RuoHan’s death notwithstanding.

Neither are pleasant memories, particularly the latter. The image of Wen RuoHan dangling Wei Ying by the throat over the steps of Nightless City still fills him with dread. He was certain then he was about to witness his zhiji’s death, to watch his neck snapped, to see him tossed aside like a broken doll.

Afterward, in the days he was unconscious, watching the bruises around his throat fade slowly, fearing he may never wake again as his spiritual energy did not seem to be recovering… It did not recover, but it was not, as he suspected then, due to demonic cultivation.

Lan WangJi wishes he realized sooner. He will always wish that he somehow was able to help Wei Ying more, will always feel the sting of having failed him for so long.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens slowly as he falls asleep, and Lan WangJi matches his breathing. Though he has never attempted meditation with someone in his lap, his zhiji’s presence is soothing, and he slips into the necessary trance easily.

He slips out of it just as easily a couple hours later when he hears footsteps approaching their chamber of the cave. From the sound, very short legs, the pace puttering against the stone and dirt of the cave.

Lan WangJi is unsurprised when a-Yuan enters. The child surveys them quietly for a moment.

“Xian-gege sad?” he finally asks.

Only then does Lan WangJi remember that Wei Ying is asleep in his lap, arms still twined around his waist.

“Mn,” he says with a nod.

Because despite Wei Ying’s happiness at his insistence that he indeed wanted to be married to him, his request regarding his brother upset him. And it had taken far too much convincing for his liking for Wei Ying to believe he was worthy of him.

“Hugs make me feel better when I’m sad,” the child says. “I can hug Xian-gege, too.”

Lan WangJi nods again, and a-Yuan toddles over and chooses the most expedient way to deliver a hug: flopping onto Wei Ying and then hugging him.

He resists the urge to scold the child when Wei Ying wakes with a pained grunt, and instead lifts a-Yuan off, settling him on one knee.

“Ah, a-Yuan, be careful,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice a bit strained. “You’re getting big.”

“Xian-gege needed hugs. And gugu said you need to wake up for breakfast. And popo said you’re too skinny.”

“Popo always says that.”

Wei Ying winces when he sits up, which lets Lan WangJi know Wen Qing should examine him. He hopes he will not injure as easily once he’s in better health.

“She is not wrong, Wei Ying.”

He pulls a face in response, but can’t help but laugh when a-Yuan imitates him.

“All right, all right. Let’s go eat.”

Lan WangJi is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t need help getting up, though he doubts very much he would ask if he did. He carries a-Yuan with them, and the boy seems content with being carried.

“I did not inquire yesterday about bathing facilities,” he comments as they make their way to the communal area.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“‘Bathing facilities.’ You’re so proper. We have a river, Lan Zhan. That and basins and rags. That’s about it right now.”

The river was practical, but not in the long term. Perhaps that was something to address with Wen Qing, then, whether tubs could be purchased. Before winter, when bathing in a river would be less than ideal.

“I know you’re used to better, but I’ll show you where later today,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, I’m probably overdue for a wash myself.”

“Xian-gege stinky?”

Wei Ying drops back to tickle a-Yuan.

“Stinky, eh? You just wait, stinky radish. I’m sure your gugu will want us to give you a bath, too.”

“A-Yuan not stinky!” the boy squeals with a giggle.

Wei Ying darts in and makes a show of smelling him.

“Oh, my little radish is ripe. It’s almost time to pick him and cook him up for dinner!”

“No cook a-Yuan!” he shrieks, still giggling, as they enter the communal area.

“Oh? Should we sell the little radish at market instead?”

“Noooooo! Gugu, tell Xian-gege!”

Wen Qing scowls at Wei Ying, but it’s without heat, a sort of play-acting likely affected for a-Yuan’s amusement.

“I swear sometimes you’re a child yourself,” she mutters.

“Xianxian is three,” Wei Ying sings with a grin.

“Brat,” she says, rolling her eyes, her voice fond.

They’re a family here, Lan WangJi has come to see. The closeness of their relationships brings light to the darkness of the Burial Mounds. He is glad they have been there for his zhiji when he has not.

Wei Ying winces when he settles on one of the seats and Wen Qing’s sharp gaze catches it. She looks between them with an expression that looks far too amused, and despite the fact that her assumption is incorrect, Lan WangJi can feel his ears heat.

“Dog spirit,” he explains. “Wei Ying fell.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifts to concern. It’s clear she knows of Wei Ying’s phobia.

“The damn thing came back again?”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying—he didn’t mention it had bothered him on previous occasions.

“Bad dog,” a-Yuan contributes.

“Lan Zhan eliminated it this time,” Wei Ying says, avoiding both their gazes.

Wen Qing shoots him a grateful look.

“Last time he knocked into the cave wall and almost broke his nose,” she tells him. “Hopefully all he’s got this time is a few bruises, but at least it won’t be back.”

She turns her attention back to Wei Ying.

“I’ll examine you after breakfast to be sure. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

“Aiya, no needles, Qing-jie! No need to bully me.”

Wei Ying grabs a-Yuan from Lan WangJi’s lap to use as a shield. The boy just giggles, like this is a common occurrence. Knowing his propensity for dramatics, it probably is.

“A-Ning is giving you double portions today,” Wen Qing continues, ignoring his antics. “And I’ll trust Hanguang-Jun to make sure you’re not feeding it to a-Yuan. He’s getting plenty, too, and we have radishes ready to harvest in a few days so we’ll be fine with food for a little while at least.”

She glares at him when he looks like he might protest.

“You’re unhealthy and everyone is worried about you. Popo was encouraging me to use needles and find a way to shove it down your throat earlier. Don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

Wei Ying, thankfully, takes her seriously enough to behave throughout breakfast. He eats enough that even popo, who seats herself at their table and manages to look both sweet and intimidating throughout the meal, seems satisfied.

True to her threat, Wen Qing has popo take charge of a-Yuan and drags a lightly protesting Wei Ying back to the Demon Subduing Cave to be examined. Lan WangJi hesitates, but follows at his zhiji’s pleading look.

“Sit,” Wen Qing orders when they’ve reached the alcove “I want to make sure you didn’t break anything, at least. You have horrid luck. Where did you fall?”

“Shoulder and hip,” Wei Ying says with a resigned sigh. “But it’s really not—”

He goes silent at her glare, which Lan WangJi has to admit is formidable.

“Don’t even,” she huffs. “You always lie about your injuries. Strip.”

Wei Ying, to Lan WangJi’s surprise, actually blushes, glancing at him. Wen Qing takes notice, looking between them.

“Ah, you told him, then?”

She looks almost amused.

“Wait, you told her?”

Lan WangJi almost winces at the bit of hurt in his tone.

“That he’s besotted with you? Any fool could tell, except you,” Wen Qing snaps.

“I did not tell her,” Lan WangJi confirms.

He is a little concerned when a slightly gleeful look passed over Wei Ying’s face, replaced with one that is utterly fond.

“So I was the first one you told that you handfasted me when we were sixteen?”

Wen Qing makes a noise that sounds almost like a choke, looking at them uncertainly.

“I did not even tell xiongzhang,” he confirms. “I would tell no one without telling you first.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns to one of adoration, and Lan WangJi starts mentally reciting the Lan principles, as he is sorely tempted to revisit their morning activities.

Wen Qing is still staring at them, and Lan WangJi takes pity, explaining in brief what occurred in the Cold Spring cave, with Wei Ying contributing details. He finishes by explaining the meaning of the forehead ribbons in a wedding ceremony and the bow to Lan Yi as essentially an elopement.

“You’re married?” Wen Qing murmurs, her voice hoarse with shock. “Married.”

Her gaze turns shrewd.

“Has it been consummated?”

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to choke.

“Qing-jie!”

Lan WangJi doesn’t trust himself to answer verbally and simply shakes his head.

To his surprise, she starts pacing, hands clasped behind her back. He didn’t expect her to be someone who paces.

“And you want to be wed, correct?” she asks after a moment.

Wei Ying’s “definitely” and Lan WangJi’s “of course” are simultaneous.

“Good,” she says, her tone surprisingly emphatic, as she turns to them. “So you’ve had quite an extended engagement, and we can figure out what this idiot gave as courting gifts since you bought a-Yuan toys and provided the Burial Mounds with money. I hate to simplify what is obviously a love match to political terms, but you need to consummate before Zewu-Jun arrives, in anticipation of the question of its validity.”

Lan WangJi can feel his ears heating, and Wei Ying’s face blushes more fetchingly than before. Wen Qing looks between them, and her brief look of glee is ever more concerning than Wei Ying’s was.

“Well, since you’re both clearly virgins—”

She ignores the “hey!” from Wei Ying.

“—and I am familiar with all forms of sexual hygiene as a doctor, I’ll go ahead and explain exactly what you’ll need to do to make it a safe and enjoyable experience.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. Wen Qing gestures for Lan WangJi to sit, and he’s honestly grateful to as she starts talking. She brusquely yanks Wei Ying’s robes from his shoulder to check his injuries as she does, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze from his zhiji’s milky skin to avoid reacting to it.

He cannot deny he has thought quite a bit about what he wanted to do with Wei Ying very often almost since first meeting him. Wen Qing’s very detailed and blunt explanations make those imaginings far less fuzzy than they were before. She even includes a discussion of aftercare, advising they keep a basin of water and rags nearby for the “mess.” By the time she’s finished, Wei Ying’s very red face is buried in his hands, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze as she pulls his trousers away from his hip, revealing the curve of one bruised buttock.

“And I guess I’ll have to send Merlin-yi to market for the oil,” Wen Qing says as she wraps up both her lecture and her examination. “I’ll send a-Ning, too. Even if we can’t provide a proper banquet, a marriage deserves celebration. You’re family, Wei WuXian, and we’ll do our best.”

“Qing-jie,” Wei Ying whispers, sounding touched.

She offers him a smile and shoves his robes at him.

“If we could afford red silk, we’d throw a whole wedding. You don’t mind the others knowing, right? They’ll be very happy for you.”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying, careful to keep his eyes on his face—he may be wearing trousers, but he might as well be naked and it’s terribly distracting. The look on his face assures him he doesn’t mind, so he nods affirmation to Wen Qing.

“It’s just some bruising, thankfully,” she assures them. “I’d put on salve, but I heard you discussing bathing at the river, so I’ll leave that for later. It’d be a waste to apply it twice.”

Wei Ying pulls his robes on, still red in the face.

“Right, a bath.”

His gaze is shy when he looks at Lan WangJi, who is trying to imagine how they’ll get through bathing together without engaging in some of the activities described by Wen Qing.

Some of that thought must have been apparent to Wei Ying, because his face flushed again.

Wen Qing snorts.

“Not so shameless after all, are you? We’ll be sure to give the river a wide berth.”

Wei Ying’s response is to hide his face in his hands again.

“We will bathe separately,” Lan WangJi states, pulling Wei Ying to his feet.

Wen Qing just laughs at them.

When they reach the river, which is a short trek from the settlement, Lan WangJi insists Wei Ying bathe first, pulling the fragrant soaps he uses for his body and hair from is qiankun pouch for him to use. He knows they are likely a luxury, and he is happy to share it with him.

He plays his guqin while his zhiji bathes, starting with “WangXian” and moving into “Cleansing,” infusing the latter with spiritual energy. He is pleased when the resentful energy in the area eases, and hopes it helps Wei Ying as well.

When Wei Ying returns, clad in fresh robes, he takes his own turn to bathe. The water is chilly, but not inordinately so in the summer heat. He is pleased when the notes of a dizi fill the air, playing “WangXian” as well. Though he composed the song with the guqin in mind, the rendition Wei Ying plays on ChenQing is lovely. Lan WangJi is glad it has brought him comfort.

The notes shift into what he recognizes as “Plum-Blossom in Three Movements,” a song he rather likes but didn’t know Wei Ying knew. Lan WangJi has heard xiongzhang play it on the xiao and can play it on the guqin, though it was originally composed for the dizi. But he shouldn’t be surprised; Wei Ying is a master of the six arts and has displayed such with references to literature and poetry even in his playful moments.

The plum blossom is an apt symbol for the resilience of life on the Burial Mounds and for Wei Ying, who always endured despite the hardships he faced. Perhaps the song is an expression of Wei Ying’s hope, his faith in Lan WangJi. He wants to give his zhiji hope, longs to ease his hardships.

When he has finished and dressed in fresh robes, he rejoins Wei Ying and asks if he may comb his hair.

He uses his own sandalwood scented oil, giving it the proper treatment.

Wei Ying is swaying slightly when he finishes, the pampering lulling him nearly to sleep. Lan WangJi longs to style his hair, to put it in the GusuLan style as though Wei Ying was marrying into his clan. But he is not, and so he refrains.

Instead he brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, leaning forward to brush his lips against the soft hair there.

Wei Ying shivers and turns to him, pulling him in for a proper kiss before taking the comb and hair oil from him to return the favor.

Lan WangJi didn’t expect the sensuality of his husband brushing his hair—husband. They’re married. Wei Ying’s deft fingers make short work of his tangles, gently spread oil to treat his hair, grazing his scalp in blossoms of sensation, love in every touch.

Wei Ying braids his hair, his fingers weaving the locks with care, and Lan WangJi lets him. He is not in Cloud Recesses, not required to wear his hair in GusuLan style. When it is finished he turns to see a flourish of red, Wei Ying having used his own ribbon to tie off the braid.

And so it is natural to braid his hair in return, to weave the sacred ribbon that usually rests on his forehead in his hair, leaving the cloud symbol at the top, adorning the top of the braid like a jewel.

“Your forehead ribbon?” Wei Ying asks, startled, when he catches sight of the very pale blue ribbon tying his hair off.

Lan WangJi cups his cheek in his hand, moving forward until their noses are almost touching.

“Airen, you may touch it.”

A soft smile blossoms on Wei Ying’s face, and he rests his forehead against Lan WangJi’s.

“Airen. I like that,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wei ying #lan yuan #wen yuan

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ashxketchum · 4 years ago

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TYHIL MAGIC AU! TYHIL MAGIC AU!!

Nooo it’s so bad, I wrote it halfway in like 2014 and I cringe every time I read it now which is why I can never finish it 😭

It was super difficult to find a snippet that was not cringey, but here it is:

Never in ten years had any villager or outsider uttered those words.

Please open the door.

It was like music to her ears. She felt obliged to get up and make her way to the door, setting aside books to make a clear path. But when she reached the door and adjusted the settings of her magical telescope to look at this kind person, she was highly disappointed by what she saw. A tall, young (probably a few years older than her) male stood at her doorstep. He was scratching his head as he frowned at the note he held in his hand. The note that she had slipped through from under the door a few minutes ago. She watched as he continued frowning and scratching his head for a while and the brunette couldn't help but scowl. Can he not read? At this particular moment, she could not bring herself to be patient. This was her first civil interaction with a fellow human being in a decade. And while the beginning of this had been through paper, it might just lead to an in person interaction as well. But that would only happen if he is able to convince her to open the door, she reminded herself, and she was starting to wonder if he lacked the skills to do so.

He started to move and her eyes was fixed on him again as he pulled out a charcoal pencil from thin air and proceeded to scribble onto the small sheet of paper. The young witch managed to keep her excitement in check and easily suppressed a squeal. As she waited for him to finish writing, she couldn't help but observe his features a little more carefully. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with some of the buttons undone and the sleeves rolled back. On top of the shirt he wore a red vest which had the emblem of the Kingdom etched with black thread onto its backside. He wore brown khaki pants with black knee high combat boots. And to top it off, he wore a red bandana on his head. His skin was tanned and his arms were littered with battle scars. To her, he looked more like a bandit than a soldier in the King's service.

"How unpleasant." She muttered quietly.

He bent down to push the paper through the small gap at the bottom of the door and then he suddenly looked up, his eyes fixed at the door. His deep brown eyes were looking directly at her. She immediately backed away from the magical device, staggering a little as she did so. He couldn't possibly have seen through her barrier. She could easily sense his magical presence and it was nowhere near her level. And yet it felt like he was looking look right through the door and into her eyes. With trembling hands she picked up the paper and unfolded it slowly. Her eyes moved across the paper and as they neared the end of the note, all colour drained from her face.

Separated from the real world for ten years, you really have no idea how magic works these days do you? I can see through all your measly tricks, kid. Open the door without kicking a fuss or I'll have my precious dragon swallow you whole and any chance of you ever seeing the real sky will go down my dragon's throat.

He knew that only ten minutes had passed since he had slipped in the small (not that threatening) note but it felt like hours had passed and he was getting sick of waiting outside. The sun was setting down, and the air had gotten surprisingly chilly. Even though he could easily create a warm and comfortable tent to spend the night through magic, he didn't want to. He couldn't stand being outside the dome any longer. After all, he had seen the witch. And something about her face had piqued his interest. He couldn't quite place it but there was something unusual about her. Not that locking herself up and staying away from the real world wasn't unusual in itself. Tyson let out an aggravated cry as another moment passed without the door opening. He scratched his head as he contemplated on whether he should take up on his threat. Even though he had threatened to kill her on paper, he had only used such a big flashy statement to lure her out. He thought that the thought of the library being destroyed would get her to come out but obviously it looked like it was going to take more than just an empty threat from him for her to show.

Tyson wasn't really keen on disturbing his sleeping friend as the consequences of him doing so hadn't been very pretty in the past. Moreover, despite its daunting appearance, the dragon didn't like to create a mess by stomping on things. He didn't even like eating people. Animals and birds were okay according to Dragoon, but humans left a bad taste in his mouth. Thinking about food made him realize that he had already eaten not only his food supplies but also the stack of apples reserved for the dragon during the ride this morning. If Dragoon found out he finished their supplies, that were supposed to last for two days in just a few hours, Tyson was good as dead. And with each passing moment, Tyson started worrying more about the dragon and food and less about wanting to enter the dome. He had now turned around, with his back to the wooden door and was thinking of going back to the village to get some food for himself and Dragoon and maybe a comfy bed to sleep in. The blue haired boy was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the faint click of the lock or the sound of the door opening slightly. It was her voice that finally caught his attention.

"Please come in."

The tone was soft and melodic and so quiet that Tyson wouldn't even have registered it if it hadn't come from behind. No matter how unnoticeable the whisper had been, it had come from the other side of the door. Tyson turned around immediately and grinned widely. The door had been opened just a little bit. A thin line of green light was streaming out onto where Tyson was standing, casting a slight illumination on his feet. It felt a little surreal to him. The way the door was only slightly ajar, the strange green light, the sweet whisper and how just a few seconds ago he had been all ready to leave. Despite the feeling, Tyson took a deep breath and with nervous hands pushed the door. He made sure not to open the door completely but just to create a gap wide enough for him to squeeze through. He entered as quickly as he could and then shut the door behind him. When he finally turned around, the scene in front of him blew him away. He stood there with his mouth hanging open in awe of the library. He had never seen so many books in one place before. The thought of the books containing immense knowledge about magic made his heart pound faster. If he could get his hands on all of the knowledge present in front of him, he would be invincible. No more trying to discipline the hopeless second division. He would straight away be promoted to the position of the King's right hand man.

Once the sheer extravagance of the library subsided, a small movement caught his eye. The wide grin spreading on Tyson face faltered a little as he noticed a small figure hiding behind a stack of books not far from where he was standing. He opened his mouth to say something but then shut it quickly as he had no idea what he should say. He pondered over this for a while and eventually decided that first he should apologise for all the shouting and banging and threatening. He cleared his throat confidently. There was a small squeak, a few books toppled down as the girl moved further away while still trying to stay hidden. Slightly annoyed by her actions, Tyson decided to chuck the apology and just get on with it. He started with examining the books closest to him and he was amazed by all the information stored in here. Though it seemed like the books weren't arranged in a categorical order. A book that talked about how you could curse an enemy to the depths of hell was kept below a book that taught magical sewing. As he moved along, Tyson created a stack of his own. He started assembling all the books he would need like battle strategy, demon taming, useful spells and curses etc. On an afterthought he also added the book on sewing to his pile since Dragoon often liked to shred his wardrobe and always buying new clothes was taking a toll on his already meagre salary.

He tried his best to make his movements discreet but the closer he got to the girl, the farther she would run. Most people would've given up after a while, but not Tyson. Nope, he was designed to never give up. He kept following her across the library, making sure to maintain a certain distance between them. He knew that eventually she would run into a wall and then when she'll be unable to dodge him, he would confront her. He couldn't understand why she was hiding, it's not like he was going to hurt her or anything he just wanted to see her face properly. When he had looked through the door, he had felt strange. There was something about her face that was bugging him immensely. He just wanted one long proper look without any barrier between them and these small glimpses from behind the books were driving him crazy. He needed to know.

After a few hours of clever manipulation from Tyson's side, the chase finally came to an end. He was skimming through a book about potty training for Dragons when he heard a quiet thud not far from where he was standing. Smirking, Tyson quickly manoeuvred through the stacks of books and blocked her only exit.

"Aha! Caught ya!"

#beyblade #beyblade fanfiction #tyhil #dont mind me and the 1000+ tyhil aus that live in my mind rent free #writealot #answered

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years ago

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[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day Fifteen: Turnip Soup ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

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For the first time in far too long, Hinata is having a girls’ day. And not just any girls’ day, but a potluck to boot!

With everyone’s busy schedules, getting a day to align to allow the four of them to meet up has been ridiculously difficult. Between Sakura’s haphazard shifts at the hospital to Ino’s work with the interrogation department to Tenten’s shop, coordinating has been a nightmare. Hinata, for her part, has tried to be flexible. Her work with Sasuke and the rest of the Hyūga to keep the civilians of Konoha safe hasn’t exactly been easy, but her new husband does his best to accommodate her.

So, finally, after weeks of near-misses, they have a day: Saturday. And Ino, with her connections to Konoha parks’ botanical group, managed to arrange a private spot in one of the village’s largest public gardens for the afternoon.

It’s going to be perfect!

And Hinata has gone all-out. Rising at the crack of done to have it finished in time, she’s made an old recipe of her mother’s: homemade turnip soup. Alongside from-scratch cinnamon buns, she’s sure to contribute to the miserable fullness they’ll all be feeling by the end of the day. She packs up bowls and utensils for her share, double checking she has everything she needs.

“Ready to go?”

Turning to Sasuke, she gives him a bright smile. “I think so! Sorry you can’t come…”

“It’s called a girls’ day for a reason. And I’m not sure I’d fit in, regardless.”

At that, Hinata pouts. “Of course you would. But...maybe you and the rest of the guys could have a day to get together…?”

Sasuke’s expression immediately sours. “Not sure I’d enjoy their idea of a ‘fun’ evening. Probably pigging out on greasy food and cheap beer.”

A giggle escapes her. “You’re probably right...still, I feel bad.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel slighted.” A hand threads fingers in her hair, resting against the rear of her head to steady her as lips gently press to her brow. “Go have fun.”

She beams softly. “Okay...I left you a portion of soup for supper, okay?”

“Thanks, Hinata.”

“Bye!” Giving a little wave, she packs up her things and heads out the door.

As per usual, the Konoha Summer has been hot. And today is no exception. Despite her demure style, Hinata has deemed a sundress necessary attire for the heat. White with a bit of lilac floral print, it’s still decent enough for her tastes. Reaching her knees with a medium neckline, the straps are several inches wide. Enough to keep cool, but not too much for her self-conscious self. Flat white sandals replace her typical on-duty boots. She even went so far as to paint her nails a soft lavender color.

And to top it all off, she’s got a wide-brimmed white hat to shade her face, accented with a purple ribbon.

...okay, maybe she put a lot of thought into this outfit, but...she wants to look nice! Especially since Ino always looks pretty...while Hinata’s not usually the dress-up sort, there’s a sort of unspoken sizing up whenever the four of them meet. Tenten pretends not to care with her tomboy attitude, but even she has her feminine moments alongside rough-and-tumble Sakura.

She just...wants to fit in, is all. Doesn’t matter how old they get, they’re still victims of their own vanities...some just more than others.

Pushing all those thoughts aside, Hinata brightens as she spots her friends. Sakura and Ino are already present, Tenten nowhere yet to be seen. “Hi guys!”

The pair turn and smile back. “Hinata-chan!” Ino greets jovially, waving her over. “Wow, you went all out, huh?”

“W-well, I...I really love to cook,” she explains sheepishly. “I brought soup a-and dessert!”

“I thought I smelled cinnamon,” Sakura agrees with a grin. “You’ve always made those!”

The pink in Hinata’s cheeks gets a little darker. “They’re...my favorite…”

“Well, I’m trying to watch my diet but I think I can cheat just one,” Ino replies, arms folding. “No one can pass up Hinata-chan’s baking.”

“Chyeah!” the rosette agrees.

“Any word from Tenten yet…?” Hinata then asks, setting her basket of goodies and wares on the table.

“Sadly she had to back out last minute,” Sakura sighs. “Apparently some important officer under the daimyō just sent in an order for a dress sword, and she needs to fill it as soon as possible.”

The Hyūga wilts a bit. “I see…”

“I swear, we’re just cursed to always have at least one person unable to come,” Ino sighs, taking a seat and draping one leg over the other.

“Someday we’ll manage it.” Taking out a large pitcher of premade tea, Sakura pours them all a glass. “We can put some of all our stuff together and take it to her place for her after, so she doesn’t miss out.”

“Oh, g-good idea!”

With that, the typical small talk begins as food is dished out: catching up on all the goings-on in their lives. Sakura moans about how busy the hospital remains. “The more hours the more pay of course, but it hardly leaves me any free time! I’m almost as bad as Naruto now with how little I’m home,” she pouts, leaning her chin in a hand.

“Well, at least neither of you are sitting there alone too often,” Ino replies, sipping her tea.

“Yeah, but I’d rather we both just have more time off.”

“You know, you both control your own schedules.”

“We’re both workaholics,” is Sakura’s sheepish admission. “Someday we’ll slow down a bit, but right now we’re in our primes!”

“I know what you mean,” Hinata offers politely. “Sasuke and I hardly ever take time off. Even with all of the Hyūga we have signed up for the community watch force, it seems we’re always needed somewhere.”

“Well, Sasuke’s the founder after all. Since Shisui’s working with the Hokage, he’s really the only Uchiha people can rely on themselves.” Ino tilts her head curiously. “And you might not be heiress by name, but your clan still has massive respect for you and your abilities. Of course they’d rely on you, too.”

At the compliment, Hinata’s head ducks demurely, blushing. “...I suppose so…”

“How’s Hanabi been holding up?”

“Well! She’s, well...she’s bored with her lessons, but she’s always been a bit...easily distracted,” Hinata laughs. “But she takes her role seriously. And I know she’s relying on Neji-nīsan for guidance.”

“Any lingering problems with him?”

“Thankfully no, he recovered very well.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Sakura sighs. “One hell of a risky procedure, but...well, we all know how stubborn she is.”

“...I’ll never be able to repay her,” is Hinata’s quiet reply.

“Not sure a debt is the point, though. Besides, the main thing is he’s okay. Now if only he’d get off his high horse and propose to poor Tenten already.”

“He wants to! It’s just, um...complicated. Clan traditions and all that.”

“But what about you and Sasuke?”

“That was mostly excused due to the alliance,” Hinata sighs. “There’s only two Uchiha left, but...he’s technically still clan heir, so my father convinced the council it was still proper. It took some convincing for him too, though.”

“Ugh, so glad I don’t deal with any clan nonsense,” Sakura mutters lowly, stirring the last dredges of her soup. “Seems like such a pain.”

“Depends on the clan,” Ino offers with a shrug. “None of my team, despite us all being heirs, were pushed into marriages into the clan.”

“The Hyūga are probably the most, um...antiquated clan in the village,” Hinata admits with a disappointed set of her lips. “I have to wonder what Hanabi will do when the time comes…”

“Oh I doubt anyone’s gonna tell her what to do, the little spitfire.”

“Probably not, but that will still cause q-quite the stir.”

“Your clan’s had lots of stirrings since the war. It’s good for them,” Ino quips, taking a bite of cinnamon bun. “I still can’t believe it took so long to abolish the houses…”

“Well, after Neji-nīsan’s actions, it couldn’t really be ignored anymore,” Hinata agrees quietly.

“Then your big role in the ousting of the rest of the old council. Now that was awesome.” A wide grin grows over Sakura’s face. “I’ll never forget that.”

“Indeed. I’m just glad Sasuke and his family got the closure they were denied for so long…” Hinata’s eyes drop to the table somberly. “It still b-breaks my heart to think about it.”

“...yeah…”

A muted silence falls over the group of them for a time.

“...well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m full of both food and gossip,” Ino then announces, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Amazing soup and buns, Hinata-chan.”

“T-thank you!”

“You’ll have to share the recipes!”

“You can’t cook to save your life, Dekorīn,” Ino laughs.

“That’s what practice is for, Ino-buta!”

Smiling sheepishly, Hinata waves a hand. “I-I’ll get you both copies.”

Tidying up after themselves (and putting together Tenten’s box, which Ino agrees to deliver), the trio stand and chat a little longer before parting ways. Evening is settling over the village, and Hinata sighs contentedly in the cooling air.

It was a nice day.

Arriving home, she calls out her arrival, Sasuke replying from inside.

“You’re early.”

“...am I?”

“I thought you’d be gone longer is all. Had your soup.”

“Oh! Was it good…?”

“Very. You’ll have to teach me.”

At that, Hinata gives a smile. “...I’d be happy to.”

Woo, some slice of life fluff! Not so much centered on Sasuke this time around, but Hinata can always use more love. As can her bonds with the other girls! Still bugs me how little we got to see them all interact in canon... Otherwise though, a simple little piece, nothing too special~ Another hot as heckie day so that’ll be all from me for now, but once the heatwave’s over I want to try to catch back up again lol On that note though, I’d best head off for the night. Thank you for reading!

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #yamanaka ino #haruno sakura #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ]

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morethanaprincess-a · 4 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / Depends. I think fans usually love Sonia or hate her.

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / In some aspects.

Are they underrated? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO /

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO.

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL / Verse-dependent. Mostly good, unless Despair-verse or post-Neo World Program/post-SDR2 for canon verses or Talentswap!AU for my Ultimate Mafia Boss AU. Sonia's reputation is pretty terrible in these.

How strictly do you follow canon?

I do the best I can, considering that for most Danganronpa characters, there's limited information unless they're a protagonist. Considering DR, depending on the timeline of Sonia's class, takes place in various settings, realities, and states of mind, it can be a challenge to keep everything consistent. While I don't do a lot of threads that take place strictly in the SDR2-verse, where I do try to keep events canon to how they unfold in the game and as precisely as Sonia is presented as I can, other verses tend to be a bit more canon-divergent in order to fill in character building gaps that the game and anime don't really offer. The biggest change I tend to do is that unless I'm writing a thread of Sonia's arrival or first year at Hope's Peak or during the Neo World Program of SDR2, I don't tend to write many of her slang or word mix-ups. While Sonia reads and writes her 30+ languages better than she speaks them, I still believe she picks up on foreign languages easily and learns from her mistakes. She's a smart person, considering all of her talents mentioned in the SDR2 game alone. I also tend to disregard some of Hajime's free-time events with Sonia, particularly in terms of the hero legend and how she would allow the fabled hero to immediately marry and rule with her. My Sonia, for the most part, is a self-rescuing princess (and has a tendency to want to rescue everyone else too!).

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.

Is your muse looking for a friend and/or significant other who's just fascinated by everything they do and will support them no matter what? Someone who doesn't care about where you come from, your family, your looks, your socio-economic status but only who you are? Someone generous, kind, gentle, optimistic, smart, well-read, well-mannered, and will always be your muse's biggest cheerleader? Then your muse will definitely want to meet Sonia Nevermind, Hope's Peak Academy's Ultimate Princess and occult and serial killer-lover extraordinaire. She's poised to inherit a European country that thrives under absolute monarchy, a ridiculous amount of wealth and prestige, her own military, and more homes and assets than one person, and one family, really need. But get her talking about her favorite books/movies/TV shows, particularly horror and romantic dramas, and she'll be ecstatic. She loves exploring haunted locales, questioning the motives and methods of serial killers (real and fictional! I hope you've seen Friday the 13th, Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, etc. Is your muse Team Freddy or Team Jason?), and experiencing a 'normal' lifestyle unbefitting of a royal. Novoselic has no amusement parks, so your muse can really wow Sonia by introducing her to her first roller coaster! While she can't actually participate in Freemasonry or murdering people (Despair and Talentswap verses aside!) due to her title, she's still quite intrigued by it all. And like any proper Novosonian, she adores her chocolate and her wine. She's got a massive sweet tooth, perfect for her usual sweet and kind demeanor.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?)

She's not terribly edgy or sarcastic in most of her verses. It's very easy for Sonia to get duped by someone, as she's quick to consider people friends unless otherwise shown differently. She's very poised and polite due to her upbringing and doesn't often act on every impulse she has or speak her mind, especially if her opinion is divisive or negative, unless she trusts your muse. It's easy for her to accept friends into her life and far more difficult to accept romantic love, as she's frequently facing people who love her for her looks, title, and apparent purity, which frustrates her. She doesn't want to be put on a pedestal, she simply wants to be treated normally. She also doesn't get into too many fights, especially if she's been slighted. This is not a muse who's going to throw a punch, but she's excellent with firearms of all sorts. Pistols? Check. Rifles? Mastered them. Rocket launcher? Her favorite! And of course, she learned how to drive a tank before she could drive a car. If you're looking for a meek and shy muse to write with, Sonia's not that type. She's reserved in some things, but if your muse is really out of line? She'll call them out on it. She also has a tendency to want to lead in everything (it's a struggle for her to give up control, she can't help it!) and is a workaholic unless your muse distracts her.

Sonia has a fair amount of Rich People Problems. If that doesn't interest you or your muse, you may not enjoy interacting with her. But she remains as humble as she can about it all. She's terrible at putting herself first and admitting feelings for anyone, automatically assuming the person she cares for wouldn't want to be close to her, platonically or romantically, because of how complicated her life is as a future monarch. There's a lot of press, official appearances, and times she has to be a Princess before a person. She never wants to feel like a burden to your muse, which can sometimes come off as passive. But in life or death situations? Her bravery comes through.

And let's not go into how her Despair verse could be potentially triggering to some muses and/or muns. Sonia's absolutely disgusting when in Despair: lots of gore, lots of torture, lots of death, lots of blood, and a fair amount of sex with bad intentions. She's a gross human being (and has to deal with all of that in a post-Neo World Program verse!).

What inspired you to rp your muse?

I've been roleplaying for a pretty long time (not necessarily all on tumblr, but for awhile. I'm old!), and I've played action/fighting muses, know-it-all/brainy/witty muses, and muses who border on the mean girl trope with a heart of gold. But I've never really played a sincerely kind and good person. I tend to prefer writing female characters (I'm just more comfortable writing women than men most of the time!) and I've always had an interest in royalty and European history since I was a child. I played and watched Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc originally and while I found it fun, it didn't really hold my attention for long. It took 5-6 years or so for me to try out SDR2, and upon getting introduced to Sonia it was just a perfect fit. I love how kind and open-minded she is, how much she believes in the best of everyone, and how her interests in the occult, serial killers, anime, and dramas are a stark contrast to her royal upbringing. So many royal characters are complete snobs with no interest in commoners, which was never the sort of muse I wanted to write. But I loved the idea of Sonia's fish out of water situation of being the only foreigner in her class (and likely most of the school), who's just so happy to be there even though she gets various customs wrong and is just plain weird due to her personal interests. Additionally, I have a strong interest in horror, the occult, and serial killers myself, so it's been fun incorporating my thoughts on what Sonia would like outside of what the game and anime offered.

What keeps your inspiration going?

This might be corny, but it's Sonia's innate curiosity about the world and everyone in it. Admittedly, I'm not terribly up to date on current and popular anime (and I've only played DRV3 once, so I don't know those muses as well, and I never completed that game's Talent Development Plan), so it's hard when I don't always know the franchise of the other muse Sonia's interacting with, but she's still so fascinated about others and is inclined to ask questions and take on new experiences. But when I'm feeling stuck on inspiration, I'm returning to books, movies, and TV shows. For Sonia specifically, I watch and read a lot of historical and royal-focused dramas, as well as horror and classic literature. I also follow blogs featuring royal history and modern royal coverage (though when it turns too gossipy, I tend to cringe!) for plot ideas.

Still, it's the hardest for me to interact with other muses whose muns automatically assume I'm familiar with their fandom, especially when it's popular. I tend to do a fair amount of apologizing in that case, as most of my favorite anime are considered old or classic at this point.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO.

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO.

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO.

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO.

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO.

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO / Most of the time!

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

Not terribly. In general, if someone doesn't like my portrayal, I question why they're following me (especially if we aren't writing together). I'm much more the type to respect someone's space if they decide to unfollow and/or softblock than want criticism of my portrayal. Of course, it's different if I'm writing with someone for awhile and we have multiple threads and character development, I'm a little more open to criticism but likely won't change my portrayal based on it.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

I do! In general though, I tend to prioritize threads and IC asks over OOC, starting with what I've got muse to write with first. I have anon turned off and so I don't really get a lot of random questions about my muse anymore unless I've posted a meme asking for muse headcanons, but when I do get them, I try to answer them to the best of my ability.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

Not really. It's okay to disagree with my headcanon, that's totally valid! But if it gets to the point where I'm being told how to write my muse, I get annoyed. When I write with a mun, I accept their headcanons in our threads, no questions asked. I prefer the same courtesy with my muse and their headcanons too.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

Doesn't really matter to me. My general assumption is, is if someone disagrees with my portrayal, they likely won't write with me, follow me, or accept ask meme submissions from me.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

We probably aren't roleplaying together. They likely either don't want to write with a Sonia or my version of her, and that's ok! What isn't ok is gossip and anon hate. I've turned off anon for this reason and won't turn it back on unless I need to (for example, a mutual I trust wants to send something on anon IC). It's a significant weight off my shoulders, not dealing with OOC anon rudeness.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

Sure! No one's perfect. The only one that bothers me is different spelling for US English and UK/AUS/CAN English. I'm from the US and it's just easier to write in that, so I don't get anything wrong.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

I like to think so! I'm pretty easygoing and understanding of things like hiatuses, no writing inspo, etc, as long as I'm told that's what it is. Of course, I have my preferences for writing style (I don't do much one-liners or crack RP, just not my thing. I write a lot and try to avoid purple prose as much as I can!), but otherwise I like to plot, to wing it, coming up with new AUs and ships, etc. I also like chatting fandoms and such OOC as well! Admittedly I'm not great when it comes to mental health struggles, as I go through them myself and while I'm pretty high-functioning, RP and tumblr is my escape from my career and horrible stuff IRL, keeping me grounded and such. I like roleplaying, chatting fandoms and fun things, and just having a good time over here and on discord.

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

Tagged by: @monsieur-de-paris (Thank you!)

Tagging: Since this is a very long meme, whoever wants to do it.

#more-than-a-princess musings #The positive and the negative meme #tw: long post #(I've had this sitting in my drafts for a week!)#(Just needed a good amount of time to fill it out)#(But I love new threads and interactions to go along with my current active threads!)

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randomoranges · 5 years ago

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Lol. So I reworked this in parts. Added a lot to it. And I feel I still could have gone on with this, but I didn’t want to completely re-write this. It’s not the point of this exercise. Still wish I could plug a machine to my brain in the morning when I’m still in bed and think these great dialogues and scenes though. there’s something to be said about the messy in-between. Still a lot left to say about the past, but there’s something new in the future.

Perfect Cities Regret

Post birthday 2017

Étienne was uncharacteristically quiet and had been this way for most of the day. It had been a few months since their last impromptu meeting and since then, they had exchanged a handful of letters, much to Edward’s pleasure and surprise, but their new fragile – whatever they were calling this – was still in its early infancy and therefore, fragile. Business had brought them once more to the same city and Edward had quite frankly been surprised to find Étienne at it again. It wasn’t like him to come to the meetings, Edward knew for a fact Étienne despised them, but when he’d asked, Étienne had told him that Élyse was under the weather and so he was stepping in.

In the spirit of their “let’s try to be civil again” clause, Edward had reached out to Étienne and asked him if he wanted to meet up after the meeting. Étienne had agreed and they had walked down the streets of the city, catching up on their busy lives. Edward had marvelled at how once upon a time, it seemed as though he had endless time to visit his friend and now their schedules were incompatible at best. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was actually actively trying to meet up with Étienne at the drop of a hat. And Étienne wasn’t clearing his schedule for him either...

“It’s because you wanted to visit, before. Now you’re partially afraid, so the convenience of being “busy” is a crutch.” His brain supplied for him and he hated how that wasn’t entirely wrong. Perhaps afraid was the wrong word. He felt wrong footed and didn’t want to assume Étienne wanted to spend time with him either, or push him away. Then there was the matter of complicated feelings and unresolved issues in the way.

It was difficult moving on when every thought of Étienne was heavy with nostalgia and the never ending list of what ifs and questions. Seeing the shadow of what Étienne had once been pained him and he wondered if his friend had always been that way and he had simply been blinded by a visceral need for companionship. It was a good thing he had Calvin now, or he knew he would have returned to Étienne a long time ago, not knowing that there was a real shot at happiness within reach. He would have run back to Étienne without even knowing where he stood with him and he knew it would have ended in misery yet again.

Yet, a voice inside his head still whispered doubt to him every now and again and he hated that he still didn’t know, so many years later and that he wasn’t able to let it be. Let bygones be bygones and such.

But that didn’t mean he had stopped worrying or caring for Étienne.

“You’ve been rather quiet. Spill, what’s on your mind?”

Edward had noticed it during the meeting. Étienne had sat in his usual corner, he’d kept mostly to himself, had said his bit, jotted down whatever comments and suggestions had been given and then had sat down quietly for the remainder of the meeting. He hadn’t participated, Edward could have almost forgotten he was there, had it not been for the fact that he was sitting in Edward’s line of sight.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing. Just been a long week.” Étienne looked away from the window he had been staring at and took a drink from his milkshake. They had walked into the place after Edward had complained that he was starving and joked that Étienne was purposefully making him go hungry.

Edward would have let the comment slip, once upon a time, but he knew better and could tell that there was something genuinely bothering the other man. “Don’t bullshit me, Étienne. Come on, you know you can tell me. Aren’t we supposed to be friends and try to talk about stuff?” Edward tried to keep his tone even, but it was starting to get to him. Why was it that Étienne could write five page letters going on about his feelings for other people, about his heartaches, and about his fears, but when they were together, he caged up and remained tight lipped?

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Étienne snapped and then winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he was tired of feeling left out, tired of feeling unwanted and tired of getting pity from the rest.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” Étienne mumbled, looking back at his drink and then the window. He played with the straw for a moment, while Edward studied him.

Edward felt he was at the surface of the issue and if he could just get a good grip on it, then he would finally get Étienne to tell him what had been troubling him. And it wasn’t just now. He’d noticed it in the tone of the letters. Edward had read enough of Étienne’s letters to be able to pick up on his moods and state of mind from the words he wrote and those he didn’t. Étienne was sitting on something and he was being a rightful pain about it. The story was starting to get annoying and Edward was this close to tossing it all aside. If Étienne wanted to be a petulant child, then that was on him. No one could reproach him for not trying.

“Look, I’m sorry I was harsh, but you are my friend.” Edward started again, after a lapsed silence. “I’m just worried. You haven’t seemed yourself as of late. Are you okay?” He asked again, softer. He tried catching Étienne’s gaze, but his friend’s usually bright green eyes were dull and guarded. He had seen that look too many times to know that whatever was troubling Étienne wasn’t new. In fact, it had probably festered into something of gargantuan proportions and was keeping him up at night. But Edward couldn’t read minds so either Étienne tell him, or he was leaving.

“It’s fine.” Étienne dismissed the rest of Edward’s question and another uncomfortable silence would have settled between them, had it not been for their food that arrived at that specific moment.

Thankful for something to do with his hands and also famished, Edward tucked into his meal and started putting a good dent in his sandwich. At least he had that. It gave Étienne a chance to mull over his thoughts. If he chose to say anything, Edward would be more than glad to listen, but if not, he was done trying.

They ate in silence, Edward took his time eating, not knowing what to say, while Étienne played around with his food, another warning bell going off his in head. Sometimes he truly wished he didn’t care so much for Étienne. It would be easier. Especially when Étienne was being a bitch about it. Seeing Étienne so clearly unhappy chagrined him, but Edward had learnt a long time ago that he couldn’t help Étienne if Étienne didn’t want to be helped.

He was seriously considering faking an emergency call when Étienne broke the silence he had placed them in.

“Do you regret me?” He asked, quiet, his voice trembling a little. For a moment, Edward wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly, or that Étienne had even addressed him, but when he looked at him, his eyes were heavy with emotions Edward didn’t want to recognise. There was a storm there, a proper maelstrom brooding that threatened to swallow him hole and unravel the careful thread of their fragile reconnection, if he went about this the wrong way.

“What?” He asked dumbly. He knew it wasn’t the right answer, but so shocked was he that his brain needed a moment to process things.

“The time we spent together, do you regret it?” He asked again.

Edward knew the answer. He didn’t even have to think about it, but he was so surprised by the seemingly out of the blue question that he faltered and couldn’t formulate the words. The small hope Edward had spied in Étienne’s eyes quickly disappeared, leaving mere anguish than anything else.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Étienne mumbled. He reached for his walled and took out a crumbled twenty, placing it between their dishes, before getting up. If he could make a hasty retreat, perhaps he could save whatever dignity he had left.

No. This wasn’t ending this way. He was done with miscommunication. He was tired of being the bad guy. He’d gotten enough messages from Élyse. Emma hadn’t gotten off his case for literal years. This wasn’t going to come back to haunt him again. He wasn’t alone in this. “Wait. Étienne, where are you going?” Edward reached for Étienne’s arm and tugged him back towards his seat. “Give me a chance here; you can’t just ask a guy if he regrets spending twenty years with him and then leave. You caught me by surprise.”

Étienne wordlessly sat down and stared at him, waiting.

“I don’t regret you. God – I’ve never regretted you. Just because things didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean I wished it didn’t happen. I would have left a lot sooner if what we had didn’t appeal to me.”He started, trying to convey the right things to Étienne. Wanting him to understand. Wanting to smash his face on the table at the same time. How could Étienne think such a thing? Christ, twenty-fucking years. An entire lifetime worth of friendship. How shallow did Étienne think he was? “We had a good run. We had some great years and even though I wouldn’t do half the things we did anymore, I do cherish the time we had together.” He added.

“Then why did you – why couldn’t you... be yourself with me?” Étienne finally asked. Edward blinked and looked at him long and hard. No matter how many years he had spent with Étienne, the other still managed to throw him for a loop every now and again. This was apparently one such moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Edward. Why didn’t you tell me about your hobbies? Your love of cooking, or your strange, albeit endearing, teacup collection? Why did you shut me out? Why did you lie to me?”

Oh.

Oh so this is what this was about? Étienne was going down that road?

Edward gave a short, incredulous laugh, but then stopped when he realised Étienne had been quite serious. “For the same reasons you didn’t let me into your life.” If they were going to air out their dirty laundry, well Edward figured he could do Étienne the service of giving back just as good.

“But I –” Étienne started protesting, before Edward silenced him with a look.

“You let me in parts, Étienne. You may have opened up about certain things, but there was always more in that beautiful head of yours. It was always one third of a truth for two truths of a secret. I can’t read your mind. I never did and never could. You may have thought you were obvious with whatever it was that was going on inside your head, but you weren’t. You never were. We did it for the same reasons – or at least, that’s what years of thinking about this have led me to believe.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. It would be too easy to get angry and say hurtful things that he wouldn’t be able to take back later. He was angry, sure, hurt absolutely, but he didn’t hate the man. “We were afraid. And if you weren’t, then I most certainly was.”

He’d never had the luxury Étienne had had to be himself. He’d tried once and it had backfired on him. Spectacularly. And the fear of it happening again, despite what he was told, had stayed, in one shape or form, for a long time. He didn’t live on the same cloud Étienne had seemed to be on and sometimes, it felt as though Étienne just didn’t get it. He couldn’t just flip the finger and move on. Did Étienne really think he would have lived this way if he could have? Did he think he enjoyed being this way?

“I was afraid you wouldn’t find me interesting, the moment you would know of the less exciting aspects of my personality. Put yourself in my place; I was a nobody and all of a sudden, you, Mister Personality himself, had taken an interest in me. I was shocked as much as I was flattered, but I also knew your type and felt I had to live up to that.” He started. If Étienne wanted a fight, then he could deliver. “I thought I was a curiosity to you, or some pity case/social experiment, at fist. But when you kept inviting me over and showing me around, I realised there had to be a bigger interest and I didn’t want you to grow tired of me. I didn’t want to bore you with the quieter aspects of me.” For so long, for so many years, he’d always wondered why it was that Étienne had kept him around. They’d grown in different directions, had different interests, and yet Étienne came back to him, and still he’d wondered when his friend would cut the tie and tell him that it’d been fun, but enough was enough.

“Think about it – for one moment, just think. You kept on going about no strings attached, sex for the sake of sex, about getting bored quickly, the comments you made about the things you found boring, of mundane things, of hating certain things – how the fuck did you think I would feel? When I thought some of those were interesting?”

Étienne looked at him, surprised, “I don’t know man, did it ever cross your mind that maybe I valued you as a friend? That I genuinely cared about you? That I stayed with you because I thought – I think – you’re a cool person? Or, d’you also think that I was too shallow to feel anything? Cause, I did – I did find you interesting. I – I l- you were important to me. You still are. I don’t understand why it had to end and I don’t understand how you could think – how you could still think you meant nothing to me.” He was angry. He was hurt. He had buried these feelings a long time ago, but it seemed Edward wouldn’t let him go about this.

Edward sighed. Sometimes, Étienne could be rather thick headed and a little naïve. “I didn’T think you were shallow, but sometimes... sometimes it was hard to tell what you really thought. Like I said; there was always more going on inside your head than you cared to share. I couldn’t guess everything you felt or your motivations behind your actions. You hid behind your deflections and I couldn’t play your games anymore – didn’t want to. I felt we both wanted two different things.”

“I wanted to be with you.” Étienne said with conviction. Spat it out and let it fall between them, somewhere with the sugar packets and the paper napkins. He looked right at Edward, straight into his hazel eyes and the determined flicker in them was enough to unsettle him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Edward wanted to laugh again. Étienne really needed to get better with his timing. And delivery.

“And how the fucking hell was I even supposed to know that?” He asked bitterly. Sure, Étienne had been nice to him. He’d been friendly. There were many times when Edward had wondered if any of the myriad of things Étienne had done could mean more, but then within the same breath he’d say or do something else that would contradict everything and make him question it all.

“What if – what if I had said something back then? Would it have changed things? Maybe if you had actually believed in us – maybe if you hadn’t always hated yourself so god damned much – maybe if you hadn’t been so fucking cynical you could have seen some of the good in it all, but I guess you were too important for good things to happen to you. Better go off on a pity party than to take a fucking chance!” He continued as if he hadn’t heard him, going off now that he had started, letting it all out now so that he could regret it later. Regret and feel terrible and hate himself for it.

Edward sneered at him, a violent thing. It was one thing knowing your faults. It was another thing when your best friend (former best friend? Former lover?) called you out on it. It was something else when you were called out on it with so much hate and hurt. After so long. He’d spent the last two decades working on himself – trying to be better, because he knew that he’d let self-doubt taint his life for too long, but he hadn’t been the only one at fault. Étienne hadn’t been all peaches and cream either.

He wondered how many times it was that Étienne could give him whiplash in one sitting.

“Yeah, well, lucky you things didn’t work out then. Now you’re not stuck with a loser like me. And I guess we’ll never know for sure if it would’ve worked out if any of us had said anything back then. After all, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t have bolted the other way had I said anything. There’s no use mourning for a life we never had. Things happened the way they did and now you need to move past whatever missed opportunity we may have had, no matter how much it hurts.” They both had to, really, but maybe if he said it aloud it would actually happen.

He sighed, took a moment to breathe.

This had not gone the way he’d expected it to. Or the way he’d wanted it to.

And here he thought they’d been making progress.

But then again....

Had they ever even tried to address the multiple elephants in their room? Maybe it was best if they had this fight now, when they were still trying to rebuild. Maybe they would be stronger for it in the long term. There was still so much more that needed to be addressed. This had been nothing but a surface scratch.

One thing he knew for sure was that as much as it had felt a little bit good to lash out, he knew he’d feel bad later on and that he didn’t want to leave Étienne on such a sour note. He supposed he preferred the little progress they had made over the years of radio silence.

“I’m sorry,” Étienne’s voice cut through his silent musings and Edward looked up to the other’s face. Edward could see the storm brewing in the other man’s eyes, but he waited to see what else Étienne would say, not trusting himself just yet. “I guess you’re right – we both held back, we both could have done things differently, and at the end of it all, neither of us did. I shouldn’t have gone off like that...” Edward waited, he could tell there was more Étienne would say. “I’m sorry I doubted you – I guess I just – I – fuck,” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, bumping his glasses off his nose, “If we’re trying to be more honest or whatever, I guess the point is that I missed you – I miss you and I want to be friends, I really do.”

Edward studied his face as Étienne fell quiet. There were no tricks here and he sounded genuine. Maybe he was being a fool, maybe he was being hopeful, but he took a chance. He wanted this to work as well. Therefore, on a rather bold move from his part, Edward reached over for Étienne’s hand instead and gave it a long squeeze. The fact that Étienne didn’t pull away was already something and it reassured him in so many ways.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself.” Étienne murmured, finally, after a beat. Edward squeezed his hand and was relieved when Étienne squeezed his back.

“I’m sorry too.”

There was still more they needed to discuss and Edward could tell that Étienne was holding back on some things, but maybe it was better not to push for the time being. Maybe they both needed a little more time and he supposed there would always be the letters, where Étienne would keep on opening up, one page at a time. And if Étienne ever did want to actually talk, he would be ready to listen. Until then, this would have to do.

FIN 41

Started writing: April 22nd 2017, 3:58pm

Finished writing: April 22nd 2017, 5:22pm

Started typing: May 5th 2017, 3:37pm

Finished typing: May 5th 2017, 5:07pm

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #projocanondoko #perfect cities #fic

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kaioken16 · 5 years ago

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We Need to Talk (Mallek Week Day 4)

Day 4: Mallek working through his feelings for someone (in any quadrant) or write how Mallek dies.

I tried to think about how to write this one, the idea was in my head but difficult to put into words, but I got there eventually. Choosing the first prompt I wrote this piece about Mallek trying to figure his feelings for Zack (My OC) after learning the other has feelings for him. I’ve also attached a google doc link with the pesterlog section in color and text. Please enjoy the read!!!

Word count: 2036 Rating: for everyone Characters: Mallek Adalov, OC

Mallek was sitting on his couch, he was just staring at his palmhusk. Tightly holding some device with both hands. A look of stress was spread across the troll’s face. On the screen he was staring at his trollian app, grumbling his frustration he just tossed the device aside. Grabbing a pillow, he then loudly groaned into it. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just talk to Zack. Why was this difficult to express? Thinking about the human, his cute adorable face. Those golden eyes, his smile… See. It was SO easy to think about and let the thoughts run around in his mind, but write or physically speaking to him.

His feelings had been compromised, and complicated now after learning how the other felt about him. It was worse since it was eavesdropping, technically. After a party, he was halfway between consciousness and sleep, and Zack was talking with Diemen about Mallek thinking he was passed out, and during this conversation, the human shared with Diemen his romantic feelings for Mallek, and he that was in love with him. Of course, Mallek was shocked and had to remain silent while they were speaking. That was a few days ago, and since then he had been awkward around Zack, and he had been trying to message Mallek, but the cerulean had been avoiding his messages.

Of course, this wasn’t the right course to go about this… Zack might take it the wrong way or think he had done something wrong to offend Mallek. But Zack could never do that to him, and he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings by ignoring him. Zack had told Diemen that even though he had feelings for Mallek he didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship or make things awkward. Too late for that. But again, he heard something that wasn’t supposed to. Mallek was confused about how to approach this, and couldn’t keep dodging Zack forever since the other could just as easily come straight to his hive. The silence was broken by the notification noise from his palmhusk, he knew they were from Zack. Sighing, he grabbed his device. Preparing himself, he began typing a response to the other.

--previous messages-- --sent last night at 23:25-- GL: Mallek are you okay! GL: Has something happened, you haven’t responded to me. GL: Have I done something? Have I upset you or are you seriously lost in your coding?? XD GL: If that’s that case, then I just wait until you’re done. Reply when you can. --sent 5 hours ago-- GL: Okay this is really weird… What’s going on? Have I done something? --sent 2 hours ago-- GL: Please answer me, I’m getting really worried about now. GL: Dude. I will come over to your hive. --sent 5 minutes ago— GL: MALLEK!

--snakeBytes [SB] began trolling GallantLuminescent [GL]-- SB: hey zack; GL: Hey? Hey? What the fuck has been going on?! Why have you been ignoring me, what did I do?! What’s wrong with you, are you hurt? Did you lose your palmhusk? You don’t respond for days and then just reply with “hey zack;”!!! SB: sorry; i apologise; i didn’t mean to hurt you by ignoring you; SB: sorry for making you worry about me; it wasn’t just you bro, i’ve been off the grid from everyone for a bit; i just needed some space from everything; SB: i should’ve given you a heads up; forgive me?; GL: Alright… GL: I can understand you needing some space, and yeah, a heads up would be nice. I thought something had happened to you. Sorry if my messages were starting to annoy you. SB: ah it’s all good; you could never annoy me; it’s cute that you worry about me; GL: Oh, good you’re back to normal (-_-) SB: :P; SB: hey; have you got time to come over for a bit?; SB: there’s something i kinda wanna need to talk to you about; but like face to face; SB: it’s important; so you can understand why i’ve been distant; GL: Yeah, I was gonna come over when you weren’t replying, I can be there within the next twenty minutes or so. GL Is everything okay? SB: yeah; yeah; don’t panic it’s nothing life-threatening; but; we need to talk; GL: Alright. I’ll see you in a few. SB: yeah; see you soon; --snakeBytes [SB] ceased trolling GallantLuminescent [GL]--

Mallek felt better, finally replying to the other relieved a little of the tension. But when Zack arrives, it’s gonna be even more awkward with him standing there in front of him. What was he gonna talk about? Was he gonna tell the other that he heard about his conversation and he knew about his feelings. He was gonna tell him how he felt… How did he feel? Thinking about it, the cerulean honestly had never considered if his feelings would develop for Zack.

But after spending all this time with the other, becoming closer, a strong friendship. Sure, Zack was one of the few people he was flirty with, he felt comfortable to lower his guard around the human, and vice versa, Zack, in the beginning, had been reserved, guards raised up, always looking over his shoulder. Now he was at a point where he could just fall asleep beside Mallek and not be on high alert. Zack felt safe with him…

And he felt safe with the other, thinking back to more of their tender moments, the pair weren’t always subtle about their mutual attraction, joking, flirting, and Mallek teasing the other. Cutting out the bullshit, right down to it Mallek did have feelings for Zack. He liked him. But it was just difficult to express it into words. He needed more time. He couldn’t keep Zack hanging on by threads and he wanted to give a proper answer.

He likes Zack but was he ready to be in a relationship with him? Is Mallek boyfriend material? feelings aside would a red relationship between him and Zack actually work. Shaking his head to the sides, he was thinking too far ahead about this. At that time, hearing his door knocking, jumping out of his seat, quickly approaching his door. Taking a deep breath, Mallek opened the door to Zack, dressed in his varsity jacket zipped up, jeans and boots.

When their eyes met, Mallek gave the other a half-hearted smile. “Hey, Zack.” He simply said.

“Hi…” Zack returned with an awkward smile, the troll then gestured for the human to come on in which he did, stepping inside with Mallek closing his door.

“I would say sorry about the mess, but you’re used to I-” His attempt to make small talk was cut short when Zack without warning threw his arms around Mallek, hugging him from behind.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Zack had buried his face into the back of Mallek’s shirt, his voice was muffled a little, but the cerulean blood could make it out. Just his cheeks were blue, blushing from the other’s embrace.

“I really had ya worried for me huh?” Mallek looking back at the other, he couldn’t help but smile at him. Just then Zack let go of the other, he felt a tad flustered, rubbing the back of his head.

“S-Sorry about that… So, what was it that you needed to talk about?” Curious to know what Mallek wanted to talk about, the other then gestured for Zack to sit down with him.

“This is kinda hard for me to express, but… You need a clear answer from me.” Looking down into his hands, occasionally looking at Zack.

“So, I kinda, sort of… Overheard your conversation with Diemen. Back at the party, when you guys thought I passed out… I wasn’t.” Mallek’s words were awkward, hesitating with each sentence. Zack at that moment had to process what the other was referring to, and upon realising it, his face went dark with blush.

“Y-You… You were eavesdropping on us?” This surprised him as Mallek wasn’t the type to do that. The troll started waving his hands frantically in a defensive manner.

“No, no, no! Not intentionally. I was about to pass but then I heard my name, and then I felt awkward, so then I just kept still and waited until you were done.” Mallek explaining to the other. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I couldn’t help it…”

“Wow this is really uncomfortable. So how much did you hear?” Zack nervously asked, Mallek was able to look the other the eye, awkwardly chuckling.

“Haha… I wasn’t listening to every detail, just what you said about me… That I make your heart beat faster.” Zack put his face into his hands, hiding his blushing face.

“Oh god.” His voice muffled in his hands, this wasn’t happening. He wanted to die right there.

“I was avoiding you, but it was because I felt awkward knowing about this… But also, I needed to think about where my own feelings are on this.” Mallek gently placed his hand on Zack’s shoulder, smiling.

“I wanted to explain to you how I feel about it, and you… But I was struggling with how to go about it, and I kept hitting a wall. Again, I should’ve messaged earlier, so my bad.” The awkwardness in his voice was gone, reassuring the other.

“I like you Zack.” Mallek simply told him, making Zack look up at him. “You’re a really good guy.”

“It’s a lot of fun being around you, and I learned so much from you. Stuff about the sessions, my powers, and the world, and life beyond Alternia.” The cerulean turned to face the other.

“I really love how kind you are too… You’re so strong, even though you have your own demons. You keep moving forward, carrying others.” Listing all the things he liked about Zack was making the human’s face blush even more.

“You make me smile, I feel comfortable around you. I don’t have to put a façade around you, we are at a point where I can share things with you.” Mallek reaching out slowly, his hand resting over Zack’s.

“I don’t wanna string you along, or give mixed signals… I like you too, but I’m ready to initiate a relationship/quadrant with you.” Zack’s expression changed for a second, disappointment, confusion, but he understood.

“Yet.” Mallek added. “With everything hanging over us, my life, your mission, and the game. It isn’t the best of times, the extra-long distance too since you're often off-planet.”

“So, after we're at a more stable point with our lives… We can go on a date and go from there.” Mallek said, smiling at him. Hearing that made Zack light up.

“Is that okay?” Mallek asked the other who just shook his head. “That’s absolutely fine.” Zack answered chuckling nervously with Mallek laughing with him.

“I’m willing to try this. I… I want to.” Mallek squeezed Zack’s hand, the other holding his hand tightly too.

Later on, the two were playing one of Mallek’s games, mashing buttons on their controls, with the troll deliberately trying to knock Zack’s arm to throw him off his game. Both of them laughing and just having a good time, back to normal. Mallek was also looking at Zack from the corner of his eyes, the other focused on the game. His cheeks dusted a faint blue shade of blush, smiling warmly at him.

Zack could understand where Mallek was coming from. He wasn’t expecting them to just start a loving relationship there and then. But his answer still surprised him. They needed time, it took time for them to build a friendship and to trust each other as partners in the game. So, a romantic relationship would take as much time, love takes time, and it takes effort.

With their individual lives, with Zack trying to pilot the ARK, always at the different point of the universe, Mallek’s plan with the drones, learning about his session. And he didn’t want to confess to Mallek and possibly damage their friendship, but the other had the same feelings for him. Just to a different degree to Zack, and that was okay.

#mallekweek2020 #mallek week #mallek week day 4 #mallek adalov #hiveswap #homestuck #hiveswap friendsim #fanfiction #zack daemon (oc)#oc x canon #fanfic #HS fanfic #my writing

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ortegatrash · 5 years ago

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The Farm Sucks

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride

Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty/death, mistaken for suicidal, implied past sexual abuse and general abuse, memory problems

You were always a bit more defiant than the rest.

It got you punished, and you reveled in it. Because any attention was good. Because it stopped them treating you like you were nothing to them, you would rather being scorned and hated than to be nothing. They were everything, they were your world because you had nothing else and you wanted so badly just to matter.

Every time you tried to escape, they would take you and wash you down with a hose. They took pleasure in forcibly shaving your head and branding you where people couldn't see, like livestock. To prevent lice, they said. There's a patch at the back of your head that doesn't grow hair anymore because of the way they hurt you for their amusement.

A toy isn't satisfying if you can't get emotionally invested in it, after all.

You hate them for everything they've done to you, all the ways they used you and took joy in your suffering. You're never going to be a nobody again.

To complete your transformation you had enlisted Ortega's help in picking out a wardrobe. It meant enduring his delighted teasing and questioning about if there was someone in your life you wanted to impress but you think it was worth it. If he's going to be vain, you might as well take advantage of his expertise.

You're gonna dress well and look good in it, dammit.

And look good you do. Even Ortega was impressed, you certainly have cleaned up nicely since you started working out again and taking care of your appearance. Sharp tailored suits and tasteful, bold signet rings, just the tiniest hint of something a little wicked and dark lurking under the surface.

Now you look like someone worthy of respect. Someone dangerous. Someone who has the money and power to make life very difficult for people who dare crosses you.

Maybe it's a little over the top, but you even got a nice throne gilded with gold leaf put into your base to lounge upon. What's the use of having everything if you can't indulge?

Besides. All the gold and velvet makes your inner child happy.

You certainly look the part of a mob boss by now with treasure hoard of jewellery and enough jewelled rings on your fingers for your minions to kiss they can choose from every colour of the rainbow.

You've got decades of being a tool to overcompensate for and really indulge your vanity. Growing your hair long in a middle finger to The Farm- no more uniform military cuts for you, no exposed barcode on the back of your head.

No more denial of your individuality.

---

It's not all easy. Los Diablos is built on suffering and you refuse to be the victim any longer.

If they won't fight fair, why should you?

...It shouldn’t bother you. Doesn’t, really. They mean nothing to you, these people. They exist only to be something to envy - didn’t someone say once that ignorance was bliss?

It must be nice to be so thoughtless and empty-headed that you can’t see the poison that runs through the city. It’s in the streets, the very veins of Los Diablos - this whole filthy place is sick.

The footbridge creaks as you step upon the rusted metal panels, otherwise deserted. Humans like mindless ants swarm the trains below, a steady flow, a pattern that goes unbroken and unquestioned.

It makes you snort.

How easy it would be to crush them all, just like the ants they look like.

How easy it would be to find someone unscrupulous enough to rig up a bomb with your contacts. How easy it would be to talk your way into restricted areas and plant them all under their very feet.

You’ve had enough experience to know that while explosions and destruction are amazing and fun in the moment, somehow the victory feels hollow. Because it doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just no real point in the short-term serotonin rush that comes with petty destruction, especially if no one of actual worth is watching.

Besides, you...you have standards. You’ll only kill those who get in the way, not innocent civilians.

There’s a strange feeling of dread when you think about it. Making your first kill. Makes you hold your breath as you lean against the shaky railing and watch the giant metal murder machines go by underneath you. Or, well, trains, but they could run someone down just as well as you could just because someone got in the way.

And yet. And yet all you want to do is ravage the world that fucked you so hard.

Who knew it would be so hard to remain cool and collected with power when all you want to do is bring the city to ruin and delight in its ashes?

To see them bow and cower before you as you take over this hellhole?

Fuck, that’s a sexy thought.

“Hey, you doing alright, man?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts. Who?

A man stares at you, dark hand extended out and barely visible in the fading light. He’s treating you like a stray cat that he doesn’t want to scare off.

Oh.

He thinks...he thinks you’re going to jump.

The sigh that escapes you doesn’t fail to catch his attention. “I know life can be hard, but this isn’t-”

It’d be so much easier if he weren’t trying to help. That’s why you swallow your annoyance and impatience and paste on a charming smile. It’s almost reflexive by now to twist his confusion and concern into remembering he was going to be late for his train, why did he just stop just now?

You watch the man sprint down the stairs and miss it by seconds, cursing his inattention. Something in you drives you to reach across mentally, to push that frustration aside. Push it into awe and surprised appreciation at the setting sun behind you, it’s been so long since he stopped to appreciate the world, he knows how it feels to feel hopeless and alone, that’s why he stopped to help-

Help who?

-A silhouette bathed in red, gazing down at the tracks below-

No! you frown and push harder, concentrating on a proper distraction. Fix this problem you just created for yourself. Send out your senses - who could you use? Hm, there’s a young lady by the ticket machine, failed her nursing exam and doesn’t know how to break it to her family. Yes, strengthen that thread - what is she going to do with herself, they’re going to be so disappointed in her. If only she had someone to talk to, a friendly ear, someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t judge.

Tears, she visibly droops and starts trembling. There’s no one else around except the retiree who’s fallen asleep and the cleaner who’s already disillusioned enough with life that he would just tell her to suck it up.

Yes, that’s right. Sob loud enough for him to hear. He blinks, suddenly taking notice of the girl behind him and losing hold of the muddled confusion that he’d just forgotten something.

There’s something very satisfying in being able to do something like this, you think, watching the girl break down in tears as the man comforts her. As they both are strengthened ultimately by the interaction despite the circumstances that brought them together. The way she tearfully leaves her number in the phone of the blushing man.

It’s all played out just like you imagined.

How...predictable.

---

4am is perhaps more familiar to you than 4pm.

The world is quiet. A still moment in black and white, just like out of those film noir clips.

You breathe in the smoke and imagine your life was as romantic as the films made it out to be.

You have the tailored suits. The tattoos on your knuckles, the underlings to do your every command.

They don't talk about the messiness of seeing life leaving the world in your hands, evaporating like the heat of a cooling body in the snow. A morbid picture, painted in red.

They don't talk about the distasteful things, like evacuating their bowels, the frightening things people will stoop to when brought to their lowest. When you see what people are when you strip away the veneer of civilisation from them and you're left only with a terrified beast.

The way their bodies jerk to the ground reminds you of it, sometimes.

Snowball, you called her. You'd been curious, wary of her at first. Her twitchy nose and soft ears fascinated you but the handlers were watching and you didn't want to risk messing up so soon after last time.

Your mission was to take care of her. A trial bodyguard mission for a defect-filled asset that wasn't much of an asset at all. They were starting to get impatient with you, you know - it was a thin line between daring enough to get away with it and ending up being made 'redundant'.

So you just stood there. Stared at her, munching contently at her carrot.

"It's not going to bite you." The new handler is different from the others. You call her Red for her hair, it's not like they ever identify themselves to you. She doesn't scream at your uselessness when you don't react to their satisfaction, she doesn't get distracted by a colleague and leave you abandoned in a dark room for nine hours because she forgot to put you away.

You still hesitate - does she want an answer? Does she want you to take the initiative? Does she just want you to follow only her stated orders, is this just a test?

You can't tell and that frustrates you.

Reading their minds is forbidden unless expressly stated, but she's tapping her pen impatiently like she's expecting you to draw the real orders from her brain.

What to do. What to do?

Remain obedient and only react to what she commands you to do? Or make a move, taking the guess that it's what she actually wants from you? It's a gamble on what will get you punished.

...To hell with it. You don't care anymore.

Wordlessly, you step over to the rabbit and kneel down.

Looking back up at her gives you no clues - no changes in expression that would reveal approval or disapproval. That...you're probably okay for now, it seems.

Probably.

Her fur is so incredibly soft under your hand. It feels like you could break her if you accidentally mishandled her.

It's the first thing you ever have for yourself and you love this little creature that is so dependent on you and looks up at you with such dark, trusting eyes.

---

Red encourages you to get familiar with the clients.

So you make sure to practice her orders. And, well, if you spend more time than you need brushing her fur and calming her when she's stressed, that's confidential information between you and your 'client', isn't it?

---

The newest training mission briefing reads as follows:

Your client is revealed to be a mole working for the enemy. Dispatch of them personally.

You're punished severely for acting out and getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking out of the facilities, but Snowball gets safely past the fence once you distract the dogs into attacking you instead of her.

---

For your disobedience, you're made to dispose of newborn rabbits while they watch.

---

They punish you for sobbing afterwards.

---

They also punish you for assaulting Red for putting you through that.

---

The dogs always get you when you run. You're not as fast as a rabbit.

---

You lose track of the punishments.

---

Sometimes you forget. You can't help it, they teach you lessons and you keep forgetting and they just get so angry at you

It's better than the darkness

It's better when they're mad, because it's better than being forgotten

You hate being forgotten and you hate forgetting, one day you are going to forget yourself and that's the worst thing of all

You don't even know why they're angry with you but you wake up one day with dried blood on your hands and that handler that touched you never appears again

Red is so pleased with you though that it doesn't matter. "That's right, little one, you are mine," she tells you. "No one else will ever touch you in my care."

No one else.

---

She makes sure of it.

---

They keep teaching you lessons for all your disobedience and you, you keep on doing it all over again

---

Red's not so new a handler anymore, but they never give you their names. Why would they introduce themselves to a thing?

She's still just Red. She says she loves you and asks you to say it back.

It feels weird on your lips.

---

She gives you a kiss on the forehead for following orders and being good for once.

You despise her. You love her. She's the first one who ever cared about you as a person - even if only to be cruel to you.

---

You're not a rabbit. You can't run.

No. You are a lion, you will be the one others run from.

Red's the first one you ever kill, you let her live up to the name you gave her and she is just as red on the inside as on the outside

And you cry, cry, and keep on crying because you're so relieved and so heartbroken and you will never understand why you still love her. You don't even know her real name.

"I didn't mean to," you whisper into your pillow, because without her you're so lonely.

But you do. You did. You still do, because you hated her as much as you adored her.

---

You let yourself forget. Let yourself smile, smirk, put all your ruthlessness and charm that they taught you to good work.

You don't want to remember and yet. You still don't want to forget.

---

Your past seems to be catching up to you these days. This time you won't ever be so weak as you once were. They broke you, reforged you, made you into a weapon of their choosing.

And now that very weapon will be turned back on them.

"So. Pride. You are newest rising star in town, I hear."

You let yourself paste on a serene, pleasant smile. "Oh? Have people been talking about me?" you inquire. That's good to know, it pays to know your position within underground circles so you know where you stand. Where you can bargain from. "Why, I'm flattered."

His own answering grin is too cruel, too rough, unrefined. Not as proficient in the whole act of it like you are. "They also mentioned you were a vain narcissist who talks too much."

Your mood shifts to irritated annoyance internally; your face is placid. Friendly. It wouldn't do to show any weakness to a potential enemy. "How strange," you murmur. "Perhaps they have me confused with someone else."

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." And now to the threatening tone already. How predictable. "You see, we wanted to give you a little welcome, from us locals here. Want us to be good neighbours, yeah?"

Your noncommittal noise encourages the guy to continue. "Just wanted to let you know that we're the ones in charge of this good ol' neighbourhood here, but we're a little old and traditional. Don't want anything shake up what's nice and settled."

"I see."

Because you do. They're warning you not to mess up the status quo.

Too bad you were always a rebel. "Was there anything else you needed, or were you just going to drone on about your Master's stale old knitting club?" You drone out the words, bored of this already.

The smile he returns to you is a little stiff. "Look. We were hoping you were going to join our... Homeowners Association. You'd have to contribute a small monthly fee, but I assure you it'd be worth it. To keep our front gardens lookin' all pretty, see."

"Not really," you tell him, because this little game of coded words and phrases is beginning to bore you.

There's something of a twitch in his eye when you glance over, but the man actually tries to just pretend you didn't say anything and continues. "Right, so, as our newest member of our little association-"

"I didn't say I was joining."

That truly takes him off guard. "I- What?" he blinks. "Mr Pride," he begins, and you have to laugh at the way they haven't even been able to find out your actual name. "You agreed that by moving into this neighbourhood that you would join the , erm, housing association. It's not optional."

"I did no such thing."

You actually manage to break the man's composure. "You do realise if you don't go along with this, there will be consequences?" he hisses.

"I'm not stupid," you tut, peering at your manicured nails. "I'm aware. I just don't care."

The man ends up leaving with a thunderous look on his face as you greet Ortega. A genuine smile to match Ortega's wave.

"What's that? Are you actually talking to people other than me now?" he teases.

"Just a business associate. He kept trying to sell me a scam." You frown a little. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go have lunch, shall we?"

---

They make good on their word.

You aren't going to roll over and show them your belly like their pet dog. Let them think you're nothing but an arrogant little upstart. Let them think they can put you down on their command. Just because you’ve never killed someone personally doesn’t mean you’re not a threat to contend with.

They see the man at the top with the smart suits and the rumble of purred threats, deep and low. The King of the Lions, Pride.

They won't be suspecting the panther stalking the shadows.

---

Simba isn't loud or boastful or broken like Léon is. Not so angry, not so easy to fall to passion.

Simba watches. Simba is patient. Once he's got a target in his sight, he never stops hunting it.

Your mind is quieter when you are Simba, and so are you. You don't need to keep talking to drown out the thoughts in your head.

Silence suits Simba. He doesn't need words to assemble his sniper rifle, his dark skin blending in with the shadows. Doesn't need feelings to peer down the sights and wait for your moment.

Now the only question is, is Simba the puppet here or Léon?

Because you're not sure if you know anymore. You're starting to become unsure of who you really are. In the end...are you nothing more than what you made you?

You really don't know. But Simba doesn't care. All he needs to do, is, well, his job.

A man walks in front of your vision and seals his fate.

You fire.

---

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be visiting her boyfriend.

---

There is a distant gunshot ringing in your ears but you are the one holding the still-smoking pistol.

Which would be all good and well if you could remember why you're here. You try and keep the confusion from appearing on your face as you take in the scene in front of you.

A neat little bullet hole straight to the heart. The woman is scrambling wide-eyed as she attempts to plug the hole. Unable to comprehend what's just happened.

With the amount of blood pooling, it'd be over soon enough from blood loss. But you're not cruel and because of that, you aim your gun once again at her head. At her frozen face, mouth wide open to beg-

And fire.

She falls to the ground like a rag doll.

You don't even know who she is. Was. But you must have shot her for a reason, right?

Couldn't let her suffer. Had to finish the job. You don't feel any hatred for this woman, she must have just gotten in the way. Somehow the blood on your hands doesn't look real when you're wearing your puppet. Simba's hands are darker, more delicate, more slender than yours. Shake less.

Sometimes it bothers you, these little gaps in time. You keep coming back to awareness like this and it's starting to get a little frightening.

You're not supposed to be the one losing control.

It makes your head hurt. You've fought so hard to be something, be a person and then…

You can't even remember half of the things that made you, well, you. You have emotions and fragments and half-remembered bits stripped of their context. A man without a past, like you were plonked down in the world one day half formed.

A puzzle with all the most important pieces missing.

But for now, you have a mess to clean up. Dirty work for a dirty man like you, but Simba doesn't hesitate like Léon does. Doesn't mind the blood crusting under those ragged fingernails, so unlike your own polished, clean hands.

---

You keep waking up in a sweat. Terrified and with no idea why.

There is-

There is blood under your carefully manicured fingernails.

---

The dog park is quiet this early in the morning. Just stare down at your book. Headphones on. Classic 'don't disturb me' look.

It's been ten minutes, you should probably turn the page.

The dogs keep away from you. Maybe they notice your heart rate spiking when they come near. You're not...you're not afraid of them anymore. It's fine.

It has to be. Just...just take in their pure thoughts. There are no dogs, just thoughts, just-

Your first thought is that you're being attacked when you feel something make rough bodily contact with your knee and your body just reacts.

Spoon gives a surprised whimper as your foot makes impact, you’re just trying to stem the panic. It's okay, it's just Spoon, he's not the giant German Shepherds that haunt you.

"Spoon!" Chen barks out, alarmed, a little bit angry. You're not usually this jumpy, you're not usually this bad, you should have seen him coming.

This is too raw to be able to show your face to Chen. That's why you leap up and back off. "Leave me alone, Chen!" you shout, and you hate that you can't control the way you genuinely sound terrified. The unusualness of it makes even Chen frown and look slightly taken aback.

"Léon, what was that just there?"

This is no time to have a panic attack. This is no time to break down. "Just leave me alone, Chen!" you shout. "Stay away from me, keep him away from me!"

You don't turn around to look if he actually does as you ask. You're just trying desperately to flee, over and over and over again, just waiting for the teeth to grab on and bite harshly down on you.

---

You're still waiting for those jaws a few hours later.

---

It's better when they hate you. It's better because you can hate them back, you can lash out and hurt them because you hurt and you just want it to go away

That's why you push them away, because they care. You keep on hurting the people you care about and you're too proud to say you're sorry.

Ortega with his worried eyes and questions left on the tip of his tongue.

Herald, little fly-boy, oh-so-trusting and oh-so-oblivious.

Your crew, your little family you've built up all on your own.

Smirk. Tease. Twist them around your fingers and move them as your pawns. That's how you keep from getting hurt.

You will never, ever, let someone control like that again. Not unless you had planned for them to, not unless you could trust and predict them.

...Stop thinking about Ortega. Stop thinking about how betrayed he'll look if he ever finds out. Stop thinking about how it should serve him right for betraying you and leaving you to die.

Stop thinking about how everything Daniel knows about you is a lie. That you only agreed to train him for your own ulterior motives before he wormed his way into your heart.

Stop thinking about Anathema and the disappointed look on what was left of Themmy's face after…

No.

No, don't.

---

Anathema’s stupid, dumb face won’t leave you alone. Not in your waking hours, not in the silent hours.

Fuck. Fuck’s sake, Themmy. Will you go away if I go and visit you?

No answer. You don’t know what you expected.

---

Anathema’s grave is well tended. The flowers are still fresh.

Your grave is next to his, you know. Your name looks so solemn engraved in such a sober, formal font. Like you were some sort of honoured pillar of the community instead of awkward smiles and messy emotions that spilt out everywhere. Before even those attempts at smiles faded away and all you were left with were the sharp edges that cut into other people’s skin.

The rush of fury at all, all, all this - whatever this is - drives you over the edge. There’s a certain satisfaction in stomping over to your grave and kicking over the flowers. Crushing them underneath your feet.

The same way they crushed you. The same way your bones were crushed on impact.

You’re only vaguely aware of a sense of unease as you pant, too out of it all to focus. There shouldn’t be anyone here to notice you making a scene, what does it matter that you lost your temper?

The mangles mess of stems and petals feel like your life. Something about about it makes you stare. Pause.

Lilies. Your scowl fades away into a genuine frown. Who…?

Ortega knows you’re alive.

That just begs the question, a painful realisation on the tip of your tongue. Who could hav-

-Someone is watching.

Someone is watching you.

The flash of alarm and shock screaming through your brain is the only warning you get.

They knew you were coming-

---

…

….

…..

Anyone watching Simba sleeping wouldn’t notice anything amiss to signify his awakening, no change in breathing pattern, no facial twitches to give him away. For all intents and purposes still all but dead to the world.

The sound of the magpies fighting again outside is too familiar - you recognise them. Feed them on occasion, it gives Simba a reason to be sitting around outside watching the world.

So. Unmoved from his apartment then. Unless they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping the exact same birds, you recognise their own distinct bird calls by now. The one with croak you named Harry. Harry is currently arguing with his rival, Barry, and isn’t as distressed as a bird would be if someone had indeed taken him from his home by force.

Your breathing is steady, keeping your ears peeled for any signs of an intruder. Letting Simba ‘wake up’ naturally like any other day.

...Good enough.

Fling the bedsheets aside and walk to the window, to the blackout curtains. Stop for a moment to observe. No visible threats - but that doesn’t mean anything in this day and age.

The skies are too blue, it makes Simba’s forehead crinkle. Take in the position of the sun, consider the implications of it all.

This can’t be allowed to let stand, after all.

No one will ever get the best of you again.

#fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #spoilers #fanfic #Léon Bellandini (OC)#character study #fic #Pride (OC)#mob boss #what are titles pffft #FH:rebirth #fh:retribution

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wigglywormy · 7 years ago

Text

A Day Off [submission]

I finished this fic WAY FASTER than I thought I would lmao. Also hi it’s me again 8)

Ok so Lee! Kirishima is literally the cutest fucking thing I’m talking like my heart explodes at the thought of it. As much as I love Lee! Bakugo This is just such a cute idea. I love thinking about how much Kirishima loves to laugh and how he rlly likes tickling in general and he just has so much fun with this omg. And his underarms being his most ticklISH SPOT??? YEEEEES. Here u go enjoy ily so much

worms notes: IM CRyING ILY DUDE this was such a gift to wake up to omg. please never stop submitting me fics i love them so much ur such a good writer !!! kirishima is so fucking cute i love this………… so much………. <3333

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, a day off. Heroes in training hardly ever get a chance to rest, but the pro heroes are having a planning-day, which gives their students a full day to do whatever they’d like. Some chose to study, or work out, or practice their abilities as much as possible. But for two specific boys, they decided to spend their day in their dorm room, playing video games.

Actually, it was Kirishima’s idea to stay home and do nothing. Bakugo seemed highly irritated to be cooped up inside. The two sat on the floor, in front of Kirishima’s small T.V. Bakugo picked at a thread coming off of his sock, grumbling to the other.

“We should really be brushing up on our hero work. Instead of doing this dumb shit.” Kirishima grunted as he lost another round on Street Fighter II. He set the controller on the ground and cracked his knuckles, chuckling a little.

“C’mon, Bakugo. It’s a day off! We should really enjoy it while we can.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes somewhat, looking away from his boyfriend.

“The number one hero never gets a day off. That’s why we should stay focused.”

Another round started up, and Kirishima got sucked back into the game. But after a moment, he spoke.

“Look, Bakugo. I completely understand. But you’re already such an impressive guy; I really don’t think just one day off will hurt you.”

Bakugo was used to complements, not that they inflated his ego or anything. Not anymore, at least. He was silent for a minute, before shrugging.

“It’s just not in my interest to sit around. If you wanna waste the day, go ahead. I’m gonna go for a run or somethin’.”

He began to stand up. Kirishima paused the game and watched the other.

“C’mon, Bakugo. Grab the other controller! I’ll be happy to beat you to a pulp in a safe way, this time.”

The blonde scoffed. “I don’t feel like kicking your ass right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Kirishima teased, a toothy grin blooming across his face. “I’ve been playing this game since I was a little kid. I’m a master at it.”

“You’re not master of anything.” Bakugo replied, reaching down to slip on his running shoes. Kirishima stood, stretching his spine out a little.

“Sure I am. You just haven’t given me a proper chance to prove myself yet.” What’s his deal? Was he trying to piss him off? Because it seemed to be working. Bakugo’s eye twitched slightly.

“So the sports festival wasn’t enough of a chance?”

Kirishima frowned. “I’ve practiced a lot since then. C’mon, give me another shot.”

“Right now?” Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “You really want to fight, right now?” Kirishima grinned, shrugging a little. “Sure, why not?” He put up his dukes, giggling. His pure happiness got on Bakugo’s nerves. “In here seems like a terrible idea.”

“But if we go outside, people will see you get your butt kicked by me.” Bakugo’s blood boiled a little.

“You’re starting to piss me off, you know.”

“Aw, relax, Bakugo. I’m just messin’ around. Besides, with a weakness as big as yours, it’s easy to take you down.”

Bakugo froze a little at the word weakness. He turned towards the door, about to forget all this nonsense and just leave, but now he wanted to prove Kirishima wrong more than anything. He sighed, kicking his shoes aside.

“What’ya mean, weakness?”

Kirishima’s smile turned devilish. “Dude, you’re the most ticklish person I’ve ever met.”

Bakugo scoffed again. “That’s not a weakness,” He began, before swallowing thickly at the realization Kirishima was right. He shook his head.

“Look, I already said I don’t feel like kicking your ass right now.” Bakugo replied, beginning to pick up his running shoes again. Kirishima decided he had enough of his grumpy attitude, and snuck up behind him. His fleeting fingers dashed into Bakugo’s sides, tickling him mercilessly.

“Jeez, Bakugo. You should really take my advice and relax for once.” Bakugo instantly jerked against Kirishima’s touch, forcing a yelp down his throat. But he couldn’t stop the tumbling barrel of laughter that followed suit. His laughter was sudden and loud; it even surprised him. One hand slapped across his mouth, shrouding his giant smile, and the other hand angrily pushed at Kirishima’s tickling fingers. The two stumbled back, and Kirishima put one leg between Bakugo’s, attempting to bring him down to the floor.

“See? It hardly took anything to get you laughin’ like this!” Kirishima teased, his fingers making their way to Bakugo’s middle, scribbling at his heaving stomach. His abs were pulled taught, making the tickling sensation even worse. Bakugo sucked in as much air as possible, his palms sizzling against Kirishima’s touch.

“S-Stop it — Y-You fuck!” Bakugo begged, struggling to get out of Kirishima’s grasp. But his hold was as strong as ever.

“Maybe if you admit you’re ticklish, I might consider it.” Kirishima chuckled in Bakugo’s ear, kneading into Bakugo’s ribs again, as the blonde finally doubled over, desperately kicking his boyfriend. This always happens. They’ll be having a normal day, with nothing out of the ordinary. Bakugo would actually be in a calm mood, but Kirishima would do something stupid or annoying that would piss him off. As soon as he shows any kind of irritation, Kirishima would tickle him and say he needs to relax. No matter how hard he tried, Bakugo was simply too ticklish for his own good and always found himself in a pile of laughter. He always had been ticklish, and luckily no one found out until now. Now he can’t escape his own weakness even for a second. That thought alone really switched him into high gear. It was time for some serious payback.

With a small surge of energy, and a little stroke of luck, Bakugo gripped Kirishima’s leg, squeezing his knee.

Kirishima stumbled a little, snickering. “C-Cut that out, it–!” He giggled, “It tickles!”

His knees buckled, and the two tumbled to the floor. Kirishima finally released his grip on Bakugo’s sides, and the blonde didn’t hesitate to mount the other, straddling his hips. Kirishima was taken aback, but still smiling.

“I like where this is going~.” He teased, but Bakugo wasn’t having it. He grabbed Kirishima’s wrists and pinned them above his head, panting.

“I’m really sick of your shit, Kirishima.” He breathed, “Tell me your weak spots so I can fuck you up.”

Kirishima felt his face grow hot, but he knew better than to back down from a fight. Especially a fight with Bakugo.

“Why don’t you find out yourself? It wouldn’t be a fair fight if I just handed you the answer, right?”

Bakugo’s grip on Kirishima’s wrists grew tighter. Shuddering at the ghostly feeling of Kirishima’s tickly fingers attacking his ribs. Finding out sounded good. It sounded really good. He never really tickled anyone before, let alone someone who was willingly allowing it to happen. It pissed him off. His large hand hovered over Kirishima’s middle; the red-haired boy was wearing a skin-tight, cotton T-shirt. It left him wide open. Bakugo couldn’t decide where to start. He wished he knew Kirishima’s worst spot already, so he could really get a taste of his own medicine. He only hoped he was as ticklish as he was. Kirishima watched closely, his sides already tingling with anticipation. Each time Bakugo’s hand got close, he squirmed a little. At one point, His hand got dangerously close, and he started giggling.

“Q-Quit teasing!” he pleaded, his cheeks still red. He knew not to activate his hardening quirk, which would be difficult, but he was all about fairness.

“You’re laughing already and I haven’t even touched you.” Bakugo bit into his lower lip, trying to hide his evil smile. He was actually having fun with this. Finally, his fingers dug into Kirishima’s side, feeling for any ribs that he could wiggle in between. Kirishima yelped a little, trying to worm away from his touch. He giggled, but nothing too loud. So he wasn’t as ticklish as Bakugo was.

Bakugo found himself to be a little disappointed, so he upped the tempo a little. He really dug around, moving lower, curious as to if his hips were ticklish at all. Finally, Kirishima actually began to laugh, struggling a little more.

“Aha- ah, shit!” Kirishima breathed, wiggling beneath the other. It was a good spot, but nothing special. Bakugo switched hands, and began to tickle his other side. Kirishima laughed harder, beginning to wheeze a little.

“No-!” He almost whispered, especially as Bakugo got a little too close to his worst tickle spot. Bakugo seemed to be in deep concentration, eager to find where the hell his spot was. It wasn’t fair, for Kirishima to have a specific spot, but for him to be outrageously ticklish on every square inch of his body. That thought alone pissed him off again.

“Ugh, c’mon! Where’s that fucking spot?” He growled, wishing he had both of his hands to explore faster.

Kirishima lifted his head a little, pushing against Bakugo’s touch.

“J-Just give up, dude,” He snickered as Bakugo pushed his thumb into the hollow of his hip. “Just admit I won!”

“Die.” Bakugo spat, tickling up Kirishima’s sides again. His fingers crawled into the fold of Kirishima’s arm, and he found something wonderful. Kirishima threw his head back, nearly screeching. Bakugo tried not to look excited, as he clawed against his underarm. Kirishima bucked, his laughter roaring.

“NO, NO NO!” He begged, kicking his leg against the floor as hard as he could. That was absolute worst spot. He found it. He was going to die.

Knowing this was going to bring him success, Bakugo finally let go of Kirishima’s wrists, and shoved both his hands under Kirishima’s arms. The poor red-haired boy was laughing so hard, he merely wheezed and weakly squirmed away from Bakugo’s touch. Tears started to stream down his cheeks.

“F-Fuck, stop-!” Kirishima pleaded, pounding his fist against the floor. It was so difficult not to harden himself. He pressed his arms against his sides, bucking again as his laughter nearly shook the walls. Bakugo had a full-on smile at this point, as devilish as ever.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Bakugo actually teased, jabbing his fingers quickly right above Kirishima’s rib cage. The other was practically crying at this point; he could hardly breathe, let alone talk. After a few more moments of basking in this beautiful scene, Bakugo stopped.

Kirishima coughed, catching his breath quickly. “Th-That’s…” He began. Bakugo cracked his knuckles, impatiently waiting for him to finish his sentence. Finally

Kirishima beamed up at Bakugo. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Bakugo seemed surprised. “You’re fuckin’ with me, right? I could’ve killed you.”

Kirishima shrugged. “I mean, I did say I was going to beat you in a fight one day, right?”

“Not this kind of fight.”

“We never mentioned what kind. So yeah, this kind of fight.”

Bakugo at least had the advantage of knowing where his most ticklish spot was. But he had a feeling Kirishima would do something stupid and he’d end up being the one heaving on the floor. But this was also at least satisfying his thirst for revenge. “Suit yourself.” He mumbled, before pinning one arm above Kirishima’s head, and tickling full-force against his underarm again. Within milliseconds, Kirishima was howling, enjoying every second of the sensation. His closeness with Bakugo felt stronger than ever, and so did his grip. He decided a little more time for Bakugo to soak up his feeling of success wouldn’t hurt. After all, the smile on his face was pure enough to cure diseases. His lungs felt like collapsing, and it almost felt like he was going into some kind of subspace whenever he squeezed his eyes shut and laughed with all his might; he saw stars and sparks off light, uncontrollably twisting his body away as much as possible with no means of escaping.

In a word, his day off couldn’t have been more perfect.

#submission #kiribaku #bnha #tickling #I LOVED THIS IVE REREAD IT LIKE 10 TIMES ALREADY THANKS

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severitis-blog1 · 7 years ago

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Cauldrons Aflame - Chapter One

Thunder roared furiously outside, while spontaneous streaks of lightning illuminated the cryptic night sky. In the distance, a solitaire shadow emerged from the Dark Forest. It staggered across the vast land of smog and damp soil, and then up the massive stone steps that led to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus Snape flung open the double doors and swooped inside the Entrance Hall, just in time to miss the rain. It was uninhabited, much to his relief. He had already missed the feast, as well as the sorting ceremony. A grateful sigh escaped his lips. With the students in their dormitories and teachers in their chambers, he was free to maneuver about the castle without having to explain the large, bloody gash that spanned across his chest and abdomen. With the wound's mending charm weakening, he had very little time to spare. He performed a second spell to slow the bleeding, and then ascended the steps to the infirmary.

Standing just outside the infirmary door, Severus took a moment to compose himself. He remembered that an assistant had been chartered for Madam Pomfrey over the summer while he was away on holiday and that he was to, as instructed by Dumbledore, act civil towards the new staff member. Since Voldemort's second rise to power, Albus had thought it wise to employ extra help, as well as double the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Severus could only hope that, for the school's sake, the girl was skilled enough to fill the position; Merlin knows they hadn't much luck with new staff additions, the school having gone through a professor possessed in the back of the head by a decrepit Lord Voldemort, a werewolf, and a deatheater who had impersonated Mad-Eye Moody, all within the past six years. He had yet to meet the new assistant, but was certain her time at Hogwarts would be short lived.

Snaking his fingers around the brass door handle, Severus drew in a deep, pain-filled breath and gave it a light tug.

The room was calm, quiet, save the crackling fire and the melodic sound of glass vials chiming together. His attention was drawn to a young woman, whom knelt in front of an old battered cabinet. Her back was towards him. He watched in silence as she fumbled with several medicine bottles in an effort to organize the cabinet’s shelves.

Leaning against the archway for support, as his body was exhausted from the long journey and aching with pain, Severus cleared his throat to allure her attention. “I need to see Madam Pomfrey at once.”

The young woman jumped in fright, causing the vials to tumble out of her hands and scatter. Scrambling to her feet, she spun around to face him. Severus was greeted by a pair of startling blue eyes, which eased from shock to concern at the sight of his bloody robes. His gaze rose and fell from her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair to her petite body. The girl was wearing muggle clothes, much to his bewilderment; a pair of denim-threaded jeans and snug black sweater. It was unusual for staff to wear anything but traditional wizard attire.

Her voice was soft, dainty. As she spoke, Severus could not help but stare, his eyes drawn to the way her lips carefully formed each word.

“I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey is out. She received an urgent owl a few hours ago—you really should sit down and let me—”

“I see. You must be Miss Bell, then? I hadn't quite expected you to be so young and inexperienced,” he said. “No matter, I suppose I can talk you through the procedure."

He swept past her.

Claira raised a steep, insulted brow. Who was this man to waltz in and pass judgment? For his information, she had spent six years of study at the American Institute for Medical Wizardry, not to mention another two years volunteering at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as a mediwitch. “Professor Snape, is it?” The majority of the staff had already warned her about a shrewd, discourteous wizard in black robes; she could only assume it was he. "I don't pretend to know everything, but I have learned enough to recognize that your injuries were caused by a female Graphorn.”

The slight crease in his brow told her that she was correct in her assumption. “Now, if you'll please, Professor, sit down. Those wounds require immediate attention.”

She retrieved a trolley and headed for the medicine room before he could retort.

When Claira reemerged with the proper remedies and bandages, she found the professor lounging on one of the beds, acting as if the large gash across his chest was nothing more than a simple paper cut. He had already removed his cloak and torn vest, which he had folded and set on the nightstand. She thought it odd that he would even go through the trouble but, as a stranger, she could only assume that he might be an odd person.

As she approached, he propped himself up and attempted to unclasp the remaining buttons on his shirt. She could tell that he was in pain, however trying his best to conceal it. She grinned. It was a classic case of ego-itis. Stopping his hands, she gently turned them over and examined the many wounds that covered his palms and wrists. She then peeled aside a shredded piece of fabric from his shirt and assessed his other injuries. They were not fatal. A mending charm had already been applied, no doubt one he had performed on himself, which had closed most of the torn flesh. She stretched the fabric back further but could not see the full expanse of the laceration.

“I need to remove this, Professor.”

Her fingers reached for the buttons on his shirt and began to undo them. She could sense his heavy, penetrating eyes upon her. She could not help but look up. Her eyes met his. Merlin! She drew in a sharp breath. Claira had never seen such dark, intense eyes as his before; they were frightening, yet somehow captivating at the same time. She quickly lowered her gaze and forced them to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Don't worry, I've done this before,” she assured him.

His voice rumbled, a deep masculine tone. “Cured a Graphorn wound... or unbuttoned a man's shirt?”

Claira’s cheeks reddened.

“I meant that I’ve healed a similar wound,” she said, not daring to meet his gaze again. “And I've also removed other patients' clothing, thank you.”

He narrowed his eyes. "Fascinating, Miss Bell. May I ask then, why you are blushing?”

Claira could feel heat rise from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She was not accustomed to someone being so forward. The man was ruthless. His expression was firm, unreadable. She could not tell if he was flirting or trying to intimidate her.

"Please, call me Claira. And if you think I'm blushing now, just wait until I have to unfasten your trousers!"

She witnessed a slight smirk form at the corner of his mouth but it vanished in a blink, causing her to wonder if she had really seen it.

Unclasping the final button, she gently parted the fabric over his shoulders and then down the full length of his arms. His skin was pale, his chest littered with deep scars magic could not heal. Smooth muscles contoured his lean torso beneath patches of ebony hair. As her hands slid his shirt down to his wrists, her fingers grazed over a large tattoo on his left forearm. She glances down at it—then quickly looked away. It was the Dark Mark. Her pulse quickened. She had never seen one up close before, only in photographs and sketches. It was not so much the image of a snake protruding from a human skull that invoked a sudden sense of uneasiness, but rather what the image symbolized. It was a branding, cast by Lord Voldemort himself on every one of his followers. It was a mark of evil. This man had once been a deatheater, capable of atrocities she could not fathom.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his jaw set. His arm turned as he spoke, concealing the mark.

Claira exhaled a breath. “No, nothing.”

Dumbledore had explained to her, upon her acceptance of her position at Hogwarts, the circumstances of Professor Snape’s past. He had thought it necessary to warn her in advance should a situation arise, such as this one, where she would be faced with the mark and sudden knowledge of his association with the Dark Lord. He had told her that Professor Snape had repented for his mistakes as a young wayward wizard and turned spy against Lord Voldemort, saving countless lives. She had accepted it without question, had not even questioned it, for Dumbledore had a way of earning one’s full trust and confidence with just a few soft-spoken words. He was a wise, old wizard, said to be the most powerful wizard of their time. Why should she question his judgment?

Still, her eyes drifted to his forearm and back again as she dabbed a white cloth in her cleansing solution and began to wipe away the dried blood from his wound.

His muscles tensed on contact, then eased as the healing qualities soaked into his skin.

“May I ask how you came to encounter a Graphorn, Professor?” she asked, impressed that he would dare venture near such an enormous beast. Their horns are massive and deadly, but are also a valuable potion ingredient used to cure uncommon poisons. It would take a courageous wizard to face one alone. Well, either a courageous wizard or a very foolish one.

His eyes cast down at her from above his hooked nose. “No, you may not.”

Claira bit her bottom lip. She could see now how heavily guarded he was, how very intense he could become at any given moment. But he must also be quite adventurous to collect his own ingredients. She could not help but feel curious about him, intrigued. Albeit a bit afraid of him in the same instance. She had never met anyone quite like him before. His tightened jaw quaffed further questions about is private doings, so she held her tongue and continued her work.

Severus remained still, silent while Claira brushed her hands and a warm, soothing cloth across his cold, aching skin. She hummed a soft incantation, sealing the wound as she worked her way down. He found it difficult to keep his eyes from closing at the pleasant sensations they wrought. Madam Pomfrey would never have taken such care; her philosophy was to cause as much torture to her patients as possible, to prevent reoccurring visits. It would have taken a serious matter to draw her away from Hogwarts, which was why he almost felt guilty for enjoying her absence. Almost.

His thoughts abruptly ended when Claira's hands moved to the front of his trousers.

“I'm afraid I've put it off long enough,” she whispered, perhaps more to herself than anything.

Her small, thin fingers fumbled with the clasp, and then again with the buttons. She was careful not to brush her hands against anything she wasn't supposed to but, by doing so, made the situation much more awkward than it had to be.

Severus watched her with amusement. Had anyone entered the infirmary at that precise moment, they would have stumbled upon a very incriminating scene indeed. He, inclined upon the edge of the bed, legs spread, while Claira knelt between them, tugging and pulling vigorously on his crotch to free a snagged button on his trousers. Rumors of their erotic escapades would have passed through the castle halls for centuries.

“I thought you said you've done this before?” Severus smirked inwardly, enjoying her distress.

“I have but, keep in mind, the other patient was over a hundred years old! As you can imagine, I took no pleasure in removing his clothes,” Claira chuckled. “Ah, I see. So am I to believe you are taking pleasure in the removal of mine? If so, then I must say—”

"Please don't!" Claira begged.

It had just been made apparent to her that her words would have to be chosen more carefully around this man. Claira was unable to look him in the eyes, as she was beyond flustered. She was relieved, however, to see that the lesion only extended to just below his navel; she would not have to take off his trousers or venture further into his underpants. Dipping her cloth in the bowl once more, she continued with her cleaning.

“I must thank you, Professor,” she grinned, “for seizing every opportunity you have had tonight to embarrass me.”

She worked throughout the next half hour mending the wound and applying a thick, pasty ointment. Just as she was stretching the last foot of bandage around the Professor's waist, Madam Pomfrey arrived. Her eyes were darkened and weary, adding more age to her already deeply lined complexion. At the sight of them, she marched over with a stern look of ‘What has he done now?’ upon her face.

She inspected Claira’s work, poking and prodding with her wand, peeking beneath the bandages. “What happened?”

“Graphorn attack,” Claira answered, confident in her work. She stood and placed all the loose materials back onto the medicine trolley.

“A Graphorn this time, Severus? Honestly. I’ve never seen a man more eager to meet an early grave.”

He gave her a lazy shrug, no doubt having been scolded by the mediwitch many times before.

“Well, you'll have to remain overnight; the antitoxins will wear off in a few hours and will need to be reapplied.” Madam Pomfrey then turned to her assistant. "I will take over from here, Claira, thank you. You’ve performed brilliantly. Go get some rest—we'll most likely be swamped with first years in the morning.”

“I'm fine, really,” Claira yawned.

“I insist, dear, now off with you!” She shooed her away with the wave of her hands.

Claira had no choice but to obey, unable as she was to come up with a better argument against it. On her way out the door, she overheard Professor Snape say, “Have one of the house elves bring me a dish from the kitchen, Poppy. If I am bound to this wretched bed for the night— which is quite uncomfortable, I must say—I would rather it be done on a full stomach.”

“I think not, Professor. You should have thought about that before you went and got yourself mauled! Let this be a lesson to you, if nothing else. Not that it’s ever done you any good.”

Severus relaxed his head against the metal headrail of his cot and groaned. There was still much to be done in preparation for start of term the next morning, yet he was confined to the infirmary under the stern, watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey. She could morph from the docile demeanor of a puffskein to that of a screeching banshee in the blink of an eye. Over the years he had found it easier to abide by her rules than bother arguing with the woman. He supposed it was his own fault for not tending to his lesson plans before he left on holiday. His sojourn in Sweden, most particularly the mountainous regions where he spent the majority of his time collecting scarce potion ingredients that would have otherwise required a daunting amount of paperwork to acquire from the market, had lasted longer than he had anticipated.

His stomach grumbled.

On the other hand, it was quite unjust that he should be denied a proper meal. He had not had one in days. One does tend to become spoilt on elf cooking, eager as the little creatures are to conjure any cuisine one so desires with the utmost delectation. Hogwarts is home to the most skilled, efficient, and not least to say disciplined house elves in the wizarding world. A luxury he often took for granted.

His stomach gave another grumble. He glanced at the hourglass on his bedside table. It was nearing midnight. His gaze then fell to a folded edition of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper. He picked it up and scanned through it. It was only the entertainment section of the paper, consisting of comics and a crossword puzzle. The crossword puzzle had been partially completed in a swirly, dainty penmanship that he did not recognize. He could only assume that it was Miss Bell’s doing. His forehead creased at the thought of her. He had to admit the girl was skilled beyond his expectation of her. She had a bright mind and a refreshing innocence about her, not to mention a pretty face. He remembered how he had made her cheeks flush a rosy pink color and he smirked, feeling quite pleased with himself. Women did not blush for him. Not often. Not ever. He was not what most women would consider handsome. He was in no denial about that. Perhaps what was a more pressing question was why he had fashioned to try. It was not like him to engage in flirtation of any sort. He did not play nice with others.

The infirmary door creaked opened.

Severus’s hand shot under the pillow for his wand. The hour was late, and it was unlikely that any student had wandered out of their common room and gotten past Filch or his prowling cat Mrs. Norris. It was even more unlikely that a wandering student should have any interest in the infirmary.

Claira poked her head inside.

“Is she gone?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Severus slowly nodded his head.

Claira stepped inside. She had her hands tucked behind her back, concealing something. As she neared, he withdrew his wand from under the pillow and held it at his side beneath the blanket. Where exactly had Albus found her? How much history did he have on her? For all he knew, she could be a spy—or an assassin, sent by Lord Voldemort as punishment for his betrayal.

Shifting his weight, he sat up and met her gaze. There was something calming in her eyes, something kind. He hesitated hexing her.

He allowed her to approach his bed, tentatively, and when she revealed the generous plate of food that she had hidden behind her back, Severus released the tight grip he held on his wand.

His brow arched. “Tisk, tisk, Miss Bell, already undermining authority, are we?”

She grinned.

“I thought you might be hungry, but if you don’t want it I can take it back,” she teased.

Severus accepted the dish, inhaling the delicious aroma of roasted turkey and potatoes. “I’ve already been made an accessory to the crime. I might as well earn the punishment—”

The sound of another door opening silenced him.

Madam Pomfrey whisked inside, looking particularly vexed with unkempt hair and bags under her eyes. Severus shoved the plate beneath his blanket.

“I thought I heard voices in here! Claira, I told you to rest,” Poppy's eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Claira’s eyes widened.

“I... erm... couldn't sleep, so I thought I might check to make sure the Professor's bandages hadn't loosened,” she stammered. Severus rolled his eyes. Slytherin she was not. “They're just fine. Tight. Good. Please excuse me.” Claira fled from the scene, not wanting to be around if the woman discovered her smuggled booty. He couldn’t blame her.

Madam Pomfrey’s gaze then darted at Severus. She began to sniff the air, as if she had just caught wind of something.

A flash of light.

She shook her head, scratched her chin as if she had just remembered to do something important, then briskly walked out of the infirmary without another word.

He, on the other hand, was Slytherin in every sense of the word. He pulled the plate of food out from underneath the blanket and devoured it with zealous.

The next morning…

Severus opened his eyes to a sharp ray of light, cast by the early morning sun. A few choice slurs escaped his lips, as he was not accustomed to such illumination; his sleeping quarters were void of windows. Upon the final curse that rolled off his tongue, he felt a tight squeeze around his midsection. He grunted and glared up at Madam Pomfrey, who now stood over him tugging at his bandages. She glared back at him. Her temper quickly faded, however, as the last stretch of binding was removed. Much to her satisfaction, and his own, the wound was healed.

Poppy then began to ramble on about how wonderful it was to finally have some decent help—not that he did not agree, he simply was not one to engage in frivolous conversation.

He seized the first opportunity he had to interrupt her speech. “Does this mean I am free to go, warden?”

“Yes, you may go,” she scowled, “but keep out of trouble. You are costing this school a fortune in medical supplies!”

She collected the wrappings, ointments, and loose materials, and disappeared into the store room.

Just then, Claira stumbled in. She made a bee-line to the medicine cabinet, where she scoured the shelves for a bottle of Perk-Up potion. She had not slept as well as she would have liked and felt she needed a little boost to start her day. Their stash was running low she noticed, spotting a few doses behind a batch of Skelegrow, and would have to be replenished soon. She plucked the tiny red bottle from the cabinet and popped the cork. The moment she downed its contents her fatigued vanished and a new, revitalizing energy swept over her.

Her attention was then drawn to Professor Snape, who sat at the edge of his bed tugging on his boots. She made her way over to him.

“Good morning, Professor.”

He peered up at her through a thick cascade of raven hair, the tips brushing his jawline. “Miss, Bell.”

He then drew up to his full height, easily towering over her by a foot or so. Her eyes fell to his bare chest. His skin had a slightly red tint to it where the gash had once been. She leaned in closer to inspect her work, gently tracing the outline across his ribs, down his abdomen. His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. Her gaze lifted to his and their eyes locked for a few moments, just long enough for her pulse to begin racing under the intensity of his stare. Claira was the first to break away. She lowered her hands and took a step back.

“Looks like the medicine did its job,” she murmured, admiring the intricate tile patterns on the floor.

“Indeed, it has,” he replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do and very little time in which to do it in.”

Snatching up a clean shirt from the bedside table, brought in by one of the house elves, he tossed it on, slipped into his cloak and then swooped out of the door.

When Severus reached the privacy of his chambers, he retrieved a new set of robes and headed for the bathroom. Inside, he stood beneath the shower's faucet and allowed the hot, steamy water to run through his hair and down his face. His heart beat faster than the wings of a snitch and his skin burned in all the places where Claira's fingers had been. He let out a long, deep growl. He was both surprised and angered by his reaction to her touch. As a man who thrived on control, Severus did not like the strange affect she had on him one bit. Cursing through clenched teeth, he forced the knobs in the opposite direction.

By the end of the day, Claira was truly exhausted. The better part of it had been spent curing at least a dozen first years of boils. The hospital had also received three broomstick injuries and one transfiguration mishap. Madam Pomfrey was still sawing off the girl's horns when Claira made her way down to the Great Hall for dinner.

Upon her arrival, she discovered that the feast had already begun. The room was noisy, crowded and the tables were overflowing with platters of delicious-looking food. Drawing as little attention to herself as possible, Claira took her place at the far end of the staff table, next to the librarian, Madam Pince. She served herself a small ration from each of the surrounding trays and attacked it with her fork, famished by the day's events.

Had anyone been paying close attention to the High Table that evening, they would have noticed Professor Snape's eyes drifting towards the new mediwitch a little too frequently to be considered casual observation. Severus found her utterly fascinating, her feeding habits, the way her tulip pink tongue licked her lips after each bite.

Engaged in an unwavering stare, he watched as she dipped a large, round cherry into a bowl of melted chocolate. The dark cream dripped from the cherry's long, slender stem along its enticing journey to her mouth. With the slow swirl of her tongue, Claira stole a taste. Her mouth then parted in welcome, lips caressing the surface of the chocolate as she glided the cherry inside—

“I beg your pardon, Professor.”

“Professor Snape?”

“Professor Sna––”

"What is it?" Severus snapped, whirling about to glare at Gregory Moore, the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The man was a bloody nuisance, always pestering him for one duncical reason or another. His present interruption could not have come at a more imprudent time.

“Erm, sorry to bother you, but I... well, I was just wondering if you were about to eat that last crumb cake? If not, then I think I might have a go at it.” He pointed to a single square pastry on a platter between them.

“Take the damn thing,” Severus hissed, shoving the plate at him. It flipped over, which sent the cake tumbling down the table towards Hagrid, the large, burly gamekeeper, who picked it up and ate it.

Severus's eyes tore back across the table to Claira, just in time to watch her drop the cherry's stem onto her napkin. If looks could kill, Professor Moore would have been nothing more than a heap of ashes beneath his murderous glare.

Claira, feeling stuffed from her savory meal, stood to leave. She brushed the crumbs away from her blouse and plucked off bits of food during her venture towards the double doors. Her thoughts were of the chocolate splotch on her breast pocket, when she stumbled over something in the aisle. She let out a small yelp and fell to her knees. Sweeping her hair out of her eyes, Claira glanced up and found herself face to snout with a large, black dog.

For the past two terms, Dumbledore had allowed Sirius Black to take up residence at the castle under the guise of his animigus; everyone else knew him as Padfoot, the school's guard dog. No one was aware of his true identity, save a very choice few that were within Dumbledore’s confidence. Claira was not one of them.

Claira was surprised, and also relieved, to discover that the beastly canine had a gentle disposition. He bowed his head in a polite manner and nudged her cheek with his nose, as if to apologize for dashing out in front of her. She smiled back at him and patted his head in greeting. Claira had always had a soft spot for furry animals.

“You will remember to wash after handling that filthy mutt, won't you?” came a low, silky voice from behind her.

Claira chuckled and pulled the dog closer. “You're not a filthy mutt, are you? No, you're not.” She squeezed his face between her hands and rubbed his ears. “You're a good boy—yes, you are. You're a nice doggie!”

Severus snorted in disgust, stepping around them. As if the infant talk was not enough to churn his stomach, the girl had to go and finish the sickening display of affection off with a kiss on the mongrel's snout.

Padfoot looked up at him while he swooped passed, barring his teeth, which disturbingly resembled a twisted, rotted tooth smile.

Deep within the bowels of the castle, amidst a large laboratory of bubbling cauldrons and potion-filled vials, there echoed a loud, agitated voice.

"Damn!" Severus growled, as his cauldron began to hiss and boil over. It was the second batch he had muddled that night. With a wave of his wand, he sent the botched pot soaring through the air, where it landed with a loud clatter in the sink. On its way down, the thick, brown liquid had splattered against the wall, the ceiling and the floor. It would require at least two hours’ worth of scrubbing. Staring at the mess, he could think of no better punishment for the next little prat that got on his nerves. A wicked grin crept across his lips at that thought. He already had someone in mind, and if Potter were not careful, he would be cleaning that sticky slosh up with the end of his silly little Firebolt broom. Deciding to call it a night, Severus dimmed the lights and made for his private chambers. He was too distracted by the evening's events to concentrate on potions; brewing a cup of tea would have proven to be an impossible feat.

Once in his study, he stripped off his outer robes, slumped into his armchair by the fire, and sighed. The memory of Claira's touch still lingered on his skin, and the memory of her salacious behavior at the feast weighed heavy on his mind. He had never been so distracted by a female before. He was a confirmed bachelor, married only to solitude and self-indulgence. It was a life-long philosophy, one he preferred to abide by, Severus reminded himself, before bringing a fresh bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky to his lips.

Three quarters empty and three sheets to the wind, he made a personal vow to himself: to never go that long without sex again.

#snape #snape fanfiction #cauldrons aflame #severus snape

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thornewoodhospitalblog · 5 years ago

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After a lengthy conversation, the mods (the Bee Sisters) felt the group would benefit from a master list of questions and concerns brought to them over the course of the last 3 days. Each solution has been put into one of the three categories (Set-Up, Rules and Frustrations). A solution to each of these concerns have been written in bold. If you cannot agree to these solutions, we suggest messaging us immediately. If we are not messaged, that will be taken as your acceptance of these solutions.

"I’m confused about the timeline. What day is it when my starter goes up? How long do my threads last? What information do I know in one thread and not the other?”

Most roleplays assume the time is semi-fluid. We’ve found some writers find this passage of time confusing. Therefore, we will be posting the date every morning (12AM GMT) along with Lakewood’s weather. This means, even if the thread takes a month to finish, if the starter was posted July 1st, it will still be July 1st in that thread. If you start two threads during the same day, whichever one that was created first will be first in the timeline. For example, if Lexus posts a starter tomorrow, July 1st, and Cameron responds to it July 2nd, the thread will still occur on July 1st. If Lexus replies to a starter created after the posting her starter on July 1st, that means the events in her starter transpired first.

In the case of pregnancies and other time-dependent plot developments, we can stretch the timeline by saying a character is pregnant for about a month “roleplay time.” One trimester for each week, roughly. This can be discussed when you clear that plot line with us, as discussed in the rules.

“How do characters (not writers) learn of the gossip posted about in the gossip blog?”

Only staff members have access to their cell phones, so it might seem difficult to conceptualize how patients get wind of Thornewood-related gossip. Cordelia, a fellow patient, also must abide by these rules. Therefore, the rumor mill she pioneers is not circulated via text messages, tweets, etc., but through word of mouth. It is not explicitly stated how characters overhear this gossip because the gossip blog is an optional resource. Some writers may choose to have certain characters of theirs interact with it, some not. As a result, though there are many ways for a character to overhear this gossip (whispering of NPCs in the halls, a canon character tells your character, etc.), we cannot explicitly say “Ann Forrester gathers all of Thornewood into one room to divulge the gossip every week,” because then the information becomes canon. There would be no option for the information (and we use this term loosely when it comes to gossip) to be taken or left. It would have to be included.

"I’m struggling with writing/replying to open starters. Can’t this policy be optional?”

Our main goal is to help alleviate any problems you may be experiencing while at Thornewood, but this policy cannot be optional because it would do more harm than good for it to be so. Here’s why: when new writers join the roleplay and see starters from two weeks ago, they do not feel like they are contributing to the current story. Therefore, it is paramount that all writers must reply to 2 open starters within the first 2 - 3 days of their acceptance, and post one of their own. This ensures that there is a constant influx of open starters for new writers to reply to. Please understand that preexisting writers (writers who have been with us since the beginning, writers who have been with us 2 weeks ago, etc.) can and should also post open starters before acceptance dates in order to help out the new writers. If you are struggling to write open starters, we have guides to help with this process linked on our writing tips page and are more than willing to collaborate with you on starter ideas. Remember, an effective open starter contains dialogue and a situation another writer can respond to (ie: “did you hear about Ann Forrester?” [good example for a gif chat], or bumping in to another character and perhaps their coffee spills either on you or them, pulling a character down a vacant hallway to ensure they don’t get caught by the guard coming around the corner, commenting on the good/shitty food at Thornewood while in the dining room, etc.)

"I’m nervous about the emphasis placed on grammar in this roleplay. Will you scream at me if I make a typo?”

Absolutely not. Our advertisements for this roleplay say that we are a “literate roleplay,” which means our writers write using proper grammar (no text speak like LOL or no capital letters, appropriate punctuation like apostrophes or commas, using the correct “too” vs “to”, etc.). We will never give a warning for a typo unless there are so many typos that it detracts from the understanding of the post. We have given a warning for grammar once, and this was after repeated attempts to stress the importance of “quality” responses. Fragment sentences, posts written in first person (this roleplay writes in third person) and posts written in present tense will result in a warning. In order to be marketable to other potential writers, we need to maintain a base level of literacy. This, by no means, translates to “every post most be perfect.”

“I don’t like the writing tips you post on the main, especially the meta-disrespect one!”

Let me say this first, and then I’ll address perhaps not liking the tips:

In short, tips should be discussed if they are not understood. Tips are optional things to consider, aside from god-modding and meta-disrespect. These tips are not sub-tweets, as we have given warnings about things before, like grammar, and do not have a “too vs to” guide. The meta-disrespect guide was worded in an aggressively funny way by its writer (aka not Thornewood) and explained by the staff (aka Thornewood) but it is not about a particular writer in Thornewood. Meta-disrespect is ignoring the personality of a character. Saying Cameron is a “fuck up” when he clearly is not due to the fact that he is a byproduct of growing up in an impoverished area like Camden, NJ, is meta-disrespect. Unless you truly believe that people who are raised in impoverished households are somehow fuck ups, which is actually a gross ideology and will not be tolerated in the roleplay as that could lead to OOC drama very, very quickly. In short, meta-disrespect is directly ignoring the personality of a character. Of course characters can have different interpretations of other characters. If your character is super macho and they meet Cameron (who is super outspoken and known to have an intimidating reputation as Thornewood’s oldest resident, as written in his bio) and they’re not intimidated by him; that’s fine. You should, however, comment “[Your character] noticed Cameron’s desire to intimidate [them] and while his tactics may have worked on a less headstrong person, [Character] refused to cower to him.” Therefore, you’re acknowledging a writer’s intention for their character, but you’re also staying true to your character and their natural reactions to all sorts of different people.

So, about not liking the tips:

Take them with a grain of salt. They are optional things to think about. Writing as a hobby, we assume, means you want to improve just like we do. Therefore, we post guides we have found helpful in our 7+ years of roleplay group experience. If you ever have any other problems with the tips posted on the main blog and perhaps feel you’re struggling with what the tip suggests to do, and would like to follow the tip, message the main. We love to workshop writing!

"I’ve noticed that someone is online, they know they’ve owed me a reply for days, but they’ve replied to someone who gave them a response yesterday. I think they’re showing favoritism, what do I do?”

Favoritism absolutely sucks in a roleplay. This is not a problem that “has to exist” or “will always exist” and here’s why: we will be issuing warnings if we see repeated acts of favoritism. Of course, everyone misses a reply here and there, but if you’re frequently dropping your threads with a writer, that isn’t cool. If you’re frequently putting a writer on the back burner because you’re so invested in your other plots, that isn’t cool. We get that everyone has their “favorite” plot (be it a romance plot, a friendship plot, an enemy plot), but it’s not acceptable to only engage with that particular plot and not give replies to people you’ve owed replies to. Sometimes inspiration for a reply doesn’t strike so you have to move to another reply. That’s okay, but tell the writer you owe a reply to “hey, I’m having writer’s block for our thread! Give me [an hour, a day] and you’ll have a reply!” Sometimes certain threads just aren’t working, either, that’s okay, too! Just tell your writing partner, “hey, I’m feeling really stuck with this thread. Do you mind if we plot a little bit more instead? I just feel like our characters need more [in this example] fluff before our big angsty plot unfolds. Maybe our characters could sneak out in the middle of the night, or steal cookies from the kitchen, or maybe your character could find mine crying about her brother’s declining health in the hallway and your character can comfort mine?” Talk to your writing partner OOC, and if after contacting them you’re still not getting results — contact the mods!

"My thread got dropped and my feelings are really hurt! What do I do?”

It feels bad to be invested in a thread and then have a writer drop it. To avoid this kind of yuckiness in the future, we are implementing a rule that you must contact your writing partner if you’re dropping a thread. If you wanted to be really nice, you could even say something like “Hey, Casey! I love Lexus and Felicity, but I just really don’t think they’re connecting in this thread. Do you mind if we scrap it and start a new one? Maybe this one can take place in the garden? What if they got caught in the rain and had a huge mud fight?” Talk to your writing partner and if the problem persists — talk to the mods!

“Time-Sensitive special events seem restrictive. I have a great plot that I want to write about during this special Thornewood Event, but I don’t think I can do it justice in X days.”

We understand wanting to plot something super awesome for a Thornewood Event. The novelty of these events inspire greatness and plenty of possibilities for compelling plots. Thornewood-wide events place every character in the same room, which can be near impossible, and staff meetings do something very similar in the way that they allow the staff to directly interact with not only each other, but the elusive Charles Forrester and his wife, Ann. However, the novelty of these events would wear off if they were able to be played out indefinitely. For instance, if a staff meeting goes on until every writer ends their thread with their fellow staff member’s writer, the July staff member event could go on for months. Then what would we do during August when the next staff meeting occurs? That being said, we do understand that sometimes writers can get a little excited and plot a little too much for five days -- your mods have done that too, especially with Summerfest, our first ever Thornewood-wide event. Our warning to “plot accordingly” might have been difficult to hear over the loud shrieks of excitement. That’s okay!! Upon plotting with your fellow writer, if you both feel you cannot accomplish your desired plot within the allotted time, message the main to ask for an extension before the first day of the event.

Closing statement of an incredibly long post:

While most mods do not offer explanations for their decisions, and this will not become an on-going practice in Thornewood, the mods felt the last two/three days have been wild enough to justify a little bit of an “unorthodox” response. We hope these solutions will provide more clear directions for everyone going forward so we can get back to our ships, guilty-pleasures and angst. To avoid such craziness in the future, we all need to move forward with the understanding that you must talk to the mods about any issues you’re having, as we will never be offended and will only seek to provide solutions for your problems. That said, do not approach us if your mind is already made up and we cannot change your leaving despite offering solutions to your problems. Things happen, we understand people leave. Sometimes you don’t have the time anymore, don’t have the muse anymore, whatever. All good. We’ve left roleplays before, too! We do not understand not communicating about issues until it is too late for a reconciliation.

Best,

The Bee Sisters

#thornewood.update #thornewood-update #in depth look at the rules

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