#*shaking violently* i have properly experienced this shift in so long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

selinakidreams · 4 years ago

Note

Hello my love can i please request that you follow up on this lovely work of art you deposited in my ask box? Ty ty

oh oh oh what is this? the lovely carter (and val- in spirit) dropping in my inbox and requesting for me (???????) to write,,,,,,,,,,, I’m honored and will happily accept.

I am so so so so so sorry this took me so long to write,, it’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks,,,, I hope this makes up for it 🥺 I tweaked it a bit and I think it works,,, better now ? hopefully !!

warnings: this is smutty, SLIGHT voyerism, dubcon turned to con, p♥︎rn with like.. a dash of plot ? maybe ?, fem! reader, thigh riding, uh riding dick right after, LIGHT MENTIONS of fwb! Osamu,, ah ha haa — NO INCEST.

Dinners with the Miyas: a weekly tradition since... before you could remember. Once a week, you and your family would gather at the Miya’s house for a homemade feast.

In hindsight, it was a really nice way for two life-long best friends, both of your guys’ moms, and their loved ones to get together and catch up after a busy week- but as a girl dealing with a pair of twins a year older than herself, it was absolute hell.

At first, you used to despise having to get properly dressed just to eat dinner with your family friends. All that effort and for what? You see them all the time at school already, what’s so special about coming together for dinner once a week? And honestly, you were just going to get dirtied up anyways. Their beautiful blooming garden was calling your name and who were you to deny it?

You’d often find yourself frolicking among the tall blades of grass and colorful flowers, the wind swaying the plants to and fro. It was so calming to sit and watch the bees buzz around and pollinate. Needless to say, this is the boys’ cue to come into the picture; they always ruined your fun. The twins started growing into... boys, meaning they were an absolute nuisance.

It all started on a gloomy day; it had rained a few hours prior to the meetup and the Miya’s garden was- of course- muddy, but you just couldn’t resist. You tried to be as careful as you could, especially after the continuous complaints from your mother about how dirty you were when you showed up to the dinner table, but somebody decided to sabotage that.

A cold, wet slab of goop slapped you square in the face. With eyes growing wide, you turned to the culprit. An obnoxious laugh left Atsumu Miya’s mouth and in the same breath managed to call you ugly. You didn’t know what to do besides look down; you felt tears prick your lash line and you didn’t want that bully of a boy to see you cry. When you lifted your gaze to find the back door to run to, you paused upon seeing more mud flying through the air- only it wasn’t at you this time. It’s target was Atsumu- the launcher, Osamu. Finishing the embarrassing blow, the twin pointedly said the same phrase that was spat at you, before turning to you and apologizing for his idiot brother’s actions. Needless to say, after that Osamu Miya became your knight in shining armor.

As the years pass, they started to come over to your house more. When the boys were in your room, they (mainly the more wide-eyed, now blonde-haired, insatiably curious one) poked and prodded where their gazes didn’t belong. Osamu always tried his hardest to reil his brother in, attempting to put things back and apologizing every once in a while.it was painfully easy to realize that your perspective about him about him shifted; The politeness. The calm. The sensibility. He was kind and considerate. Your view on Osamu began to change into something of want, and oddly enough, it wasn’t pure.

You and osamu grew closer in ways you weren’t expecting; he was your first sexual everything. First kiss, first touch, first fuck- and with every intimate moment you both shared, the level of respect and maturity was extremely high. There was only one issue, whatever one miya wanted, the other wanted it just as bad.

Atsumu’s gaze on you lasted longer and longer, his tricks were getting more and more perverse- anything he could do to cause a little mischief and ripen the sexual tension he began to build between the two of you. But even the kiddie wrestling matches, flipping up your skirt, and lingering touches became boring; none of his little teases seemed to satisfy him anymore.

He was jealous. He had to be. Osamu never boasted, much less muttered a single word about what you two did when you were alone but Atsumu wasn’t dumb. He knew one of the Miya’s were getting their dick wet and it certainly wasn’t him. He was becoming impatient, but to you, he seemed really on edge- so much so, that one night you found yourself in one of the most compromising positions with the honey-haired idiot.

The three of you were chatting about the twins’ most recent volleyball match in your room, waiting for your moms’ wine induced giggles to subside and finnish the food already.

With lit up eyes, Atsumu was boasting about how they’d achieved their first quick when Osamu pardoned himself so he could use the restroom.

“AWHH ‘SAMU, YOURE GONNA MISS THE BEST PART.” Tsumu loudly whined.

“i was there, idiot. just keep telling her the story, i’ll be back.” he rolled his eyes before leaving the room.

He sucked his teeth before turning to you to continue the story only to find your eyes glued to find Osamu’s fleeting figure. You looked almost dazed out and Atsumu couldn’t believe it. Right in front of his eyes, you were eye-fucking his twin brother instead of listening to him.

Absolutely not.

Part of you should not be surprised. You looked away for just a few seconds- just enough for Atsumu to be annoyed that the attention wasn’t on him. Now you found yourself pinned to the floor, both wrists in one of his big hands, the other holding your hips down. You let out a squeal as you tried squirming out of his grasp.... that was until his knee firmly placed itself against your crotch in just the right place. You swear up and down that you didn’t mean to but there was a surprised gasp that shouldn’t have left your mouth. It almost sounded like... the thought stilled your body.

atsumu took note of this.

In a low murmur, he leaned incredibly close and whispered, “how’s that pretty pussy of yers feelin right now?”

It sent a violent pink tinge to your cheeks and a bolt of arousal down your spine, your slick spreading against your underwear and the top of his jeanclad knee. A clench of your thighs meant this was going exactly where he wanted it to- his wait was over.

“ ‘m waiting for an answer, princess.” he tutted, his face only getting closer to yours while he applied more pressure against your throbbing vulva.

It was never like this with ‘samu. This... was almost exciting for you. Something teetering the lines of flavorful and troublesome. The little voice in your head was screaming at you but the aching desire in your pussy was louder.

“Ah!- atsumu! what are you doing?” you whimper, trying to hide your face. There were so many thoughts racing through your mind, the logical part of you wanted to hear them all out but in the moment you were so overwhelmed. There needed to be control in such a situation; You tried to shift around to loosen his grip, accidentally applying pressure that was welcoming it the most, causing a breathy moan to escape your lips and your eyes to clamp shut.

“mmm well, you’re so focused on my brother, i thought i’d show you what you were missin if you started payin more attention to me.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and you whine. This position was so compromising.

He trailed the hand that weighed down your waist up the curves of your side and took your jaw in his hand. He turned your face and when you peeked open your eyes, your gaze was met with his.

“I want you to cum on my thigh.”

Eyes wide, you tried shaking your head to no avail. His grip was so strong. “Atsumu no!! Osamu’s gonna get back and dinner is gonna be done soon and just- no!” You squeal.

“Y’still have time,” he said calmly, “ ‘samu’s probably checkin on dinner... so yeh better start... or else. Y’know what? I could just continue this though dinner. Slide my hand up ye’thigh under the table...” he started, letting go of your face and ghosting his hand down your body. The thought of his big hands palming over your clit while a finger is dipped into your warm pool flashed in your mind. You clenched, and boy, he felt it.

“Mmm, did my pretty girl think about my fingers- fingers that could reach places yours can’t?” He grinned as he watched you follow his hand with your eyes. “maybe you’d like it if i play with your clit under the table, hm? right next to my brother-”

“no no! here. right now.” is all you could manage to get out. your head was swimming with all that could happen, it only got hazier when you felt the pressure on your cunt lessen- you wanted it back. “Ts-sumu.. i..”

“i know, i know... but first i want you to cum on my thigh if you want my fingers that badly. I want you whiny and desperate, rubbing that pretty cunt all over me. Moaning my name.”

That’s how you found yourself stuffed in your small closet, you desk chair pulled away from its rightful place,

With his throbbing cock fighting against the cage of his pants and heavy pants leaving his lips, his hands could only find relief on your waist- assisting you in your delishious movements.

His noises weren’t the only ones to be heard, you were trying so hard to contain them but nothing is coming of it. Short little high pitched whines rung in Atsumu s ears- but what really got him were the whimpers of “fuck tsumi,” when the angle hit your clit just right and the squeeze of his biceps as you threw your head back. As soon as he experienced that, he needed you to cum right then and there. And not on his thigh.

“Nope- fuck, we’re switching it up,” he mumbled as he stopped your hips from grinding down. Your mind was a mess but all you could think about in your extremely aroused state was that you needed to cum.

“Atsumu wh-“ before you could even finish your question, he unzipped his pants and uncovered himself from his boxers, his angry cockhead slapping his torso and smearing pre-cum on his skin.

“On- now, Princess.”

There was no need for protests; he was expecting one to come out but instead he felt your soft hands lightly grip his bulging head and give a few strokes before all he heard in that cramped, dark closet was, “you’re so .. big.”

Eyes wide, a garbled moan left his mouth and next thing he knew, you were repositioning till his tip lined with your sopping entrance. He couldn’t take it, he thrusted upward as you sunk down. A shocked moan ripped out of both of you and in the moment of silence that followed afterwards, you could hear the floorboard creek.

Apparently Atsumu did too because his actions stopped and one of his hands left your hips to presumably cover your mouth. You presumed wrong.

Your closet door slid open to reveal a wide eyed Osamu palming himself.

266 notes · View notes

whumpmatsus · 3 years ago

Note

Hmm could do one where one one of boys has rough day, that leads to emotional overeating, and bellyache that they try to hide until they can't. Please and thank.

aaaaaa, lovely!

I went with Totty because it feels like I haven't written him in a while

and there's a tiny bit of Allmatsu, buuuut really it's mostly Cybermatsu :D

hope you like it, I had a lot of fun with it!

Most of the time, Totty thinks he does a pretty good job being composed at work.

However, that’s easy to do when the majority of the days are okay. Sometimes there’s a bad moment or two that he can recover from by the time he gets home; never before has it been an entire day full of nothing but bad moments.

Until today, of course.

It’s just been one awful thing after another. One of his brothers accidentally turned off the alarm clock, probably by hitting it or steadying themself against it while going to the bathroom… so he was late to work. When he finally got behind the register, there was already a decent-sized line and the early morning customers were irritable before their coffee. Nearly every single customer during his shift snapped at him in some way even when he was trying to be helpful.

His coworkers were less than pleasant, especially after a couple hours when one of them had to take over for him because he had to go pee. To make things worse, toward the end of the day he managed to smash his fingers in the cash drawer while closing it.

The highlight of the day was when he was on his way out and a customer wanted help. Company policy being that he wasn’t allowed to work in any way while he was off the clock, he told them he was actually heading home and pointed to one of his coworkers. Which apparently wasn’t good enough, as he was accused of being lazy and not wanting to do his job and told that the customer was going to talk to his manager and have him fired.

Is it any wonder he’s spent almost the whole train ride home in tears? It hasn’t been a great day to be Matsuno Todomatsu.

He feels a little better by the time he gets home, but he’s exhausted and overwhelmed by everything that went wrong. Part of him wants to find one of his brothers and bitch his heart out. The other part just wants to shove food into his mouth and pretend none of it ever happened.

Sutabaa allows employees to eat some of the cheap things for free during their break, which Totty doesn’t often take advantage of. He’d rather have a snack at home so he doesn’t have to scarf it down in ten minutes. Today, though, he managed to put away a chocolate croissant plus a couple of cookies, so he shouldn’t be hungry at all when he gets home.

And he’s not… really hungry. He just wants to eat something for the sake of it, so that maybe eating something tasty will make it seem like nothing went wrong today. The food during his break made things seem better for a minute while he ate it. All he wants is more of that feeling, to make believe it wasn’t such a bad day.

He doesn’t know where any of his brothers are, and he doesn’t particularly care. He doesn’t think he’d give half a shit if one of them walked in on him raiding the fridge and pantry as if he’s preparing to hibernate through the winter. They all stuff their faces at any available opportunity, so why would it be surprising to find him doing it, especially after a long day at work which none of the rest of them do?

It doesn’t even really matter to him what he’s eating, either. Just things that don’t require too much time between being in his hand and sliding down his throat.

There’s about a portion’s worth of takoyaki left in the fridge from dinner last night, so he finishes that off. Some daifukumochi that was in the cabinet, along with a packet of konpeitō. A bag of arare disappears pretty quickly, too. He doesn’t really know if the imagawayaki that was sitting on the counter was left for him or if it was a single treat that nobody had fought over yet ― regardless, he eats it anyway.

Each bite is a violent attempt to deny the shittiness of this whole day. It all tastes delicious, so he can lose himself inside it for a moment. What never really occurs to him is that every moment doesn’t last too long, and even though his stomach isn’t built for this kind of eating, he’s reaching for another snack as soon as the last one has dissolved on his tongue.

He throws packaging away as he goes, just to keep things neat. He’s just biting into his latest snack when someone else walks into the kitchen, and looking up, it turns out to be Choromatsu.

“O-oh, hey, Totty, you’re home. How was work?” He starts ducking into the refrigerator, then suddenly straightens up and gives his youngest brother a curious look. “… Uh. That’s my Big Katsu. Why are you eating it??”

Given that his teeth are currently sunk into it, Totty feels a little guilty. So at least he doesn’t have to fake the expression on his face. “Oh… sorry, Choro-nii-san! I’m just really hungry… I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.”

After a moment, Choromatsu sighs, evidently deciding to let Totty off the hook rather than fight with him about it. “Yeah, that’s fine. I was saving it, but if I haven’t craved it this long, I can wait. There’s other stuff I can have for a snack.” He opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a single mini carton of milk, then frowns. “Hey, wasn’t there some leftover takoyaki in here?”

He huffs as he closes the fridge. “Dammit. Osomatsu probably ate the rest of it while I wasn’t paying attention, the douche.”

He shakes his head and gets in the pantry for a bag of potato chips instead. “Guess these’ll do till dinner. Hey, Totty, you’re probably still hungry, right? Why don’t you share with me? I’m not starving or anything… half a bag would do it for me, I think.”

Totty’s stomach twinges suddenly, alerting him that he may have eaten too much. He’s not used to shoveling down this much at one time, though the realization that he’s uncomfortably full doesn’t stop him from hurriedly cramming the rest of the Big Katsu into his mouth.

And, honestly, it’s not like he can say no to the offer. He just told his big brother he was hungry and he’s been gulping down food at an insatiable pace. Thinking about the taste of potato chips sort of makes him want some.

Plus… Choromatsu is being nice by sharing, despite the fact that Totty already took one of his snacks without even asking. It would be mean to turn that down when he’s just trying to make sure Totty gets fed properly.

So he plasters a smile on and tosses the wrapper before stepping toward his older brother. Everything’s fine. “Ah, yeah… sounds good.”

Everything is not fine.

Dinner is beginning to be a struggle to get through. Totty hates wasting the food, but his thought is to put it away for later when his stomach isn’t actively trying to kill him. The pain is different to anything he’s ever experienced, a feeling like he’s full all the way up to his chest and so can’t get a decent breath in. He feels cold and clammy even though he knows he’s sweating. In short, it sucks.

The one thing he counted on was his brothers not noticing that he wasn’t eating anything. After sharing the chips with Choromatsu, he started to feel like he was going to burst. Even though the sensation quieted down a little bit, it never quite went away.

Now that he’s been faced with a table full of food, it’s even worse. His stomach is gurgling and swirling and nothing helps. Not taking deep breaths through his nose, not taking tiny sips of his tea, not focusing on any other thoughts. Nothing. It’s all useless. He thinks that as soon as dinner is over, he’s gonna have to go throw up. No ifs, ands, or buts; one way or another, he’s gonna be sick.

His only hope now is that he can ride it out long enough for everyone to head their separate ways so he doesn’t have to face the humiliation of admitting that he ate too much and hurt his stomach.

“U-uh, Totty,” Choromatsu speaks up suddenly, “aren’t you gonna eat anything? You were hungry enough to eat my Big Katsu earlier, I’d have thought you were really looking forward to dinner.”

Ugh. Did he have to???

Totty forces a smile onto his face. “Oh, yeah, I… I guess I’m just not in the mood for this stuff tonight, you know?”

The look on Osomatsu’s face could be mistaken for someone who’d just swallowed a lemon. “What?! But Totty, this is your favorite! You’re not gonna eat any of it? You can’t just skip meals like that, dude.”

“Yeah,” Ichimatsu hums thoughtfully. “You’re not gonna be any more healthy or attractive if you’re starving, you know.”

Geez. His brothers are so fucking embarrassing. Choromatsu is giving him some backhanded concern, Osomatsu is overzealous as usual, and Ichimatsu sounds like a Goddamn after-school special.

Karamatsu, meanwhile, is scrutinizing him just the same. “Yes, Totty, my brother… you look rather pale. You really should eat something!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Jyushimatsu practically launches himself over the table, holding a bite of food from his own plate between chopsticks toward his little brother’s mouth. “Here! Winding up for the pitch… batter uuuuuup!”

“Ughhhhh!” Totty leans back, even though any movement unsettles his stomach further. “You guys are ridiculous! I’m fine! W-what, am I not allowed to have just lost my appetite without every single one of my big brothers making a federal case of it?!”

All the others share a silent look, then there comes a unanimous, “Nope.”

He groans and leans his arm against the table. Shit, it’s getting worse. All he wants to do is run to the bathroom and puke, so that maybe he’ll actually feel better. If he does that, though, everyone will be on his case about how much he ate instead of how little he’s eating right now. He doesn’t need nor want a lecture.

Actually, what he wants more than anything is to just be taken care of and told that it’s okay, he screwed up a bit, it’s not the end of the world. That would require confessing to this stupid mistake, though… and he really doesn’t want to do that. He’s so sure that if he does, he’s just going to get scolded instead of comforted.

When he looks around the table again, he notices that Choromatsu in particular looks worried. “C’mon, Totty. You know we care about you. Osomatsu and Ichimatsu are right; it’s not healthy to skip meals.”

“Dammit, I know that, Fappymatsu! Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Totty scowls down at the food before lifting his eyes back up. “If I take one bite, will you all get off my back?”

He hates that those words just came out of his mouth. Even if it’s just a single bite, he doesn’t think his stomach will be happy with him. The idea of eating anything isn’t sitting well with him.

What else can he do, though? Just like with literally everything else, his brothers won’t stop bugging him until he caves in and does whatever they want.

The others exchange a look and Osomatsu shrugs. “Yeah, that should do it! Maybe after you take a bite you’ll realize how good it is and how hungry you are.”

Shit. Well, now he doesn’t really have a way out.

He takes as deep a breath as he feels he can, and collects a bite of food with his chopsticks. Although he isn’t sure how noticeable it is, it feels like his hand is shaking as he raises it to his lips.

Maybe it’s better to do it fast and get it over with. So, that’s what he does. The food in his chopsticks disappears in rapid time, and even though it feels like swallowing a spoonful of glue, he manages to get it down.

“Th-there,” he announces as he slams his chopsticks down. A hiccup squeaks out of him, followed by a fist pressed to his mouth, then he glares around the table at his brothers. “Ha… happy now? God, you guys are… you’re such… such…”

His stomach roils aggressively, almost like he’s just been punched in the gut. He cuts himself off with a loud, painful belch… and whines softly, because he knows what’s coming next. There’s no possible way he can stop it, nor can he get up fast enough to make it to the bathroom.

He tries to clap his other hand over his mouth in some childish belief that if he just blocks the exit, so to speak, he won’t be sick. Predictably, it doesn’t work.

Only a second and a couple of retches later, Totty has vomited through his hands into his lap. It’s perhaps more than a little ironic that his attempt to avoid lectures and feeling shameful has led to something incredibly humiliating.

The tears well up almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long for him to be sitting here coughing, not quite knowing what to do except cry.

“A-ah, Totty!!” Someone’s up from their seat, grabbing him gently by the shoulders. It sounds like Choromatsu, he thinks. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. O-oh, no, no, guys, it’s okay ― yeah, Mom, Dad, it’s fine, I-I’ve got him. Totty, hey, c’mon. I’m gonna help you to the bathroom and we’ll get you cleaned up. Okay?”

All he can do is nod, and it seems like even the fact that he leans against Choromatsu, all streaked with puke, doesn’t bother his brother.

It’s a short walk to the bathroom. He thinks he hears one of the others getting up to clean whatever mess he’s left behind. He just concerns himself with getting into the bathroom, then with lifting his arms when told so Choromatsu can help peel the soiled clothes off.

“It’s okay, Totty. E-everything’s alright.” His voice is low and gentle as he manages to also get Totty’s pants off, hanging everything over the side of the bathtub. If he’s lucky, one of the others will come rinse them off so they can go right in the wash while he tries to take care of getting Totty situated on the couch or something. “I’m gonna take care of you. You just cry as much as you need to, as long as you cooperate with me, okay?”

Totty sniffles, doing his best to stop crying. This is so embarrassing. “O-okay…”

Eventually the crying tapers off a bit, to the point that he can breathe normally again. His mouth has a bad taste and his throat hurts; at least his stomach feels a lot better, though. He’s just so mortified that he threw up on himself in front of his entire family after trying to save himself from this fate.

What did you think was gonna happen when you ate something else after already being stuffed and nauseous, dummy?? His mind is exactly no help at all, unfortunately.

Choromatsu is careful as he tries to get his little brother cleaned. As soon as all his dirty clothes are off, he wipes a wet cloth over Totty’s mouth to wash off any remnants of vomit and helps Totty wash his hands in the sink. He holds a couple pieces of toilet paper over Totty’s nose so he can blow, which makes him feel slightly less gross.

Once there’s no more danger of new clothes having leftover puke dripped on them, he darts out to the closet in the other room and comes back with a pair of Totty’s pajamas. It feels somuch better to be in fresh clothes after Choromatsu gingerly tugs them on.

With all of that done, Choromatsu sets a hand against Totty’s forehead and gives a contemplative hum. “Well, you don’t feel warm… you might still be coming down with something, though. I think maybe you should just go right to bed. We’ll get you settled on the couch in the other room so that hopefully the rest of us don’t catch it, and I’ll get you some ginger ale or something, okay?”

The idea of all that sounds nice, sure. He feels a little guilty for not being honest, however, so… “Um, Choromatsu-nii-san… I-I’m not… I’m not sick. I… I think I ate too much today, and… that bite I took out there was just kind of… th-the last straw, you know?”

Choromatsu frowns. “You ate too much? You said you were really hungry when you got home. And all I remember seeing you eat was my Big Katsu and some of the chips.”

“I ate a lot more than that,” he confesses, rubbing at his teary eyes. “There was some stuff I had while I was at work, a-and… and I was the one who ate the last of the takoyaki. I was just going through the fridge and the cupboards for a while before you walked in.”

“Oh… okay, I get that. Why didn’t you just tell us you overate today instead of forcing yourself to eat?”

More tears bubble up and start rolling down his cheeks. “B-because… because I thought if I did, you’d all just lecture me and tell me, ‘Oh, you shouldn’t do that, Totty!’ The day was so bad already…”

The more he talks, the more tears fall. “It was just one thing a-after another! Work was shitty, everything that could go wrong did,and I didn’t want you guys harping on me! I-I know I fucked up eating a lot, but doing it just… made me feel better for a minute… like the day wasn’t so crappy, like I could pretend everything was okay because I was eating something good. So I just… d-didn’t wanna tell you guys… I-I know you’d say it’s bad for me…”

Quietly, Choromatsu pulls Totty up off the toilet and into a hug. His hand rubs calmingly between his little brother’s shoulder blades, shortly after switching to a series of pats. “Hey, you learned your lesson. I know you think we’d give you some big speech… and maybe you’re not wrong. But I’m sorry it felt like you had to hide it and suffer on your own. That’s not what we want! We just wanna take care of you. If we lecture like that, it’s just because we love you.”

“I-I know,” Totty mumbles into Choromatsu’s shoulder. “Are you… are you mad at me? For doing it in the first place and for not telling you?”

“Mad? No! No, no, no way. I’m not mad!” Choromatsu presses a brief kiss to the top of Totty’s head. “You’re my baby brother. How could I be mad at you for this? Just… you know… next time, come talk to us instead of going to the food. I’d rather listen to you complain for hours than have you eat yourself sick.”

He gives a cautious squeeze, somewhat reassured when Totty squeezes back. They stay like this for a few minutes, with Totty burying his face against Choromatsu’s shoulder and Choromatsu rubbing Totty’s back.

Finally Choromatsu lets out a sigh. “Just so you know… even if we lecture you a little, we’ll still try to take care of you if there’s anything we can do. But we’ll… also do our best not to lecture as much when you come to us. Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah… it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.” He mirrors the sigh and just sinks into his big brother’s embrace. “Can I still go lie down, though? In the futon?”

Choromatsu nods and pulls Totty up when he gets to his feet. “Yeah, of course. That’s probably a good idea even though you’re not really sick.”

“And… can I still have some ginger ale?”

“Yeah, I’ll get that for you after we get you settled.”

Totty is silent for a few seconds while they walk down the hall, then he speaks up again. “… Will you maybe stay and cuddle with me for a minute, too? Even though I’m not sick?”

Choromatsu glances down before chuckling. Does he really think he has to tack on that condition, as if Choromatsu won’t cuddle just because Totty isn’t actually sick? “I… o-of course, Totty. All you have to do is ask, even if you’re not sick.”

“Okay…” By this time they’ve reached the bedroom, so he stands aside while Choromatsu unrolls the futon. Before too long he’s lying down, and Choromatsu has both arms around him, gently stroking his hair.

He closes his eyes and nuzzles against his brother. “Thank you… you’re the best nii-chan ever.”

He can feel Choromatsu grinning. “Am I even better than leftover takoyaki?”

Totty pouts at the jab, but snuggles closer regardless. “Way better.”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Totty #Cybermatsu #vomiting #stomachache #caretaking #ughhhh TOTTY BABY WHY YOU GOTTA ALWAYS BE HIDING SHIT FROM UR BIG BROTHERS #silly boo just fess up and they'll fuss over you after a mini lecture #sweet babies <3 #Choro is such a good big brother SOBS

23 notes · View notes

starculler · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2021: Day 3

Word Count: 6341 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Boba Fett, Time Travel, Alternating POV, Violence, Injury, Blood, Slavery/Tatooine Slave Culture, Death Mention, Hopeful Ending

Inspiration: Family is more than Blood by Quillfeet

Got this one in by the skin of my teeth lmao. Did my best to handle any sensitive topics as carefully as I could under a time constraint, but feel free to let me know if any issues crop up.

Anakin bounced on his toes, eager to see the stranger who’d drawn so big a crowd long after the suns had set, but unwilling to leave his mom’s side. Not when he could practically feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut through with even the dullest, poorly-made shiv. Still, impatience and curiosity burned through him and his admittedly small well of patience had already been wrung dry after an unbearably long day of having to behave in front of Watto, his customers, and the other masters in the market.

He tugged on his mom’s warm, calloused hand and she squeezed his, her grip tight but not painful as she peered over another slave’s shoulder. She frowned at whatever she saw, brow pinched and her mouth pursed in the way it sometimes did when she tried not to look worried in front of him. Anything that worried his mom like that should have made him nervous. It didn’t. He practically vibrated out of his skin at her side instead, his need to know turning to a prickling itch that crawled up his arms and down his back.

“Mom,” he said, low and in the tongue only Tatooine’s slaves knew, the word drawled out into an almost-whine he was nearly too old for.

His mom only squeezed his hand briefly, a reprimand and warning, and Anakin’s shut his mouth before any of a dozen question slipped through his chapped lips.

One of the slaves, a twi’lek near his mom’s age, on his other side turned their head just enough to make it obvious they’d heard him. He flushed, embarrassed until they winked and shifted so there was a a small gap to see through between them and the human blocking most of Anakin’s view. He wasted no time leaning over, putting most of his negligible weight on one foot so he wouldn’t pull his mom’s hand while he snuck a glance and give himself a away. Not that it mattered.

He gasped, all the breath stolen from his lungs when he caught his first glimpse of a scene seemingly pried free from some of his worst nightmares. Funny enough, the first thing he saw wasn’t the stranger body, but the sand beneath them: wet like someone had spilled water on it and dark red, almost black in the low light of old, flickering lamps made of more rust than metal — most of which he’d helped his mom fix more than once. Eyes wide, his gaze trailed up from there, from the soles of the stranger’s ratty boots to the top of their head for just long enough that the image of them burned itself into his memory.

Too soon and not soon enough, his mom pulled roughly on his arm, tugging him close against her side and hiding his face in her skirt. He clung to the dull, brown fabric and soaked in her familiar warmth even though it did nothing to stop the way his body shook. She squeezed his shoulders, but did nothing to scold him for looking. There was no sheltering a slave from horrible things. Not really.

Anakin had seen a lot of bad things in his terribly long eight years. He’d seen slaves beaten bloody and others blown up, some so violently that there was almost nothing to give back to the sands when they were mourned. He’d watched his mom scream and bleed and, once, beg to take his punishment when he’d been even younger and taking it himself might have killed him. He’d seen slaves in chains marched across the market and put up for auction. Others he’d watched be chased out of Mos Espa entirely, out into the sea of sand never to be heard from again.

This, however, was new. A cruelty his mom had so far kept him safe from, laid out on the sands of the slave’s quarters for all of them to see. The stranger’s face had been the most visible without any of the tattered bodysuit in the way. It almost looked like some master had at least taken a vibroblade to their face, carved him up bad enough that they were missing a good amount of dark, curly hair on one side of their head. The rest of them, he thought, looked a bit like a krayt dragon tried to chew them up only to spit them out halfway, leaving them worse for wear but just functional enough that they hadn’t just left them out on the sands to die.

Whoever they belonged to, Anakin hoped he never found out if only because not knowing might keep him and his mom safe from being sold to them too.

By the time he’d calmed down enough to pry his hands free from his mom’s skirt and shuffle back around to see, the bulk of the crowd had drifted away — off to sleep or work or wallow until the suns rose on another grueling day. The only ones left were him and his mom, a few adults rushing soiled and new strips of cloth back and forth, and the three grandmothers kneeled beside and working on the stranger. His mom squeezed his shoulders again, half distracted by a conversation with another mother about infection and recovery and the fact that they had no water to spare for the stranger bleeding on the sands as aged but experienced, sun-weathered hands stitched the worst of their wounds closed.

Anakin leaned back against his mom, watching. Without anyone to block his view, he could see more of the picture than his first glimpse had allowed. A red and tan bodysuit torn to shreds that might have been white before the blood and the sand had gotten to it. Strips of cloth ripped by experienced hands to be used as bandages. Green armor whose paint looks like it had been half-dissolved rather than properly stripped off, carefully pried away from the body and set aside with all the gentleness something so obviously expensive deserved. A not-so-small arsenal of blasters, grenades, a rocket and rifle, and more knives than Anakin cared to count all set just as carefully aside with well-deserved fear rather than reverence.

And pain. He saw it in the twitch of the stranger’s lips and the furrow in their brow. In the way they seemed to flinch at the grandmothers’ not-quite-gentle touch despite how he was sure they couldn’t be awake. He saw it in the ragged, uneven way their chest rose and fell, like just breathing was so hard it might as well have been crossing the dunes in a sandstorm.

He frowned. He remembered being so sick once he could hardly breathe — how much his chest had hurt and how his mom had helped soothe it by rubbing something gooey and awful-smelling into his skin. Remembered being punished, ten stinging, throbbing, bleeding lashes on his back, and how he’d cried while his mom held his hands, whispering in his ear to comfort him while another slave had stitched the worst of them closed. He wondered if the stranger had someone like his mom to hold their hand and help them breathe before they’d wound up with whatever awful master had done this.

It made his stomach twist itself into knots to know that they had only the grandmothers to help fix him and an audience to watch and fetch supplies, but no one to help make the worst of the hurt go away. And Anakin…

Anakin felt a tug, deep in his stomach and behind his navel. The kind that urged him to be silent, to run, what people to avoid, or what he needed to do to fix up a droid or appliance just right. He didn’t think before he moved, ducking out of his mom’s loose grip and ignoring her startled cry of “Ani!” as he trotted forward until he stood next to the stranger, deliberately slotting himself into place where he knew he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.

One of the grandmothers, Amiya who Anakin knew his mom still called auntie even if she’d only ever been grandmother to him, looked up at him as he approached. She slanted a glance at his mom and for a second after she looked back at him, he thought she was going to send him away. Instead, and to his surprise, she only pursed her lips and waited, her work paused mid-stitch and her one scar-split brow arched as she waited. Anakin complied hastily, though the words come out tongue-tied and clumsy despite how he’d spoken the slave’s language just as long as — longer than, even — he had Huttese or Basic.

“They need someone,” he said, soft and suddenly too aware of how quiet the quarter was at night. “To help. Like mom does when I’m sick or hurt.” He stopped, floundered for a moment before adding, so low he almost doubted she heard him: “There’s not a mom to help them, but I can. I want to.”

Amiya watched him, her gaunt, wrinkled face the even and placid mask most of the adults like her and his mom wore where they might catch a master’s eye — a mask Anakin would also wear one day when he was older and had to hide his feelings from whoever would own him. After a long, almost uncomfortable moment she nodded. He flashed her a bright smile and kneeled in a patch of night-cooled, mostly blood-free sand. For a long time after Amiya turned her attention back to the stranger, Anakin just stared. The damage looked so much worse up close and the smell of the gore alone was nearly enough to make him sick. He didn’t realize he’d started to shake until a gentle hand pressed against his back, slick with blood that would stain his shirt as it rubbed comforting circles between his shoulder blades. The white-haired grandmother the hand belonged to smiled, thin and sad, when he turned to her, and he offered his own much wobblier one back.

“Breathe through your nose,” she advised, voice cracked and croaking from long-healed damage, and he did. It helped, but not much. Still, she patted him twice more on the back and offered up a firm “good boy” that sounded prouder than he thought was warranted.

Anakin sucked in three bracing breaths, shallower than he would have preferred, before carefully — more carefully than he’d ever done anything else — picked up the stranger’s larger, brown hand to cradle between his own smaller palms. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Barely even breathed. He just rubbed his thumb over their split, scabbed knuckles and pushed safety and comfort and the other warm things he felt when his mom chased away his pains and nightmares at them. Imagined them flowing down from his thoughts to his arms, pooling in his hands to be poured out from his palms and into the stranger’s rough hands, absorbed through the skin like the first sip of soothing water on the worst days.

Whether it worked or not, he wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe some of the tension in the stranger’s brow and the stutter in their chest eased just a little bit. He stayed there, holding their hand and sometimes babbling, soft enough it almost counted as a whisper, switching between all three of the languages he spoke and even into brief bouts of untrained Bocce in the hopes that they knew at least one and would find it comforting. It could have been minutes or hours before his mom came to collect him, his head bobbing and eyes threatening to close as exhaustion swept over him. She crouched behind him and ran her fingers through his hair a few times before she spoke.

“Time to sleep, Ani.”

“But mom—” he started, voice more of a brief mumbling slur for all that he didn’t get to say more than those two words before Amiya cut in.

“Mind your mother, Anakin.” He ducked his head, chastened. “You’ve done good tonight, but it’s past time for little ones to rest. This one’ll be here come the suns’ rise and you can sit with them then until you and your mom are off to your master’s.”

Anakin nodded, mumbled a tired “Yes grandmother Amiya,” and patted the stranger’s hand twice before setting it down with a quiet promise that he’d be back as soon as he’d woken up. He stumbled when he stood, grateful for his mom when she put her hands back on his shoulders and steered him back home all the way to his flat pallet. Sleep claimed him easily that night, too tired to even dream.

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

The world was pain. Burning, stinging, cutting pain day after night after day for what might as well have been a small eternity trapped in the wet, writhing darkness where only his own nightmares provided grim relief until he clawed and rent and tore his way out of that hell and into another. He gasped and dragged himself forward, burning from the heat of the suns above and the sands below until he felt he’d boil away entirely.

Death would have been a mercy, but mercies had never existed for men like him.

He crawled and shoved and pried his way through the sand with the same desperate, all-consuming determination he’d relied on all his life. A legacy left to him by his father. A curse when giving up would have been a kindness to his battered body.

Time was nonexistent. Unimportant to him in his struggle. Day or night mattered little in the suffocating, sweltering heat when he knew the desert would swallow him whole at any moment. Should have swallowed him whole, but didn’t. The desert, for once, was kind and he hated it for that.

He hated it for letting him live, tortured and weak and pitiful enough that no one he knew would have looked twice at him. There were voices and hands, reaching and gentle and alarmed. He hated this one act of kindness — not mercy, this could never be mercy — the desert had granted him and he fought, battered and bit and snarled in the vain hope they’d leave him for dead when he proved too much trouble. They took it as challenge instead and won.

Defeated, he let himself fall into his exhaustion wondering if he might slip away in his sleep instead and prove their efforts useless.

His nightmares weren’t welcome, but they were familiar to him by then.

He watched his father’s head fall from his shoulders a half dozen times as his body was dragged, unconscious, through the desert.

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

Anakin sat with stranger the next morning like he’d promised, all but sprinting out the door of their tiny home as soon as his mom had told him he could go. He stayed until his mom called him back and worked with her in Watto’s shop until the toydarian let them leave just as the first of Tatooine’s suns had touched the horizon. When they returned, the stranger had been moved into one of the few empty homes in the quarter — the slave who’d lived there recently sold and a replacement yet to be found — to avoid the worst of the day’s heat. He sat with them again after late-meal, holding their hand and talking, helping with any small task he could until they shooed him off to bed.

His mom stayed with him, longer sometimes and well into the night. She helped whoever else was there keeping an eye on the stranger teach him how to change bandages, spot the signs of infection in a wound, to decide which remedies and medicines were critical and which could be spared and saved for later, as well as how to make a few of the most basic ones.

“There isn’t much we can do for them,” Amiya had told him, grave but gentle, on the third night, “except wait and watch, and ease some of the pain if we can.”

He’d nodded, feeling tears prick at his eyes even as he bit his lower lip to help keep them from falling. His mom brushed her fingers through his hair, pulling him close to her side while he worked to breathe through the tangled knot of emotion pressing on his throat.

“It’s not fair,” he said, voice thick, and his mom clucked her tongue, not unsympathetically.

“Life rarely is, Ani.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then leaned her cheek there like she could drape herself over him — a blanket to blot out the world’s cruelties. “Sometimes, your feelings won’t matter,” she said, sounding wretched as the words settled heavy in the air between them. “Sometimes — most times — all we can do is live in reality and accept that it might be cruel no matter what we do, knowing that denying it will do us no favors.” Anakin sniffed, pulling his knees in towards his chest. “And we will live, knowing this and knowing that being kind in the face of this cruelty is the bravest choice we can make.”

“Are we?” he asked after a long stretch of silence, feeling small and miserable. His mom hummed a question against his hair while Amiya stared at him, dark eyes seeming to peer right through and into the core of him. “Kind, I mean. Is. I mean. I heard some of the other adults — I didn’t mean to listen, really, but they were talking about. About…” He trailed off, but Amiya picked up the thread as seamlessly as if she’d read his mind.

“About a mercy.”

He nodded. His mom stiffened, hugging him tighter. He knew there was mercy in death on Tatooine. He’d heard slaves beg for it before, beaten half to death and left, bleeding and wheezing on the ground. He’d watched one new mother walk out into the sands with her baby one night and come back alone in the morning. He’d even seen a grandmother, withered hands bloody and holding a shiv as she walked out of the house of a slave who’d lost most of their arm when their chip detonated and survived, only for the wound to grow infected and the slave so weak they could hardly drink a sip of water.

He didn’t like it, but he knew.

Amiya sighed, leaned back against the night-chilled stone, and looked at the ceiling.

“Let me tell you a story, Anakin,” she said, and he thought she sounded older then than she ever had before.

“Okay.”

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

The nightmares had no end. They played on loop �� his worst and his best memories twisted together with things that had never happened at all until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. He lived them. Was them. Played his part in them until he was sure he really had died out there on the sands and this was hell.

If it was, he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of seeing him beg even if all he wanted in the worst of it was to wake up, ten years old again before everything had gone to shit.

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

The stranger woke with a groan on the fifth morning, just as Anakin had turned his back to follow his mom to Watto’s shop. He gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to spin back around.

“You’re awake!”

They blinked up at the ceiling, stiff as a board the second Anakin had practically shouted the words before slowly, probably painfully, turning their head to look at him. Anakin rocked back on his heels, mouth open and the words just about ready to burst out of him when they beat him to it.

“What?” they asked in Basic, voice a rough, crackling growl that could have been natural as much as it might have been from a parched throat or their injuries.

It was Anakin’s turn to blink then, uncomprehending for a moment before he realized he’d spoken to them like he would have any of the other slaves in the quarter. He flushed, fumbling for a moment from embarrassment before managing to wrangle together the right words.

“I said: you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for five days! Well, four, but today makes five. So, five days.”

“Oh.”

They stared at him, blank except for the obvious signs they were in pain — their pinched brow, their thinned lips, the pallor of their skin, better than it had been but still noticeable — and Anakin fidgeted in place until his mom called his name. He looked back at her, to the stranger, and briefly to his own feet before turning a bright grin on them.

“I have to go now, but Mom and I’ll let someone else know you’re awake. They’ll give you some of the water we all helped save up just in case you did really wake up. Which you did!” he added, too excited to keep himself from pointing out the obvious.

“What?” they asked again, but Anakin had already turned back to his mom with a cheerful “bye” thrown over his shoulder.

The day passed in an agonizingly slow haze of nerves and excitement that had cooled briefly after Watto yelled at him some time close to midday, and reignited when he and his mom started the walk home under the violet-orange lit sky of late-evening-nearly-night. She steered him home and forced him to eat his late-meal before setting him loose with a small smile and a firm warning to be careful. He grinned at her, nodding even as he practically tumbled through the door and back out into the quarter to make his way to where they’d been keeping the stranger.

“Hi,” he said, peeking through the tattered fabric hung up in place of a proper door.

The room was almost empty, lit mostly thanks to the three moons peeking up over the horizon and the last traces of the twin suns falling on the other side spilling through two windows, little more than a pair of squares cut out of solid rock, and the open, arched entrance. The stranger was the only person inside, propped up to sit against the wall furthest from the door, and mostly hidden in shadow except for the light cast from a neat little device about as big around as the palm of Anakin’s hand that they’d put down next to them. On their other side was a pile of their green armor, all but a pauldron which they’d been turning over in their hands until Anakin had poked his head in.

Their small arsenal of weapons, however, had been moved to the corner of the room furthest from them. Not that he faulted anyone for that. Every slave in the quarter would be in trouble if anyone found them, whether they’d actually helped the stranger or not.

“Hi,” they replied, suspicion all but dripping from the word as they slowly lowered the pauldron down to rest in their lap.

Anakin smiled and took the attention as permission to step inside, settled down with his legs crossed on the room’s sandy floor. Even from a few feet away, he could tell they looked better than even that morning — still battered and bandaged and a little paler than they probably should be, but whole and alive in a way they hadn’t been while asleep. Unconscious, technically, but technicalities rarely mattered to an eight-year-old. The silence stretched between them, both of them staring at each other until he chose to break it.

“How do you feel?” It was only polite to ask, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted to know. A dozen questions burned his tongue, but his mom hadn’t wasted time teaching him to be rude so he kept a tight leash on them and waited. Thankfully, not for long this time.

“Fine,” they said, curt if not a bit gruff. They sounded better, he noted, than they had earlier. “You’re the kid from this morning.” They furrowed their brows, speaking slowly like they weren’t quite confident about being right. Anakin nodded even though it hadn’t quite been a question. He knew that feeling well, after all. “What’s your name?”

“Anakin. What’s yours?”

“Boba.”

Anakin cocked his head to one side and asked, shameless: “Just Boba?”

“Just Anakin?” they drawled in return, their unbandaged brow arched. Anakin grinned, all teeth and excitement. He liked Boba.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he offered, expecting to get Boba’s surname in response only to be disappointed when all got instead was a a slow blink and a huff of breath that could’ve meant anything and nothing at all.

“What’re you doing here, kid?”

He pouted, watched Boba’s lips twitch up into a smirk, and pouted harder. He wondered, somewhere in the very back of his mind, if it was smart to be there, alone with someone who wore armor and had weapons and as much muscle and healthy bulk as Boba did. There was a danger to them, in the way their eyes never quite settled on Anakin in favor of scanning their surroundings again and again. It was there in the way they sat, too. At ease, like even injured and newly-woken they knew they could fight their way out if needed. Anakin wondered, but stayed, knowing his mom wouldn’t have let him come if anyone had mentioned they were dangerous.

“Rude,” he said, still pouting but also a little joking. Testing. Boba rolled his eyes and waited for a proper answer. “I come here every day. I even did the bandages on your arm.” He gestured to Boba’s left arm where they’d been sliced from elbow to shoulder, jagged and sloppy. It had needed stitches in three different places where the cut ran extra deep — the wound too long to spare enough thread for the whole thing. “Mom had to fix it the first three times, but I got it right this morning. Before you woke up.”

“Shouldn’t you be out doing … kid … things? Fun things?” Boba asked, sounding suddenly awkward, their gaze sliding away from Anakin after the clumsy question and looking for all the world like they hadn’t really meant to ask it.

“Maybe.” Anakin shrugged. “Watto’s been in a bad mood though, so mom and I have been getting home really late all week. Even if I wanted to, all the other kids would’ve gone home by the time he let us go.”

Boba’s gaze snapped back to him as he talked, focused instead of awkward, and only offered a low hum in response. He felt a little like a piece of meat in front of a starved massif, but did his best to channel a bit of his mom’s unwavering calm. Not the mask she used in front of the masters so much as the air she adopted in front of some of the new slaves brought to the quarter, scared and alone.

“Any siblings?” They sounded almost hopeful when they asked, only to scowl when he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “It’s just mom and me. Do you? Have siblings, I mean.”

“No.” Boba sighed. “Sort of, but not really.” Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“How’s that work?”

Boba didn’t answer, only waved a hand at him in a vague gesture he took to mean it was complicated. He nodded, understanding. Slave families were always complicated, and he’d learned not to ask about complicated things when they didn’t want to be talked about. Instead, he changed tracks and poked at one of the many other threads he’d wanted to pick at since Boba had woken up earlier.

“How long have you been on Tatooine? I’ve been here my whole life, but my mom wasn’t. She got sold to Gardulla a long time ago before she lost a bet to Watto and he won both of us.” Anakin’s lips tugged up into a grin and he leaned forward, excited despite himself. “Before that she said she was in space, on a real ship and everything. I’m gonna go up into space one day! Get on a ship and fly right off Tatooine and see all the stars up close.”

Boba leaned back, drawing one of their legs up so they could rest their left arm against the knee as they listened. It made it harder for him to read their face, but not impossible. And Anakin was nothing if not good at figuring out how people felt if he concentrated hard enough.

“Sounds like a good goal,” they said, amused. When they said nothing else, Anakin frowned.

“Aren’t you gonna answer?” Boba tipped his head just slightly to one side, and he huffed, shoving as much exasperation into the breathy sound as he could. “My question? About how long you’ve been here.”

“Long enough.”

He nodded, humming a little in response. It made sense, he mused, that someone with a master as mean as Boba’s might not want to keep track of how long they’d been with them. That thought, though, brought up another very important question that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else had thought to ask them yet. He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry as he shifted in place, and picked at the hem of his tan shirt to buy himself a few seconds more.

“Have you—” He stopped. Pressed his lips into a thin line so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to lick them. “Terrin and Bhan found you out in the sands behind the quarter,” he said, carefully picking his words. “Mom said they brought you back here. And. Well, uh.”

“Spit it out kid,” Boba said, not unknindly but not kindly either.

“It’s just, five days is a lot y’know? And-and some masters’ll wait a few, yeah, if they hurt you bad enough, but. But five is a lot, ‘specially for a slave, even if you look really well fed and have cool armor and get to actually hold weapons. But five is a lot of days! And I was really scared I’d wake up or-or come back from Watto’s and you’d be blown up ‘cause your master didn’t wanna wait anymore and—”

Boba moved, faster than someone that hurt should have been able to, and leaned forward, almost crouched, with his hands up, palms out. Anakin’s mouth snapped shut on instinct and he sucked in a huge breath of air, relieving the ache in his lungs he hadn’t noticed in his rush to get all the words out even as the rest of him tensed. They waited until he wasn’t practically gasping, their already dark eyes almost black in the shadows.

He’d thought Boba felt like danger before, but now they looked it, balanced on the balls of their feet with their hands out in front of them. For a moment, it was like seeing double: Boba as they were, bandaged and hurt, and another Boba clad in green, well cared for armor, crouched much like they were now except they held a blaster in one hand and a vibroblade as long as Anakin’s forearm in the other.

Just then, Anakin thought, a little hysterical, they looked like the predator they could be.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed and he was left with only Boba as he knew them: unarmored, unarmed, dressed half in the remains of his once-white undersuit and the ratty strips of cloth they’d used to dress their wounds. He breathed, long and slow, until his heart felt a little less like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest, and forced the rest of his body to loosen up at least a little, not wanting to look too much like an animal about to run.

“You think I’m a slave,” Boba said, almost a whisper, but Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to nod or speak. Not yet. “Thank you,” they added, a lot like they were trying not to spook him, “for the concern, misplaced as it is.”

It took a few tries, but Anakin finally found his voice for long enough to ask, soft as he could: “If it wasn’t a master, then —” He swallowed even though his mouth felt drier than the desert. “Then who did this to you?”

They didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to lower themself back down with a groan half-muffled behind gritted teeth. Anakin felt small under their gaze if not quite scared, but did his best to keep himself upright rather than cowed.

“I did,” Boba answered, strained, with a weight to the words Anakin didn’t understand. They did nothing to make him feel any less small, no bigger than a single grain of sand. “I was stupid. Wound up in—” They paused, squinted at Anakin, and then quickly amended what they’d meant to say. “Wound up in trouble with no backup.” They shrugged, the dark circles under their eyes looking suddenly so much bigger. Heavier. “I remember a little of how I got out, but not how I wound up here in … Mos Espa I think someone said.”

Anakin opened his mouth, not sure at all what he wanted to say, if anything, until his mom’s voice at the entrance startled him.

“Anakin, time to sleep.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, eyes firmly set on Boba, but Anakin nodded anyway.

He stood, brushing sand off his pants for a moment before looking back at Boba. He smiled, dimmer than before, and said: “Goodnight, Boba. See you tomorrow,” he added and waited until Boba’s lips twitched up again — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but an invitation back all the same. He did grin then, offering up a little wave before turning on his heel to follow his mom.

“ ‘Night, Skywalker,” he heard Boba say, as the cloth in the doorway settled back in place.

Anakin took his mom’s hand when she held hers out. She squeezed his fingers briefly, then tugged him close. He breathed in. Out. And listened for the little notes he sometimes heard on the wind — the tug in his gut and the pull in his bones that sometimes pulled him closer to one decision or another. He felt it, faint but there. A warmth like good, hot food in his belly or his mom’s hugs after an awful dream, and for a single second, the scrape of fingers on metal ringing in a way he’d never heard before but made him think of Boba regardless.

He let his mom hold him all the way to his room until he kissed her goodnight. His last thought before he fell asleep, curled up on his pallet and tucked under his thin, scratchy blanket, was of the stranger named Boba and the pleasant notes plucking a tune inside and around him, whispering to him even on the edge of his dreams.

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

Boba watched Skywalker — Anakin Skywalker — leave, nothing but a kid smaller than Boba ever remembered being: naive and vulnerable and dressed in all the inadequate trappings of a slave and so damnably bright that it hurt to look at his little, hopeful face. Not so much as a hint of the Jedi knight he remembered from his youth — most of it propaganda he’d caught glimpses of in prison and a few jobs before the Empire erased everything — remained in the child except maybe in the edges of that smile, confident if not yet cocky, but innocent. Painfully innocent.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the skin on his palm still a little raw from the acid in the sarlacc’s stomach. Maybe, he thought desperately, he was still there, being slowly digested to death because surely, surely, that made more sense than what every other conclusion he reached for pointed to. He had to be dead or dying, not—

Not 36 years in the kriffing past, if the date the woman who’d told him where on this godsforsaken planet he was had given him was right. It made no sense. He wasn’t a Jedi — little gods no — and he had no connection to their Force or any other magic. He didn’t think the sarlacc had anything to do with it either, but that still left him with no answers and a galaxy’s-worth of questions.

“Fuck,” he growled, as much a helpless sound as it was a curse to whatever or whoever had caused this. He’d wring their neck as soon as he found out, even if it meant figuring out a way to strangle some magical cosmic thing that a dead order of damned wizards had believed in. For now, though, he was stuck. Injured and healing, without a ship or a credit to his name, no reputation to speak of, and Anakin fucking Skywalker who apparently helped nurse him back to health and had promised to come back in the morning.

And a father who was alive somewhere in the wider galaxy.

The realization came slow and with all the strength of an imperial star cruiser hurtling forward at full speed. He swallowed, blinking back a wave of stinging tears as something thick and pitiful welled up in his throat. He breathed, deep and slow, and forced himself back into order by sheer force of will. He was still stuck on Tatooine, tucked away in the slave’s quarter by some idiotic sense of communal good-will that would do nothing for their self-preservation, but he had time. He had time, if not a lot, to find his father and… Do something.

“Fuck,” he said again, but it was tired. A thick and bone-deep weariness that threatened to suffocate him if he thought about it for too long.

He sighed and wondered, for just a moment before he let sleep drag him back down into the darkness and nightmares, if his father was the man who’d raised Boba already, or someone else entirely. He hated that he didn’t know which one he’d prefer if he woke again tomorrow and found that time travel really was the answer to where — when — he was.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#star wars #anakin skywalker #boba fett #fic #blood #injury #death mention #my fanfic

6 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Dragon Song

The 3E exam was Toyama’s most difficult day. Afterwards, he always had to do a difficult counseling and comfort session with all the students about their visions. And for some who didn’t make the cut, his sessions would include brainwashing and memory wiping to make them forget everything about Cassell so they could go home and continue their lives, ignorant of everything they experienced here.

He made his way back to his office and sat behind the desk.

He sighed and cleaned his glasses while he waited. No one ever knew what was going on in there. Only those who were monitoring with the cameras namely EVA. Whatever happened, the medical team was ready to take care of it.

But he felt the muscles in his neck were tense and his heart was beating faster than normal. His analytical brain told him he was worried about Tigre. Even though he told himself it was pointless to worry about him, that his fate was with the College now, he couldn’t stop.

So he spoke to himself in casual calm language. “I think its time to admit, that your care for that boy has gone beyond what is professional.” He slid the glasses onto his nose.

“You could barely leave him there properly without tears coming right? That’s why you left so abruptly. Right now the test is starting and his dragonblood is waking up. He might attack the students inside once he realizes what he is. And then he has no future. You tried. You did all you could. But it’s possible he was doomed from the start.”

“But the heart will do what it will do. Heh... you’re not immune, Toyoma-kun.” He chuckled to himself. “But you cannot drink. Your students will need you now more than ever. You can go drink later.”

The phone, a traditional rotary, rang loudly in the silence. He picked up. “Toyama speaking.”

The raspy inhale told him who was speaking. Schneider’s voice came over the earpiece, “I can patch you into the feed. I would like you to watch.”

“Watch the boy turn into a monster? I don’t think so...”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’ll send the link to your cell.”

Toyama’s cellphone let up and he cradled the landline against his ear while he clicked the link provided.

The video feed showed the classroom.

Normally the 3 E was absolute mayhem as each of the students’ minds were lost in the sound, like listening to a favorite song, the mind wandered and the body followed and they were compelled to write down their visionary inscriptions on the paper or on whatever other surface they could find. But what Toyama saw made his jaw drop in shock.

Tigre was singing.

He wasn’t just singing, he was singing with a smile of rapturous joy, tears pouring down his face. He wasn’t writing down his answers, he was singing them, speaking each dragon word in turn. As the dragon verses shifted, he would listen briefly and his eyes closed and he would hold in hands to his chest, his face beaming with joy before belting out a full throated perfect rendition of that Yanling.

Toyama felt his eyes burn and quickly blinked away tears for a moment. Relief washed over him like a flood and his smile started to echo Tigre’s. He felt proud that Tigre was succeeding. He wasn’t just performing well on the test, but he wasn't being violent. Quite the opposite. He was joyous, happier than Toyama had ever seen him.

But then in the next moment Toyama’s blood ran cold.

Dragon language wasn’t just words. They were commands. They could impose a rule upon an area to control the elements. They could command a forest to burn. They could command a storm, a drought, a flood, an earthquake, or lightning. Some abilities were so strong, they would destroy the user. If it wasn’t for the restriction placed on the use of this sacred speech by the College’s alchemical array, Tigre would have joyfully sang out and destroyed the entire college and possibly all of Chicago.

“Dear... God...” Toyama whispered. “Is he a Dragon King?”

“No. If he was, we would have erased him and shoved his body in the Ice Cellar. But he is a hybrid of Dragon King level resonance. He’s different from the other hybrids in other ways too. We’ve run other tests. Nothing about this man is natural... and yet everything is.”

“Is this why you have brought him here? Why you were interested?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. We’re still studying. In the meantime, you should probably go out to meet him. He doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Schneider hung up the phone. Toyama was brought back to reality. Yes he did feel fond of Tigre... but he was still a doctor and Tigre was his patient. He would have to carefully maintain his mind so he didn’t go berserk and bring ruin to the college. He stood up and made his way back to the library. When he came back outside, the thunderstorm had intensified. Lightning cut across the sky and thunder roared, as thought the sky itself were cracking apart. The trees swayed heavy in the wind.

----

When Tigre came out of his trance, his throat hurt, his jaw hurt and his face was sticky with tears. He was shaking and exhausted. He wasn’t at his desk any more but standing in the middle of the room. He wanted to see Toyama and tell him that he wasn’t mad at him for leaving him alone. So when he found him waiting outside, he ran up to him and hugged him, babbling uncontrollably all sorts of silly things while Toyama told him to get some rest while stroking his hair.

He suddenly realized after that that other students were filing out. All the other students looked exhausted and limp. He turned to them with a joyous face, but they all just flinched away from him, looking at him with tear streaked faces. Even Porsche, who seemed vibrant and sassy before, hugged her two sisters while crying uncontrollably. Celeste glared at him accusingly and Tigre flinched away.

“Don’t mind them. Most people don’t experience joy like yours.” Toyama pulled him away from the other students. “I will have to go help them with their feelings.”

Tigre was confused. Why would anyone be sad about what he’d just heard? “Toyama-san, I saw something amazing. You knew right? You knew what I was!”

“I had no idea exactly what you were.” Toyama said patiently. “No one did. Your vision is one that’s personal to you, something deep in your heart.”

Tigre reached up and touched his chest. “But... I don’t have anything there.”

“Maybe that’s...” Toyama wanted to say ‘for the best’ but he didn’t finish his sentence. “I have to go. You’re a student now, so you’re free to roam about as you like. Stay out of trouble. Okay?”

“Okay...” Tigre said meekly and watched Toyama walk towards the three sisters. Only Celeste wasn’t crying, she only looked extremely angry.

No one was happy, except for him.

He walked out to stare at the pouring rain in the entrance. He looked up at the sky that also seemed to be sad. But why? Those voices in his head were still ringing. He could recite every single word. But he whispered them, staying quiet. He continued to whisper those sacred words into the grey. They were still beautiful in his ears.

“Do you not have an umbrella?”

His dampened mood rose again! “Chu Zihang!”

Without thinking he hugged the flinching man who just tolerated it.

Tigre released him quickly. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“It’s normal to be emotional after this. I’m happy you made it. The results will take a few hours to process, but Schneider sent me to congratulate you. He’s my mentor.” Chu Zihang’s eyes were dark and not the yellow he remembered.

“You wear contacts too.” Tigre realized.

“Yes. Toyama explained?” Chu Zihang raised his umbrella. It was large enough for both of them as they walked. He was calm like a granite stone. Tigre was a raw nerve of emotion.

“Yes. I remembered looking into your eyes and feeling something through them like what I heard today. No wonder I recognized you! You really are my brother! But for the other students, they were very sad. I don’t... understand why...” He looked back at the Library that was shrouded in the rain.

“You’d have to ask them personally. I can’t speak for them. When my dragonblood awoke, I saw a very disturbing image myself. And then something tragic happened. So that memory is sad for me too.”

“Is that why its raining?” Tigre mumbled.

Zihang tilted his head. “I don’t think emotions can effect the weather. Though many people associate rain with sadness. In truth a tropical wave has been pushed up from the gulf by the jet stream.”

“Oh.” Was all Tigre should say, understanding nothing.

“You’re still shaken up. Let me get you something to eat. You’ll be hungry.”

"Ah! You’re right! My stomach is growling a lot!” Tigre said in shock.

“You must have resonated very strongly. You were just standing there in the entrance to the library staring into space and now you didn’t realize you were hungry...”

“It was wonderful.” He breathed. “I wish I could listen to it again. I’ll listen to it forever.”

Chu Zihang glanced down at him and didn’t comment.

“Have you been out of the hospital long? Why didn’t you visit me?” Tigre bounced along deliberately splashing in the puddles.

“I was recovering still and then after that, Schneider kept me updated on your progress. I couldn’t visit you because visits were not permitted while you adjusted to life outside of prison.”

“Oh... we’re going to your dorm?” He asked recognizing the residential building.

“Yes. I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. One of them, Lu Mingfei is also looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh Okay... neat.”

Chu Zihang opened the door to the dorm and there were many people there! It was like a party! When he saw all these people. He was moved to tears again! He covered his eyes with his arm. “Sorry!”

One of them, a dark haired Chinese boy chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone cried at my 3E. You’re fine.”

Chu Zihang introduced him. “This is Lu Mingfei. He’s the president of the Student Union...”

“Kinda sorta... really I just kinda hang out here while other people do things for me.” He said bashfully.

A tall muscular blond grinned. “I’m Finger Von Frings.”

“And I’m Susie. Congratulations. Sounds like you passed.” She was a petite Chinese girl, making her the third Chinese in the group.

“I’m Zero. Pleasure.” Said a soft spoken blond girl with a Russian accent, who looked bored to be there.

“This is for you.” Chu Zihang handed him a small box covered in paper and a ribbon, like one of those Christmas gifts he’d seen in pictures.

“Thank you... can I open it?”

“If you want.” Chu Zihang mumbled.

Tigre pulled the ribbon and then opened the box after carefully shredding the paper. Inside was a brand new tablet computer. “It will be useful for studying.”

“Wow... thank you!” He laughed. Then he paused. “What is it?”

#Dragon Raja

6 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Text

@theghostof-myndi I'm so sorry this has taken such a long time to write! I hope it was worth the wait, though!💛💛💛

Are You Paid To Say That?

Kevin Richter (Trapped In Silence) x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, mental illness/challenges

A/N: Im really sorry if this isn't as good as you were expecting, I find the characters quite difficult to write, but I've tried my best. I wasn't really too sure where to take this, so I hope thinks ok.💛💛

Masterlist

"How're things going with Kevin?" I inquire as I walk with Jennifer out of the building, pulling my coat tighter around my body as the icy winter air surrounds us, biting at my heated skin.

"Well, I thought they were going well, but he had another outburst today, so I think we might've been set back a bit." The shrink admits to me, adjusting the box in her arms, making the bits and bobs inside clatter against each other.

"Another outburst? How come?" I frown a bit, knowing that this particular patient can be violent at the best of times, concerned now for the older woman's safety.

"I'm not entirely sure this time. We were talking about meeting more people his age, when he mentioned something about seeing a girl around here...hang on, how old are you?" She asks, looking over at me curiously.

Lifting an eyebrow, I quickly respond.

"I'm seventeen."

Realisation seems to dawn on her face as she hears this, knowing that there are, in fact, no other younger workers in the institute, and definetly none that work with the more challenging patients.

"What?" I question when she continues to start at me in amazement.

"I think he was talking about you, (Y/n)." Jennifer reveals, frowning to herself as if thinking something over in her head.

"About me? He doesn't even know who I am, and I don't think he's ever seen me before." I protest, thinking back to the fragile, highly volatile boy currently residing in the Quiet Room.

"Maybe, but the description he gave matches you pretty well." She informs me, smiling gently at the look of genuine shock on my face, "I'll ask him more about it tomorrow."

"Ok, thank you." I respond, not knowing quite how to react to this information, waving a little as she walks off to her car, leaving me standing in the cold to mull over what I've heard.

Jennifer's hurried footsteps echo through the corridor as she approaches me, eyes intent on me, clearly needing to say something to me, prompting me to break off the conversation with the security guard I was having so that I can greet her. When she sees this, she speeds up a bit, hair blowing past her face with an air of importance.

"I was right, (Y/n), it is you that he meant." She blurts out as she reaches me, eyes filling with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy as she regards me.

"What do you mean? Who are we talking about?" I ask her, though I have a feeling I know where this is going.

"Kevin. I showed him a picture of you and he took it from me. He seemed pretty attached to it, and went ballistic when I asked him for it back." She informs me, leading me away from our original spot, back the way she came.

"Kevin? Are you sure? I might just look like someone he knows." I try to reason, feeling a dull sense of fear as she drags me down the corridor, my eyes wide at the idea of going to see the troubled boy.

"Oh, I don't think so, (Y/n). He's drawn out pictures of everyone he want to remember, and I've spoken to the remaining members of his family: there is no way you just remind him of someone. I've been working with him for a while now, I know his habits." She clarifies, leading me down a more secluded corridor, towards the main office, at which point my fear fades into curiosity.

"Are you sure?" I ask one last time, looking away guiltily when she sends me a pointed glance, "Sorry, you know better than I do. Where are we going?"

"Right here." She gestures with a smile to the door we've stopped outside of, knocking just below the sign determining the owner of the room: the head of the institute.

Eyeing her curiously, I remain silent as we wait for him to respond, following her hesitantly when his voice sounds from behind the door. Respectfully, I stand just by the door as she goes inside completely, waiting there as she speaks with Dr Tomlinson, staying quiet as I let the older members talk with each other.

"Jennifer? What do you need?" The doctor greets her, sending a cursory glance at me, before returning his eyes to her.

"I want someone to help me with Kevin's case." She states, excitement creeping into her voice at the thought, clearly eager to keep up with the therapy.

"You do?" Dr Tomlinson looks surprised, eyes widening at her words, my own quickly fixing on the back of Jennifer's head.

"I do. I think it could really help him socialise better, and he'd get to speak to someone other than me for once." She nods enthusiastically, smiling to herself, as if aware of somehow we're not at liberty to know.

"Ok. I guess I can ask around, though I doubt many people are rave enough-" The doctor starts, only to be cut off by Jennifer, who is shaking her head at his words.

"No, don't worry about that. I already have someone in mind." Confusion and curiosity flood me at this, my mind instantly trying configure out who she could be talking about.

"Oh? And who is that?"

"Well, it's (Y/n) of course."

It takes everything I have not to faint.

"Don't worry, (Y/n), you'll be fine. He's not as bad as everyone makes him out to be." Jennifer reassures me as we get ready to enter the therapy room.

Trembling in nerves, I shift from foot to foot as I think through what I'm about to do, well aware that this is only the second case I've ever worked on, and that he doesn't have the greatest reputation. On our way over, Jennifer had given me a rundown of what she knows of his backstory and old living conditions, explaining that she had managed to get him to talk and communicate, but also that he is highly volatile at times, my trepidation and dread just building up the closer we get to the room. Now that we're here, a cold sweat has broken out over my forehead and skin.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just haven't really done this too often." I confess, feeling it important she know that I'm not an experienced worker here, reminding her that I'm only a volunteer who helps out here and there.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that." She frowns, reconsidering as she recalls this, "If you don't feel ready, you don't have to come in. I'm not going to make you."

Taking a deep breath, I decline her offer, biting my lip as I then follow her into the room.

My eyes quickly find the hunched figure in the corner, his messy hair matted and dishevelled, skin pale around his face except under his eyes, where deep purple bags have formed, though the blue-green irises that briefly flick up to greet us are sharp and probing as anything, homing in on my presence instantly. His muscles go rigid, eyes remaining fixed on me even as Jennifer and I move furher into the room. Awkwardly, I hold eye contact for a few seconds, before dropping my gaze with a blush covering my cheeks.

"Good morning, Kevin. I brought along someone to help us with today's session, that ok? This is (Y/n), the girl in the photograph I gave you a week back." Jennifer introduces us, setting the box of items on the table in the centre as I gingerly step forwards, looking up again.

"Hi, Kevin. It's nice to meet you." I say to him, not expecting anything back as he keeps staring at me, only to feel slight fear when he suddenly surges to his feet, scrambling over to the table. Once there, he grabs Jennifer's box and starts rooting around in it, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pencil seconds later, his movements erratic and rushed. I watch in fascination as he seats himself and starts drawing something, expecting us to do the same.

Looking at each other, Jennifer and I do the same thing, a brief flare of surprise lighting inside me as Kevin moves to sit directly opposite me, rather than across from me like he was before. Quietly, I pick up a pen and paper and start sketching, listening to Jennifer as she makes conversation, answering the correct questions and interacting where necessary.

The hour passes quickly, by which point I've managed to finish the drawing I started, sitting back to look at it, before noticing that Kevin is, in fact, also watching me, eyes flicking downwards towards the sheet of paper, almost as if in questioning. With a smile, I push it over the table towards him, offering the drawing to him with little confidence. He picks it up off the table, holding it up so he can see it properly, finger tracing one of the lines, folding it and sticking it in his breastpocket without a second thought.

"Hey, Kevin. That's not yours to take." Jennifer reminds him, looking at me apologetically.

"Oh no, it's fine. You can keep it." I assure her, addressing the last part to him.

He nods at me, not making eye contact.

A few months on, and Kevin and I have actually managed a conversation, the boy no longer too shy or distrusting of me, feeling mostly comfortable around me when in therapy. Jennifer has yet to leave me alone with him, thankfully, though I've overheard her talking to Dr Tomlinson about Kevin requesting for me to have a session alone with him, something which I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with.

Even now, as we read through another of Jennifer's books, it surprises me when he shuffles over to sit beside me, his body incredibly close to mine, as if with the intention of touching each other, but not quite doing so yet. I have a copy of the book open in my lap, giving him a perfect view of the text, as well as my crotch, which draws a small squeak out of me when he goes to turn the page for me, his fingers gently brushing against my jeans, his hand retracting as quickly as I sink back into the seat, neither of us saying anything.

But even after this, it takes a good two months more for Jennifer to finally decide that I'll be safe on my own with him, as long as there are guards outside, and either Dr Tomlinson or herself nearby to help out in case anything goes wrong. At first, I'm sceptical, but eventually I realise that my presence in the room seems to be what keeps him calm and collected, meaning I'm the perfect candidate to look after him alone.

I was wrong to be worried.

A soon as I step into the room, Kevin has stepped up to me with a broad smile on his face, soemthing which always makes me happy to see, making me smile back at him as he eagerly leads me to a place on the floor in the corner, where he sits me down. Taking his place beside me, he rummages around in the breast pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a dog-eared piece of folded paper, silently handing it to me. Opening it, I feel my jaw drop at the sight of it: it's a portrait. Every aspect is drawn perfectly, giving it it's realistic quality, though it does surprise me that he'd draw me of all people, seeing as he knows Jennifer much better. In my head, I remember what she said about him drawing pictures of everyone he cares for.

"This is amazing, Kevin! Is it for me?"

He nods, a smile crossing his face as he shuffles closer, pressing the side of his body against mine.

'Thank you. I really appreciate this." I thank him, starting when I suddenly feel his cold fingers brush against mine. Absentmindedly, they trace their way into my palm, interlocking our fingers together as he moves ever closer. Smiling, I lean back furher and pat my chest, signalling for him to lay there, which he is only too happy to do, his arms wrapping tightly around me, face buried into my midriff as he holds me close to himself.

"I have a crush on you." He suddenly states, voice muffled through my shirt.

For a moment, I don't know what to say, shocked that he feels this way about me.

"Jenny said I should tell you." He testifies, snuggling closer, before pulling back slightly to nose at the bottom of my jaw.

"You have a crush on me?" I ask once more, biting my lip when he assents, "That's helpful, beacuse I have a crush on you, too." I decide just to spit it out, looking to him for a reaction.

"Really? You actually like me? Or are you just being paid to say that?"

"Kevin, I'm a volunteer. I don't get paid at all.

"So, you actually mean it?"

"I do."

#trapped in silence #kiefer sutherland #Kevin Richter #Kevin #request #ask #answer

49 notes · View notes

uwu-boll · 3 years ago

Text

Yesterday I consumed nearly 4 grams of mushrooms. Here is what that was like for me:

First, this isnt my first rodeo. I've consumed psychedelics a few times before; I wouldnt call myself necessarily experienced but I have an education background in psychopharmacology and I have a couple of trips under my belt already so I knew what to expect and how it was going to feel going into it. 2 months ago. my girlfriend and I purchased 7 grams of mushrooms to split for our anniversary weekend this past week. We purchased a hotel room - I wanted to avoid doing this at home due to a very stressful living situation - and situated our setting so as to be best prepared to go about our experience. This included water, music, videogames, some snacks, etc. The necessities.

Our day started following a night of several shared margaritas and burgers between us. We went swimming, had coffee and a light breakfast, went to therapy together, and then a healthy midday lunch. Following that, we gathered the supplies for the night and settled in at around 3pm. Starting then, I measured out the dosages for the both of us; 2.75g for her, 3.87g for me (the dosages were more or less arbitrary, but we had a ballpark of what kind of experience we were looking for). She ate hers straight up, while I prepared a 'lemon tek'; powdered shrooms soaked in lemon juice for some time. There is some science behind it, but the idea is to shorten the duration or the experience while making it more intense. This also helps with digestion to prevent nausea, although there will still be some present as your body tries to 'reject' the chemical.

My shrooms sat in lemon juice for 20 mins before I tossed them all in orange juice for me to take big gulps of. Disclaimer - I HATE the taste, smell, texture, EVERYTHING about mushrooms. This... isnt necessarily better, but it's the best way to consume them short of capsules, I've found.

3:25 PM: I start drinking my pulpy orange juice - mushroom cocktail. It tastes like sour orange juice, because of the lemon juice I added, but the thought of the mushrooms in there makes me gag before I even get the concoction in my mouth. I can already tell this is going to be an endeavour. I take one big swig, maybe a fifth of the bottle, and approximately a quarter of the dose. I wait about 5 mins before taking another swig

3:35: one more swig, followed by a dab, hoping that the weed will calm my tummy. It does, but not before I nearly puke coughing up a lung

3:45: I finish the cocktail. This whole time I'm watching my girlfriend - who is approximately 15 minutes ahead of me having already dosed - set up the Nintendo switch and design a character on Tony Hawks Pro Skater, the remastered edition. She finishes, we take a dab, and we start playing. We, for some reason, start with a VS game, first to 500,000 points. I dont know why we thought that was a good idea, but we did. From here on, times are approximate.

Approximately 3:50: We are mindlessly skating in complete silence, absolute fixated in this game. I'm pretty high from the dabs as it is, so I'm spacing out and having trouble coordinating.

Approximately 4:00: I'm focused entirely on how gross my stomach feels having drank the cocktail. My body feels heavy, and it's very difficult to coordinate in the game properly.

Approximately 4:15: We are probably 100,000 points into this game before we both realize how long it's going to take before anyone wins. Were both kinda over it, and clearly struggling with performing and we only know it's going to get worse. As the come up begins, I feel a profound sense of anxiety. Recognizing it as the comeup anxiety, I dismiss it, but it's quickly becoming pretty overwhelming. The lemon tek, in shortening and intensifying the experience, creates very powerful come ups. We stop playing THPS and switch to Super Mario 3D World, which makes me feel better

Approximately 4:30: We get through 2 levels before we stop playing for the night. We decide to cuddle and try to calm each other down. We put on Bo Burnham's 'Inside' to listen to while we come up, which was a great idea because we love him. Really got us talking about our pasts and the meanings behind each of his songs. My body is very heavy, but I feel at absolute peace within it - I'm not biting my nails compulsively or shaking my legs - despite the come up anxiety and the slight nausea. I feel attached to the bed, I didnt want to get up even if I had to. I am absolutely CHEESIN, smiling so hard my cheeks still hurt a day later.

Approximately 4:45: I am staring at the wall, looking at what appears to be a pattern overlaying the texture of the wall. I see the same pattern on the bathroom floor. I'm questioning as to whether or not it's really there. I quickly move to the ceiling - a popcorn ceiling - where I am blown away; the lighting in the room makes the ceiling look both purple and green. My pareidolia is going crazy and I see constantly shifting patterns in the white noise that is the popcorn ceiling. The crazy thing is knowing that there is no pattern to the nonsense I am seeing, but making out patterns regardless. I stare at this for awhile. The ceiling is flowing like water.

The exact order of events henceforth are kind of a blur. We lay in bed for the rest of the night, but the topics of discussion vary from point to point, mostly us complimenting each other and praising each other. At some point, Inside ended, and we listened to Hamilton. However, I hardly remember both the end of Inside nor the entirety of Hamilton, and so it's likely that around d approximately 5 oclock, began the Great Existential Breakdown (TM)

At approximately 5 oclock, I was peaking. Emotions were running high, and, in response to being hungry, I had a breakdown because I hated the fact that I was born into a world dominated by cruelty, inhumanity, and the insatiable drive for profit. I hated that I lived in a world where something as simple as hunger was a problem, and that food - a human right - is commodified. I hated that consumption was obligatory, and that to feed the endless gluttony that is the human need to consume, we exploit both our fellow humans, and the planet. I hated that in that obligatory need to consume, weve facilitated this social climate in which it's okay to pollute our world and exploit the human labor condition so as long as its convenient to the consumer and profitable to the corporation. (Now that I think about it, this may have been spurned by Bo Burnhams 'That Funny Feeling', which I feel like is his most powerful song on the album. ) This quickly evolved into how being born, and forced into a world without your consent where conditions like this exist in the first place is inherently a violent act, and that having children is immoral until we create an environment where those conditions are obsolete. Then to how bullshit it is that I am forced to take care of a meatsuit for the whole of my life, but I have to pay to upkeep all of it as if i had some choice in the matter. This lead to me talking about how I wanted to be a transient observer of the universe, untethered to any physical point in space. Not quite dead, not quite alive - still able to see things happen, but not be able to participate. I then went on to say how I didnt think suicide was the answer to my problems because that doesnt necessarily get rid of the conditions that lead to my despair, but rather creates new problems for my loved ones. I knew that the key was to live in despite of the despair and to continue on in search of my own personal meaning.

This breakdown lasted approximately 3 hours and was very emotional for both of us. We spent a lot of time crying and talking about stuff weve never spoken about before. The comedown was very gentle and helped me feel very cathartic and relaxed. Over the course of the comedown I took several dabs, a few of which brought me back to 'The Wonky Space' (TM). However, this was short lived. My girlfriend sat in the tub naked from the waist down, which quickly turned into a bath, and from there, after my breakdown, we started to relax, watch some Shameless, went downstairs, got some snacks, some drinks, and went to bed.

Before I fell asleep, and once I knew the experience was 100% over, I took some time to reflect and felt very satisfied with what happened. It wasnt at all what I expected the night to be, but I felt like I needed to do that, and experience that kind of existential pain. I felt very relaxed once I got control of my body again, and that peace - the general sense of wellbeing, happiness, lack of anxiety, connectivity to my partner and my fellow man - has persisted well into the next day, and will likely continue for at least the next week. 10/10 would do again.

Would I say I had a bad trip? No. Was it a good one? N...no. but I had a great time, it was fun, and enlightening, and helped me realize where I feel like I am struggling mentally.

4 notes · View notes

tainted-wine · 5 years ago

Text

All Consuming

Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader, Dark Shadow x Reader (NSFW)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Noncon, Dark Shadow being an aggressive monster

(I’m very mixed on this. This was a weird one that feels less smutty and more just plain horror, and I wasn’t sure how to approach the perspectives. Either way, writing this was an experience)

Dark Shadow was a simple creature that craved two things: strong emotions and darkness.

It remembers Master’s first and only tantrum. Anger was a suffocating heat that licked at Dark Shadow like a flame, but instead of burning, it was pumped with newfound energy. It launched from Master’s body, lashing out and ready to tear apart the two humans responsible. But Master held it back with tears in his eyes, begging it not to hurt “Mommy” and “Daddy”, even though they made him angry. Dark Shadow could have fought back, and it probably would have overpowered the child, but it was not interested in damaging Master’s trust.

So it retreated back into the abyss.

It remembers the first time the lights went out. The surrounding pitch blackness became one with the abyss. It coated the beast, layer by layer, morphing it into a power-drunk monster that felt free. It laid waste to Master’s room in a joyful rampage. Alas, Master stopped it once again, asking it to please stay put when he slept. It warned Master that darkness is always a delicious temptation, but it will try its best.

So it retreated back into the abyss.

As the years passed, Master strengthened his control on both his emotions and his hold on Dark Shadow. The moments he lost his grip on either were becoming so rare. Dark Shadow floated in the abyss with conflicted feelings. It cared for Master’s wellbeing, but it also cherished his gravest mistakes. Every powerful sensation that broke through the carefully built barrier within Master’s mind surged through his quirk like an addictive injection. He has called Dark Shadow a greedy beast many times throughout their life; the beast does not disagree. The human mind offered the best flavors when it was loud and untamed.

That’s why Dark Shadow believed you were a godsend.

A fellow Pro Hero that has teamed up with Master on several occasions. You two were surprisingly compatible, inside and outside of work.You have his back during villain attacks. You were there to comfort him after brushes with death, or when he couldn’t save every civilian. You pet Dark Shadow after a job well done like he was a lowly pet. The sentient quirk would shrink back into Master’s body after refusing to accept your praise (it felt good). It was clear that your relationship was becoming something more than a professional one.

The abyss was changing. Dark Shadow felt a shift in temperature, a more comforting heat instead of the usual eerie frigidness. The vast emptiness suddenly felt…soft. No emotion has ever pulsed within Master’s body so strongly and for so long, to the point where it changed Dark Shadow’s void of a home. The creature of darkness much preferred the sensation of more hostile emotions, but this admittedly wasn’t so bad.

But sometimes the feeling did change into something more aggressive, if only for a moment. During those times when you showered Master’s beak with kisses that he couldn’t properly reciprocate (he’s expressed his frustrations about this many times, but you insist that it isn’t an issue) while his hands roam your body, the abyss’s dreamy atmosphere became something more passionate. He would stop you before things got too heated, but Dark Shadow still felt that brief spike of hunger, a hunger that it has never felt before.

One night, Master pleasured himself for the first time. It was an urge he never wanted to act on during his adolescent years out of fear of losing his grasp on his quirk. But his cravings, his desire to have you was becoming shamefully strong. Despite the dangers of introducing the demon within him to such a powerfully new sensation, he took his own girth in his hands.

Dark Shadow observed from inside. It watched Master stroke himself, it listened to his increasingly heavy breaths, it noticed his feathered head becoming damp and disheveled as sweat dripped from his pores. All the while the abyss grew hotter. It wasn’t the angry kind of heat, the kind that pricked the shadow with energy and agitated it until it violently snapped. No, this heat gathered around it, forming bundles of pleasure that slowly grew in size. As Master jerked himself and drew closer to…something, the pleasure swelled more and more until it was nearly suffocating Dark Shadow, and yet the confused but excited creature didn’t want it to stop.

The moment it was sure that the hot pressure was going to crush it, the entire abyss burst and for just a minute, Dark Shadow felt afraid. Orgasmic bliss engulfed its entire being, nearly paralyzing it as the last of hot pleasure exploded around it in bright flashes. Beyond the void, Dark Shadow could hear Master heaving and groaning. Both of them were stunned by what they just experienced.

Love was a sweet and cozy feeling, but lust was absolutely breathtaking.

‘Again!’ Dark Shadow begged from within. ‘Do it again.’

The voice snapped Master out of cloud nine. “Quiet, beast.” he huffed while regaining his composure. “I’m not foolish enough to spoil you with this.”

‘You loved it too.’ it countered.

“I have made many sacrifices to keep the darkness at bay. This will be no different.”

‘Damn you.’

Master resisted touching himself after the first night. Dark Shadow knew the itch was there (you can’t hide your wants from me, Master), it noticed every time a wave of feverish heat swept through the abyss, but the human continued to be stubborn.

“You will get greedy and lose control, like you always do.” the human said.

The anger and frustration distorted the shadow’s voice into a monstrous growl. ‘Why won’t you grant me just one freedom?’

Master wasn’t intimidated. “The day I do will be the day you doom us both.”

Dark Shadow roared and sank into the deepest depths of the abyss. It can’t remember the last time it felt so deprived. How long will this torture last?

Thankfully, not for much longer.

On a rare day when both you and Master were free, you spent the evening at his place, killing most of the time with horror movies and cuddles. After the last film, the cuddles quickly escalated into steamy kisses and groping.

The abyss was tingling, but Dark Shadow felt the hesitation. Do it, Master. Finally, we can feel the real thing.

Master grunted as your hand drifted down until you reached the growing bulge in his pants. There was no more resistance. He needed this; he needed you.

You were in his bed in a flash, cradling his soft head as you both ground your clothed groins against each other.

Dark Shadow could faintly feel your touches, your fingers brushing between Master’s feathers, your mouth kissing his chest as you pulled down his boxers…it was probably nothing compared to what Master himself felt, but it was no less exhilarating. The heat that was so dearly missed was returning with a vengeance, consuming the entire abyss. Every single stimulation was bringing back the bubbling pleasure. The hand on your breast gently massaged the soft flesh, while the other pushed its fingers inside your feminine warmth. The sight of you completely submitting yourself had Dark Shadow licking its jet black beak. I want a taste.

It wasn’t ready when Master finally entered you, making the entire abyss quake. Everything around Dark Shadow was pulsing so strongly that it could barely pay attention to the sex. It heard the unified cries of you and Master, heard the slap of skin and creak of the bed with each thrust, but the expanding pleasure was wreaking havoc on its focus. The beast wasn’t afraid this time. It welcomed the approaching explosion with welcome arms.

The blast was even more powerful than before, burning the whimpering shadow in the best way possible. The cumming lovers outside of the abyss could be faintly heard, your entire body spasms as you cried out Master’s name. Each spurt into your core released another sensual shock wave that left Dark Shadow trembling.

The orgasm felt never ending, yet it somehow ended too soon. The darkness slowly stabilized once again; Dark Shadow felt drunk. The beast felt crippled, yet it wanted more immediately. It could tell that Master was spent, lying on his side and cradling you. ‘NO, do it again. I want to feel it again. This is tastier than fear. More addicting than rage. DO IT AGA—

“Enough.”

Master’s voice is still firm even through his heavy breaths.

“Eh?” You were on the verge of sleep until that single word startled you.

Master shook his head and cradled you closer. “Dark Shadow hungers. I was afraid of this.”

“Is that dangerous? Do you want me to leave?” You knew that Dark Shadow was a legitimate threat when it became overwhelmed by Master’s emotions. You only know from the past stories that Master has shared with you, but it was more than enough for you to take his warnings to heart. Dark Shadow hissed in annoyance. Master always tells people to keep their distance whenever he believed it was becoming hostile. Now he was going to tell you to leave the room, probably too afraid to ever engage in this wonderful act ever again…

“No. Stay.” Master held you tightly to ensure you weren’t going anywhere.

Ah, of course. ‘Love makes you stupid,’ right?

Dark Shadow didn’t make a sound, but it was still shaking with want, the faintest smile curving its beak. I will have more.

It hadn’t calmed down by the time the lights were off and the couple was sound asleep, your back pressed against Master’s bare chest. The abyss has since switched back to its regular empty and cold environment, but Dark Shadow was still restless. It watched your sleeping form. Your curves, your soft flesh, even enveloped in darkness your body looked ravishing.

Master didn’t react as a black tendril emerged from his abdomen and slithered across your side. The limb soon took the shape of a hand, making sure to avoid the bulky arms wrapped around your stomach as it drifted closer to your chest.

Just a touch. I want to feel her for myself.

The hand reaches your breast, giving it the softest of squeezes. The touch was so much stronger than feeling it through Master’s hands. Oh, I really missed out.

You were even warmer and softer than it imagined. Its fingers prodded your nipple, watching in fascination as it hardened under the touch. It froze instantly when a soft whimper slipped past your lips, but it continued when you didn’t react any further.

The abyss wasn’t heating, but Dark Shadow was.

It tried to form the rest of its body as well as it could while trapped between the two lovers. Its face nuzzled your hair, one hand continuing to fondle your breast, while the other moved down to your thigh.

A low growl vibrated through the shadow beast. It wasn’t used to taking action on its own. Freedom. Free to touch you however I want. The rush from the lust, darkness, and independence was taking Dark Shadow to new heights.

It lifted your thigh just enough to expose your hot core. There it is. That is where he will find bliss once again. It wasn’t going to wait. For all it knew, Master may not be brave enough to take you ever again. It can’t take that risk.

Then I’ll be the one to take you.

A black phallus took shape and rubbed against your folds. The contact was enough to wake you from your slumber. Dark Shadow panicked. No no no no so close. It was already pressed against your wet lips, why back out now?

“Fumi…?” You groaned when you noticed something poking at you. There wasn’t time to think of much else when it suddenly pushed into you.

Dark Shadow muffled your cry with a hand clamped over your mouth. Fuck, you felt amazing. Master didn’t know just how lucky he was, enjoying this pussy while his quirk was forced to stay put. Feeling such pleasure directly was forcing the shadow to shift into something more monstrous.

It barely registered Master’s shouts, ordering it to stop this instant. Shut UP. Shadows seeped out of Master’s body and wrapped around him, pushing him back down onto the bed and pinning him like prey trapped in webbing. You know you can’t beat me in the darkness. Don’t even try.

You were rolled onto your back, the foreign dick now pumping into you deeper and faster. Dark Shadow could see the look of frightened confusion in your eyes, eyes that were trying to comprehend the horrifying form that was claiming her in the dark.

This is wrong, Master won’t forgive me.

It hit a sensitive spot inside you, forcing a moan out of you as your wetness clenched around it.

I don’t care. It’s too good.

The bed rocked loudly as you were pounded into the mattress. With your screams of combined fear and pleasure, Master’s desperate pleas for it all stop, and Dark Shadow’s ravenous snarls, the room conveyed pure and unadultered terror. The grotesque demon that was Dark Shadow was feeling a familiar tension, the kind when the abyss was on the verge of exploding with hot pleasure, except this time the feeling was inside of it.

Closer. Take me closer.

Shadows glided across your body as if you were slowly being devoured while being violently fucked. Dark Shadow didn’t care; it’s only concern was reaching that release.

Almost there.

One of your hands managed to break free from the tangled blackness and was blindly feeling across the desk drawer next to you.

Hold still, dammit.

You whimpered and trembled at the merciless pounding but didn’t stop searching for…something. It didn’t matter; Dark Shadow was so close, that tight pressure was ready to give away and burst.

YES! LET ME HAVE IT! LET ME FEEL IT THE WAY MASTER DID!

Instead of a sensual explosion, Dark Shadow was hit with a blast of light directly in its face. A shriek of pure agony tore from its throat as its massive form writhed before scrambling back into Master’s body and the safety of the abyss.

Dark Shadow’s face burned. So close. Why must everything always stop me?

It watched through the pain as you turned off the shockingly bright flashlight feature on your phone, your body furiously shaking. Finally free to move, Master reached out to you…

Only for you to jump back and onto the floor. Tears fell from your face as you quickly gathered your clothes while frantically apologizing about how you couldn’t stay here. You were out of the room before Master could even stand and say anything more.

The air in the abyss became suffocating as the darkness began to boil. Dark Shadow hasn’t tasted the burning pangs of fury in years. It should be savoring such a rare opportunity.

But this isn’t what it wanted. It didn’t want to feel anything but the euphoric bang that was unjustly torn away from it at the last minute.

Master’s rage pierced Dark Shadow like a scorching needle.

“How could you do this?! How could you do that to her, you goddamned fiend!” Master grips his head hard enough to tug out several feathers.

Dark Shadow feels it all. Shame. Regret. Sorrow. Hatred. All of them bit and tore at the shadow like mad dogs. Master will never forgive or forget such a deplorable act. You may never approach him again, and even if you did, he would think it’s best that you stay away because his cursed quirk can never be trusted. He clutched at his chest, hot tears running down his face.

The relationship between the man and his quirk has been destroyed. The quirk couldn’t bring itself to care.

I WAS SO CLOSE….NEVER AGAIN….

#bnha #smut #tokoyami fumikage #tokoyami x reader #dark shadow #tw noncon

192 notes · View notes

hispydamy618 · 4 years ago

Text

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power x Spaceling: Glitch in Space

Summary: After opening the portal, it tears a hole across the dimensions giving an entrance for the New York heroes: Utopix Jones, Georgine Wilson, Gabriel Rodriguez, Oliver Schmidt and Makena Jones, to fall right through. Together, they'll need to recreate the disaster that brought them to Etheria alongside the Princess' Rebellion in order to go back home and fix what was broken... but not before defeating the obstacles on the way.

Disclaimer: Contains spoilers for She-Ra’s season 3 finale and Spaceling’s issue 10-12 events.

(Thank you so much to @catlliecal for co-writing this with me!)

Masterlist: Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 (you’re here!) // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7

Warnings: huge mentions of blood, surgical procedures; implied smut, angst, slight fluff

Word Count: 5.8k (yup, this is a hefty one!!!)

Check Spaceling out!

Chapter 5: Flight or Fight in the Dark

Another day appear into Etheria and the half-robot, half-human being hadn’t gone out of Glimmer’s room for nearly half of it. He’d just stay quiet and kept himself warm, wrapped with the purple blankets like a small cocoon. Eventually, Georgine knocked the door gently, not meaning to disturb him as she brought a carefully prepared banana split with her.

“My love?” Georgine softly spoke, leaning down to kiss his ear, gently nibbling on it to see if he was fully awake. “Wake up, baby…”

“H-Hmm…” Utopix shifted around the bed, facing her and lightly smiling at the sight of the banana split. He slowly sat on the bed, but Georgine placed him on his lap with ease, planting a kiss on his neck.

“Did you sleep well?” she placed the succulent dessert in front of him.

“I-I… I don’t know if I did…” Utopix began to scoop tiny pieces of the dessert, fiddling around as his thoughts invaded his fragile mind.

“Oh, Uto… It’s gonna be okay. Oliver is almost done creating the device for the portal. We’ll be out of here soon.” Georgine’s hand caressed his exposed knee, helping him scoop the ice cream and brought it to his mouth, cleaning any mess with the back of her finger. “…okay?”

“H-He…” Utopix’s tears began to flow again. “W-What if he’s gone? A-All because of me…”

“Uto. No.” Her fingers touched his chin to face her intimidating visage. “Every person that has fought for you has done it because they wanted you to live… and you shouldn’t let it be in vain.”

“But if I…? W-What if I stayed? H-He wouldn’t—”

“Don’t think about what could’ve happened, Uto. Think about what we can do now.”

Utopix eventually wiped his tears away, nodded, and ate the rest of the ice cream as tears rolled down his face again.

“My love?” Georgine rubbed his sides, seeing his tears again.

Utopix sniffled, recovering bits of his breath. “…I-It tastes good.”

Georgine lowly chuckled at his response, kissing his shoulder multiple times to calm his sweet love down.

It didn’t take the super pal trio too long to barge in the room unannounced.

“Is he okay? How is he feeling!?” Adora peeked her head by the door, eyes wide open and full of concern.

“Bow! Get off of me!” Glimmer groaned, trying to shake him off.

“Well, if Adora wasn’t on top of ME, then maybe I’ll—!” Bow exclaimed as the trio fell on top of each other.

Utopix sweetly laughed at their silly action and continued to eat the ice cream.

“What do y’all want?” Georgine stared at the dumb trio in her eyes.

“Well, your friends are still helping Oliver build the machine. So, we just wanted to check on Utopix,” Bow kindly smiled.

“He’s fine. Thank you.” Georgine maintained her repressed attitude despite the previous circumstances.

“Georgie…” Utopix slightly frowned.

“Is there anything we can do for you, Utopix?” Glimmer asked, hoping he’d want to get more ice cream so she could have an excuse to barge in the kitchen again.

“I-I’m fine, really.” Utopix set the bowl aside and got up with a smile on his face. “Maybe if I could just— AAH!” The robot cried out loud as a sudden rise of electrifying energy took over his body, obligating his body to fall down.

“Uto!” Georgine immediately rushed to help him, carefully embracing him in her arms as the other three stared in distress. “W-What’s going on, baby? What is it?”

“I-I don’t…” Utopix’s voice started to fade away, as his hands clenced Georgine’s clothes. “O-Oh, god... N-No…” His eyes stared at the ceiling, but his vision would get flashes of the Fright Zone. A room. Violent hisses going off and yells of a known individual. Oh, the luck he had for sharing a physical connection with him. Experimenting every single cut, every shock to his body, bringing him to tears. Not due to the pain… but due to the fact that he was experiencing it because of him.

“Uto! Talk to me!” Georgine would shake his body to try and get a response, but it was useless.

The pain on Utopix’s body retained him from speaking any word. And even if he could, he couldn’t find the words to explain what was happening. A noise then barged through the room, flying towards the one that was tossing and turning in its endless torture.

Sabrina.

The three eventually noticed that she had gone in and yelled in pure shock.

“It’s a big face!” Bow pointed at her, his voice cracking accompanying his amusement.

Sabrina rolled her digitalized eyes and faced Utopix who was equally surprised that she was finally back online. “Hey. Can you listen to me?”

Utopix struggled to let his binary code function properly, but eventually he managed to transfer a ‘Yes’ onto her system. Sabrina nodded, basically leaning forward then back again, and allowed her arms to examinate him thoroughly.

“Your inner systems are experiencing a malfunction. A part of it is still connected to him… but you need to concentrate, Utopix. It’s not happening to you, you hear me? Concentrate on that.” Sabrina instructed him on what to do.

Utopix shut his eyes tightly as the pain overtook him. He tried to speak but uncoherent gasps would come out instead.

“No, no, no.” Sabrina restrained him from doing so. “Keep your mind blank. Breathe in… and out.”

Utopix managed to let the tiniest strand of oxygen in him, allowing some words to finally come out as well. “I-I c-can’t… It b-burns… I-I can’t do it!”

“Yes, you can! You’ve done this before! Come on, Utopix! Breathe!” Sabrina held onto his hand, letting him grasp it as hard as he needed to.

The little one felt like his mind would go black from the unbearable pain surrounding him. His fingers ran down Georgine’s broad back as he finally caught his breath in really short gasps. The tears flowing down his face endlessly as he heard his last yell come out. The pain had gone away… but a new one had added. Eventually, his breath found its normal rhythm, yet he cried and trembled after finding out about yet another tragedy. Georgine helped him up and embraced him, comforting him from the horrible moment.

“Attaboy, baby… There we go…” she sweetly whispered in his ear, repeating the last phrase numerous times.

“H-He’s gone… HE’S GONE!” Utopix cried out like he never did before, nearly scaring Georgine but that just made her comfort him even more.

Sabrina sighed in disappointment, seeing how the other three were still staring at her. “You.” Sabrina looked at Glimmer, who pointed at herself, unsure if she was speaking with her. “Can the Moonstone heal foreign allies?”

Glimmer thought for a moment then shook her head. “No. But Adora can heal as She-Ra if that’s what you need.”

“I-I can only heal actual people. Utopix is mostly made of technology. I-I don’t think—” Adora frowned until she was interrupted by the levitating robot.

“Utopix is mostly made of organic tissues and organs. The technology within him just enhances it and keeps it steady for him to be consider a tech piece.” Sabrina explained. “Plus, my files show that you fixed a shield back in the water princess’ world. So, technically, you can heal him.”

Adora let out a long sigh and then nodded. “Fine.”

Georgine set Utopix down on the bed who was still catching his breath to try and regulate the tiny waves of energy pulsating through his body like a curse. Adora came back to the room, wielding the sword as She-Ra, taking a deep breath and exhaling as needed to begin the healing process. Adora’s eyes looked at the poor one shaking as she lined the sword with her face, her eyes lighting up as she sent the wave of restoring energy to the fainted robot. Once Utopix felt the calming aura around his body, he opened his eyes and looked up at Adora, contemplating that marvelous and heroic form once again with a faint grin.

“T-Thank you…”

“It’s all good now. Just rest now.”

===================

Catra was having the worst time of her life. A mission nearly failed, her target escaped, the most valuable of his soldiers was gone, and Lord Hordak would not stop consuming her time with aggravating questions about how she intended to recover from this.

“I don’t know! I—” Catra exclaimed.

“Well, you better act fast on your own plan!” Hordak shouted. “We have no more parts to spare…” he said as he held… his core. The sight of it made Catra shake, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “…and his is not as powerful as I’m assuming the other robot’s is.”

“I-I…” Catra tried to compose herself after contemplating and imagining the grotesque scene. “I’ll try and find the robot—”

“Your attempts have just managed to slow us down. I’ll let my newest ally handle this problem.”

Catra’s ears perked at his statement. “…new ally?”

===================

The poor robot decided to take some fresh air and decided to sit and watch the garden after the oh-so-pleasant experience. Thankfully, Georgine was watching over him from the balcony so he didn’t have to worry about another ambush coming his way. His hands pricked some flowers, letting a red one fly into the gentle wind as a form of… grief, and using the rest to create some flower crowns for him and his new friends.

“It’s a good thing that Perfuma isn’t here or she’d definitely yell at you,” Adora suddenly appeared and crouched down to then sit next to him.

Georgine let his body feel looser at the presence of someone who could protect Utopix if an enemy was nearby. Bow approached the angel warrior and decided to accompany her on her Utopix-gazing.

“Still doubting?” Bow asked, meaning to begin a conversation with her.

“About?” Georgine cocked an eyebrow, her eyes lightly narrowed.

“Adora,” Bow grinned in his response. “It seems like you really insist on protecting Utopix despite having people that want to help you.”

Makena came from the back, lightly laughing at his statement. “It’s because she’s a Zoulex, Bow.”

“What’s a Zoulex anyway?” Bow expressed his curiosity upon the subject.

“Well, mostly a guardian angel. A Zoulex is usually assigned a specific person on any realm to protect them no matter what… but…” Georgine glanced away from the two, Makena’s palm running up and down her back to comfort her from what she already knew.

“…But?” Bow frowned, afraid of what she’d respond.

“I landed on Earth years ago due to something that happened on my world. There, I found a family that took me in, and they had a little kid named… Matthew. I instantly knew that he was my assigned ward… but… the problems of my world eventually followed me and… he…” Georgine closed her eyes, as the scene played in her head.

“When a Zoulex fails its purpose… it’s… a big loss.” Makena spoke on her behalf.

“You don’t want the same happening to him.” Bow concluded, glancing at Utopix below. “…is Utopix your new ward?”

“I’m not sure… but I don’t need to know that to protect him.” Georgine glanced back at the two who were still gladfully talking.

Adora and Utopix shared a laugh after telling him one of her funny anecdotes.

“And she sabotaged the prom dance just to get to you?” Utopix continued laughing.

“I guess she’s that desperate about me.” Adora grinned, telling him about Catra and the situation back at Princess Prom. “I feel like she does that to catch my attention on purpose. Poor her.”

Utopix dried one of his tears of joy to look back at her. “But you two were friends, right?”

“Who? Catra? Yeah… but I’m not sure if I’m really into it anymore.” Adora grabbed some dried grass, letting it flow onto the passing wind.

“W-Why is that?” Utopix frowned upon her response.

Adora’s eyes subtly narrowed and scooted near him as so did he. “Well… I can be a little… much of a handful for Catra.”

Utopix placed his hand on hers, meaning to comfort her apparent state. “Why wouldn’t she want you near her?”

“I guess she doesn’t want…” Adora’s hand cupped Utopix’s cheek, making his cheeks tingle with an uncomfortable heat. “…someone that likes to wander into dangerous territory.” Adora whispered, sending shivers down Utopix’s spine, but also alerting him that something was off…

Bow observed the two, misinterpreting the situation. “Aww. Look at that. Adora and Utopix are getting friendly with each other.”

“Do you wanna know why I was chosen as She-Ra?” Adora’s face inched closer to his, her voice sweetly dragging him in.

“A-Adora…” Utopix tried to back his face away from hers, but her hand would obligate it to stay close.

“I can show you why…~” Adora’s lips forcefully locked with Utopix’s, making him whimper… not knowing of what.

“Probably a bit too friendly!” Bow’s voice cracked in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Georgine seemed like she’d nearly explode of rage and stormed down the stairs with the other two that followed her close by, along with Glimmer, who joined the parade after seeing them rushed down the hallway as if they left the stove on.

Adora kept the session going, letting her tongue dance around the whimpering-and-fully-flustered robot’s mouth. Her mouth gently traveling down the crook of his neck. His hands gently gripped her shoulders, unsure of what to do… He’d pull away for a moment to catch his breath, contemplating Adora’s sneering smirk.

“U-Uh… A-Adora~” Utopix was brought up back again onto the session as the other passionately kissed him, pinning him to the flowered ground, meaning to quite literally take his breath away. Utopix just wanted to stop… the thought of betraying Georgine right in front of her just filled him with sadness that he expressed once again through his eyes. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t move nor breath. Begging to sweet mercy that it’d stop soon. The other eventually stopped, flashing yet another smirk and leaning forward to whisper something in his ear as the robot caught his breath rapidly.

“I missed kissing you like that, dear…” Adora whispered, seemingly. Her voice considerably lower than usual.

And there it was. A wave of relief. It was not her.

“Y-You…” Utopix’s wrists struggled under her hands who then revealed her true form.

Takara.

“Get off of me!” Utopix kneed her stomach to free from her grasp, making her groan. “W-What are you doing here!?”

“Ugh… and to think I let you in that easily.” Takara stood up, flicking her hair to have a better look at him.

Her hands suddenly casted an electric whip to knock him out. But he had been in this situation multiple times and in different scenarios, so he easily dodged it, pouncing himself on her.

“Utopix…” her eyes took him up and down. “I didn’t take you for that kind~”

He growled and placed his hands together in a fist to knock her out; but just as Georgine, Bow, Glimmer and the others finally entered the garden, Takara snapped her fingers to gain the former appearance, making the others see ‘Adora’ and Utopix in a… compromising position.

“Woah! Okay! C’mon, Adora!” Bow glanced away at the unexpected sight.

“I always thought Utopix was a botto—” Gabriel whispered until he got slapped on the shoulder by Georgine.

‘Adora’ got up, grabbing Utopix by his waist and lifting him up. Just then, the real Adora had returned from her daily stroll with Madame Razz.

“Hey, guys. What’s—” she stayed silent once she saw the other.

The others’ jaws nearly dropped to the floor at the sight, but Georgine had quickly picked up on it.

“Pardon me, darlings. But I’m afraid you got the wrong gal.” ‘Adora’ snapped her fingers, revealing her true form.

“Of course,” Georgine’s fists clenched as Oliver, Makena, and Gabriel flinched as well; letting Adora, Bow, and Glimmer know that that was the Takara they so spoke about.

“Oh, dear~” Takara laughed at their sudden actions. “You’re that fond of him?” She held Utopix in front of her, gripping the back of his neck and lifting his small body up. “How pathetic of you.”

Georgine placed the AMR gadget on her hand, ready to strike the one near her. Adora equally pulling her sword from behind her in case she needed to transform.

“Let him go now!” Georgine activated the gadget as waves of electricity ran around it.

“Oh, I do not intend to.” Takara smirked, keeping Utopix close to her. “You see, Lord Hordak promised me to collaborate on my plan to get this sweetie’s main core for my great weapon. After we tried to use… ugh… someone’s pathetic excuse for a main core…”

The others immediately gasped, knowing who she referred to.

“…we just knew that we needed to use this little peep’s either way. And thank you, Georgine.”

Georgine’s eyes lightly widen.

“You took a great weight off my back with that bastard.” Takara’s evil grin appeared on her face before teleporting away from there.

Georgine’s knees trembled, falling to the floor, realizing what she had done. Her known trio rushed to her, one of them embracing them from behind.

“Georgine… I-It was not your fault… Otu wanted to save him.” Makena reassured her.

Georgine’s expression was blank, until she finally reacted by blasting the dry trees on the garden in pure rage. The only thing the others could do was watch as her fury eventually faded away in a gentle exhale.

“We have to stop them. Now.” Georgine looked at Adora with genuine concern on her words. The sword-wielding-warrior agreed on her statement, ready to gather the rest up for the upcoming battle.

===================

Takara appeared on Lord Hordak’s lab, dropping Utopix near her who grunted on his rough landing. Catra’s ear flipped on their direction, turning around to see the new guest.

“Well, well, well…” the cat’s tail wagged around, rosing the floor as she did so. “Are you comfortable, Your Majesty?”

“Y-You…” Utopix growled at her, tears forming yet again as he stood up. “You KILLED him!” He was about to pounce against the other female responsible for Otu’s demise but was held back by the other one. “WHY!?” The little one slid down Takara’s arms and onto the ground, crying uncontrollably.

Lord Hordak groaned upon the disturbing scene and revealed himself to the light once again. “Make him stop! We must prepare the weapon now.”

Catra nodded, grabbing Utopix’s arm by force and dragging him back to the compartment he escaped from before. Catra kept him in place, positioning him on a platform as Takara accompanied her, ready to open the grieving robot apart. His eyes widened at the sight of the familiar ceiling above him. His hands gripped the locks tied around his wrists, nearly feeling his hands upon them. Takara grabbed one of the blades, positioning it near his face.

“This is a familiar scenario, ain’t it, Uto-dear?” she leaned near his ear in the same fashion, whispering the menacing words that reminded him of that one unpleasant night with her. “But don’t worry… unlike that time… this will end soon.”

The blade begun to create the incision on his chest, reaching it deeply till she reached the depth she needed. Surprisingly, he didn’t scream… nothing but a soft whimper. He had been exposed to so much lately that physical pain didn’t compare to it. Catra witnessed the horrendous act, feeling like she’d throw up at any moment, so she stormed out of the room without another word.

“It’s just you and me now, dear…” Takara merely smirked as she continued to create the required cuts on the robot’s body. “Stay with me, little one.” Her fingers intertwined with his cold ones, rapidly losing blood. “…just like before.”

Utopix’s quieted sobs could just think of one thing. A pair of words before his mind went completely black.

“I’m sorry… Georgie…”

There. Georgine then knew. The soft hum of the transport taking them there brought her back to reality.

“G-Georgine? What’s going on…?” Makena picked up on Georgine’s expression.

“…w-we’re too late.” Georgine’s voice trembled.

===================

Catra finally armed herself of courage to enter the bloody chamber after Lord Hordak and Takara were doing the final touches to their doomsday weapon. Her hands carefully ran down the marks made on the wall, done by the one that came in there earlier. Scorpia sprinted around the corner, noticing her captain somewhat abrupted out of her mind.

“Hey, Catra! What’s—! …Catra?” Scorpia walked close to her to see what have happened.

Catra’s eyes were locked onto the body disposed on the platform. Lifeless, nearly white, and cut open. Scorpia’s face drenched at the ungodly sight and glanced away.

“Ugh! What gives!? What is that?” Scorpia exclaimed in disgust.

Catra stayed silent as she walked inside, filled of valor, contemplating the body. She didn’t know what caused it, but her arms embraced Utopix, bringing it down with her as she sat against the wall, gently caressing its features, staining her hands with his blue-colored blood as tears filled her eyes.

“Catra?” Scorpia asked in concern.

Catra’s tears kept on flowing out of her face without permission as she bit her lip, not wanting the sobs to come out so she hit a pile of containers instead. “Why is EVERYTHING taken away from me!?”

“Catra, please. It’s not that—”

“Hordak probably knew about 36 from the start!” Catra got up, carrying Utopix’s deceased steel body in her arms. “He used me like an idiot, thinking that I was actually one step ahead of him!” The tears continued to flow. “When in reality, I am always dozens of steps behind!” Her hand punched the wall, nearly shaking the whole room. She quickly regained her balance, looking at Scorpia in a sinister way. Tired out of her mind. “We need to find Adora… so she can put an end to this.”

“You’re gonna let her do the job?” Scorpia was caught on a loop.

“I don’t care,” Catra contemplated Utopix once again as the last tears left her eyes. “I don’t care about anything anymore…”

A kuxa, an artificex’s soul, feeds from emotions. The emotions of its user, the emotions of the ones near them, and the ones that display towards the user. And it just happened. The tiniest light had jingled on Utopix’s, regaining the piece of strength he had lost. The color went back to his cheeks, spreading towards his whole body and the oxygen pushed its way inside his lungs. Making him gasp.

“Ca… Catra?” The robot opened his eyes, seeing the two looked at him in pure shock. “You… Y-You… like me?”

Catra quietly laughed at his statement, bringing a hand to his hair and curling it. “Don’t get too cocky, bolt brain.”

Her response made him smile… Now he knows where he got that from. He couldn’t say anything else other than give her a hug that caught her off guard.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it…” Catra gently pushed him away.

Utopix’s cheeks lightly tingled with happiness, feeling safe for the first time around Catra.

Scorpia’s face was filled by excitement and lifted the two in her prickly arms. “Yes! The Super Pal Trio is back!”

“Ugh!” Catra protested. “Scorpia! Put me down!”

Scorpia could only just laugh apologetically and carefully placed the duo down. And so, the plan was in action. Catra and Scorpia sneaked around the halls as the big scorpion gal carried Utopix in her arms in the most delicate way possible. A big and metallic sound peered through the walls, eventually revealing herself. It was Emily.

“Ugh! I don’t need this right now…” Catra’s palms covered her face upon seeing the robot.

Emily’s beeps and bops got to Utopix who flustered on seeing a machine that could communicate with him with such ease. Delicate waves of numbers ran through Utopix’s eyes, blinking to then understand what the robot was trying to say.

“G-Georgie? Here?” Utopix concluded. “T-Take us to her.”

Emily seemed to nod and rolled down the halls as the trio followed her closely. Eventually they went outside to see that the humming ship was just standing in the middle of the zone with its passengers apparently discussing about Utopix’s ‘current’ state. The robot decided to cry out to catch their attention.

“Georgie!”

Georgine thought that it could not be him. Maybe her mind was betraying, playing tricks on her like it did with Matthew, but a slight turn would make her take notice of a far horrendous sight. Once the crew misinterpret the two carrying Utopix, they immediately launched into battle against the two; but Utopix, yet again, stopped them.

“S-Stop!” The robot demanded. “T-They helped me…”

“I’m sorry. What?” Mermista’s hands clenced as her shoulders shrugged.

Scorpia delicately placed Utopix aside as he leaned against her shoulder for balance. The little one attempted to walk towards Georgine like a newborn toddler, but fortunately slipped on her strong arms.

“M-My main core…” Utopix spoke as he could. “…Takara has it but—”

“You’re feeding from your kuxa energy.” Sabrina concluded. “It’s not going to last for long.”

“What do you mean?” Makena asked.

“Imagine a phone going into a battery-saving mode. Utopix can still move and talk but his energy is still going to decrease rapidly.” Oliver explained.

“We need to get his main core before Takara starts her weapon.” Georgine set the new plan.

“…W-What’d happen if the weapon starts before we get it?” Perfuma feared for the worst.

“He’d… be compromised.” Oliver frowned on his statement.

Catra glanced away from the group, ready to leave the group to their petty strategies. Adora picked up on it… not planning to leave her out of the action.

“Catra…” Adora softly spoke, sprinting towards her before she could completely leave.

The mention of her name would make the cat dig her claws on her palms. “…What?” Catra firmly spoke. “You have him already. Just go and stop the thing, will ya?” The grumpy cat begun to walk away but was stopped by Adora who held her wrist.

“Catra. I… We need you. Please.” Adora begged her. Begged her to stay.

Catra’s face was turned away from the dirty-blond-haired girl; but after a long sigh, she took her choice. “Fine.” She turned around to face the other. Quite literally. Adora felt a wave of relief go on her hearing her response. She was actually surprised she acceded. “But I am not doing this for you. Nor them.” Catra’s typical temper came into play as usual.

“Then, why?” Adora looked at her with a semi-sad expression.

Catra lightly glanced at the robot who had been staring at the two’s semi confrontation. Her eyes quickly averted back to Adora hoping she didn’t notice. She didn’t. “…it doesn’t matter. I just don’t want them to win the glory that I deserve.”

Adora’s body went loose at the response, hoping she’d say something else. But what could it have been? Her mind stirred around her reasoning. She would just not accept to help her with a plan against the Fright Zone after the near victory she had with the portal. But she kept her emotions quiet.

The new plan was set afoot: Team A, or Team Shiny, formed by Glimmer, Perfuma, Frosta, and Mermista, would distract the soldiers to keep the path cleared when they needed to escape. Team B, or Team Seahawk, formed by Oliver, Gabriel, Makena, Bow, Seahawk, and Sabrina, would attack the security and hack it to the best of their ability to avoid any power or electricity from powering the machine in case it needed or had a backup source. Team C, or Team She-Ra, formed by Adora, Georgine, Utopix, Catra, Scorpia, and Emily, had the main mission which was to get Utopix’s main core and keep him close at all times. Three groups, three targets, one chance.

“Oliver!” Adora spoke through the communicator, alerting him how they were approaching a locked door which he immediately opened. A smirk was drawn on her face when she saw some soldiers standing at the other side, pointing the sword at them after transforming as She-Ra. “Let’s do this.” Catra rolled her eyes at how cocky her statement was.

The soldiers noticed the crew and was confused when they saw Catra and Scorpia with it. Catra rapidly jumped against the wall and onto one of the soldiers’ backs, knocking them down.

“…we… could just tell them to stand down, you know?” Scorpia said.

Catra’s tail wagged around happily, a smirk adorning her lips. “Nah. It’s more fun this way.”

Team C eventually reached the situation room where the weapon was finally finished. They examined it carefully and peeked around the small roof corner they were in.

“Sabrina. Oliver.” Georgine pressed the ear communicator as she stared the menacing machine. “Fill us in.”

“The weapon has multiple power sources. It’s really unstable! The thing that it’s keeping it going is Utopix’s main core. You’ll have to wait till we turn all of the power sources to get the main core or it can collide catastrophically.” Oliver explained through the communicator that went through Team C’s feed.

“What can we do for now?” Georgine asked.

“Keep them busy. Do not, I repeat, do NOT let them turn it on!” Oliver responded, nearly in desperation.

“Understood,” Adora concurred.

“How delightful…” Takara looked up, seeing the crew hiding up in the roof. “You intend to fool our plans?” She laughed in pure mockery. “Funny.”

Catra growled but was stopped by Adora who yanked her arm.

“Oh… Look at that.” Takara pretended to be shocked at Catra and Scorpia adding themselves to the heroic group. “You got the cat and scorpion girls with you. What’s wrong, Catra-dear? Couldn’t grow too fond of just one robot?” The purple-eyed one smirked at the thought, making Catra scream and avalanche herself at her as tears appeared in her eyes.

“Catra! NO!” Adora ran after her, the others following her close.

Catra swung her claws around meaning to scratch the egotistical maniac’s face. Her tears maintained their place on the corners of her eyes, remembering what she did to the poor maroon-haired robot… She could still hear those yells filled of desperation, claiming for help, for something… someone… anyone… blaming herself for how it was partly her fault. For all she cared, it should’ve been her, despite not having a main core. She has had enough of the Horde taking anything precious to her: Adora, Shadow Weaver, number 36… and now, Utopix. But she didn’t really care about the other robot. No. She just wanted an opportunity, any, to prove her worth to anyone. And Utopix seemed to care. And it was more than enough for her.

Eventually, Adora wrapped her arm around her waist to refrain her from fighting any longer, which was easy due to her being She-Ra. Catra yelled, demanding that she’d let her go, but Adora insisted. Catra stopped her struggle and stood beside her, lowering her head in defeat.

“What is she talking about, Catra?” Adora’s tone was apologetic.

“I said that it doesn’t matter, okay!?” Catra shouted, the tears finally running down her cheek as if it was a race.

“Ah, Catra.” Lord Hordak appeared from the shadows and standing near the machine. “Such a pity excuse for a force captain. Even you, Adora.”

Adora aimed the sword at him. “Give us the main core right now!”

“We promise we’ll spare you if you do.” Georgine prepared the gadget in her hand, stepping forward between the two.

Lord Hordak glanced at the robot being carried by Scorpia, still breathing and seemingly stable. A devilish grin appeared on his face, closing his eyes as he went into a deeper thought. “What is the rule A-17 in the Fright Zone, uh Captains?”

Adora’s eyes narrowed as she gripped the sword in her hands.

“Always have a plan B.” Lord Hordak opened his red eyes, snapping his fingers to release a deadly wave of darkness that wrapped the heroes in an instance, bringing them to their knees and making it impossible for them to move.

Scorpia yelped once the darkness touched her and threw Utopix to Georgine’s arms who then threw him to the floor free from the harmful substance. Adora’s feet begun to get dragged by the dangerous stands and easily cut them by swinging her sword at them. She quickly freed Utopix whose feet were beginning to get dragged as well, embracing him to keep him away from the danger.

Suddenly, a low hum covered the whole place, indicating that Oliver was successful on turning off all of the power sources that could potentially power the machine. Lord Hordak begun to growl, thinking that he had been defeated.

“Oh. Oh, dear. We better fix that.” Takara lowly chuckled, twirling her finger around to send a maddening wave shock to Utopix’s body, positioning him near the machine to power it up again.

The kuxa in his system responded to the main core, turning everything back up again.

Takara chuckled once again. “And to think that your emotions were actually useful for something. Ready, Lord Hordak?” And with his nod of approval, she reached for the powering switch.

“No! Get—away from him!” Catra struggled on the waves of darkness.

“Uto! No!” Georgine imitated the struggle, desperately trying to get out of it.

Adora had fallen in yet a similar situation… A massive weapon near the edge of being completely powered. Her anxious look went over Utopix, the machine, and the switch. The speed on her steps felt like they were lasting ages to just simply move. Her heartbeat increased, unsure of what her move should be. But she just knew she needed to do something… anything. She let out a loud scream, swinging her sword multiple times at the cables and parts connected to the machine.

“Adora!” Georgine yelled, seeing her futile and reckless actions taking place. “Adora! STOP!”

Adora could not think. She couldn’t hear nor realize what she was doing. She just knew that if she didn’t do something, she’d carry with yet another guilt in her hands. A massive blast sent her flying through the room, contemplating what she had done…

The machine went out of control, hissing and crackling energy all around. Waves of electricity reaching out and busting sparks that burned the ceiling, causing it to crash down. Adora glanced around… the trio was still trapped in the waves of darkness, dragging them down, presumably to their doom… and then she looked at Utopix. The small robot was passed out on the floor, unresponsive, and almost frozen. His skin began to lose color, almost as if it was being sucked away. She dragged herself across the floor as slow as she could to limit the pain of her bruises, burning and sending hot waves through her body as it healed slowly… but the pain would not cease to maim. So, she just lied there as a blazing light enfolded Hordak’s lab and passed beyond its doors.

All she could remember was silence…

#she ra and the princesses of power #spaceling #a glitch in space #she ra au #she ra season 3 #she ra fanfic #original fic #writing #writers in tumblr #hispydamy618 #catlliecal

2 notes · View notes

nekoabiwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Of Princes and Potions 2 - Chapter 7

This is just some soft Logince before jumping back into the plot. It is also something I’ve wanted to write since the beginning, since it was just cute as hell. (This is also my 100th post on my writing blog so yay!)

AU: Royal/Fantasy Pairing: Logince Words: 2826 Warnings: Deceit is here as Demitri. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Roman fulfils his promise to take Logan out to a very special place since he has been discharged from the infirmary.

A breeze ruffled the grass under the mage’s feet as he took the most direct path towards the castle’s stables, causing him to pull his robe tighter around himself as a shield against the chill. Logan silently cursed himself for giving in to Roman’s idea at such a time of year when the weather was turning cold. Hopefully what Roman wanted to show him wouldn’t involve being out for long.

Minutes passed as Logan stood at the stable doors, waiting for the crown prince. He watched the clouds slowly roll past in the sky, their edges tinted with oranges and pinks of the early evening sky. Logan wasn’t one for such frivolities as art or the like, but he did admit to himself that sights such as this one and the clear night sky did sometimes give him a yearning to capture the image on canvas. Logan was well aware he had very little skill in such areas, so he would just have to leave those kinds of things to his partner. Roman had invited Logan to visit his art room once. The pure chaos that was inside made Logan vow to never set foot in there again.

“Apologies for making you wait, Logan. I should have expected you to be so punctual.” Roman spoke softly as he seemed to appear next to the mage in the blink of an eye.

Logan started and turned sharply to face his partner. After the shock had subsided, his cheeks began to flush with embarrassment at being caught admiring the scenery, “I hope you endeavour to follow my example in the future, Roman. Were you not taught that being late to your own plans is quite rude?”

“I was most certainly not late.” Roman’s hands landed on his hips defensively, “I was here at the exact time I intended to be. You were just early.”

“Oh, so you are not aware of the phrase ‘Early is on time. On time is late.’? I would have thought someone of your theatrical interests would have known such a thing…” Logan side-eyed the prince, doing his best to hold in his smile as Roman puffed his chest up before retorting.

“If you have heard of such a phrase, you should be aware that it only applies to very specific circumstances, such as a place of work! It has no bearing here.” Roman said definitively, as if he’d somehow made the winning argument.

Logan snorted softly and went to respond, but a third voice cut in.

“I just love hearing you two bicker out here. Would you mind being louder? I’m not sure if the residents at the other end of town could quite catch those last few words.” Demitri stood in the doorway, staring directly at the couple.

Roman was quick to apologise to the animal handler, who made a noise that seemed to be acknowledgement before slipping back inside the building. The prince then turned his attention back to his partner. “How about we go in and I tell you my plan as we prepare?”

“Prepare what exactly?”

“Allegria, of course. Come.” Roman offered no further information before he turned and entered the stable, leaving Logan to catch up. As the mage entered the building, he saw just how many horses the royal family owned. He could easily spot Virgil’s horse, as well as the king’s, as he had seen them both riding them many times as they returned from business outside of the palace. Before Logan could ponder the idea of who owned which anonymous horse in the rest of the spaces, Roman called him over.

Logan approached, a little wary of what he was about to encounter. He had heard about Roman’s steed many times from Demitri, who had so eloquently described her as ‘a brat’ and ‘the most spoiled animal he’d ever had the displeasure of caring for’. However, the mage was not ready to come upon her space and see the pure white sheen of her coat nor the two folded wings sitting atop her sides. “Ah… so this is Allegria… the pegasus…” Logan muttered in a moment of realisation.

“Correct.” Roman responded, running his hand down the pegasus’ neck. “She’s going to take us to a very special place.”

Allegria seemed to understand immediately that it was not just Roman who she was going to be carrying this evening. In response, she looked directly in Logan’s eyes and seemed to.. scowl? Logan convinced himself he was seeing things.

“Where is this ‘special place’, Roman? Are you going to enlighten me as to your plan?” The mage asked, standing out of the way as Roman worked to fit Allegria with her riding gear.

“I did consider it, but I think that it will be far better to surprise you, my love.” The crown prince grinned as the mage’s eyes rolled on instinct at the pet name. “I will give you my word that it is something I am sure you will enjoy.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not sure if you are the authority on such matters… but I suppose I have nothing else to do but place my trust in you this time.”

“This time?!” Roman cried out, stopping dead in the middle of attaching the saddle.

“Must I ask again?” Demitri sighed, walking towards the couple. An odd quiet answered him, as both Logan and Roman avoided his gaze. He stopped next to Logan and looked between the two men expectantly, “Well? Must I?”

“No, you don’t.” Roman reluctantly responded sounding all-together like a petulant child being scolded. He began putting all of his focus into ensuring Allegria was properly fitted. It was most definitely for safety reasons and not because Demitri’s gaze was boring directly into his soul.

“Apologies, Demitri. I believe we’ll be leaving soon.” Logan added quickly.

The prince hurried along with his prep before leading Allegria out into the fresh air. She impatiently ruffled her wings and huffed as Roman helped Logan up onto her back, situating the mage properly before clambering up himself. He guided Logan’s arms to wrap around his waist, throwing a smile back at the man behind him, “Hold on tight. It might be a bit bumpy at first.”

Logan did as he was told, gripping onto Roman tightly. He thanked every deity he could name that Roman warned him as Allegria sped away at a full gallop almost immediately. Logan, overcome by some kind of overwhelming fear as the pegasus’ wings opened, buried his face into the crown prince’s back as they began to ascend into the sky. He mentally counted through a pattern, attempting to keep his breathing steady and his shaking body under control.

In front, Roman couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. He was experiencing so many of his favourite things; soaring up into the sky at a high speed, the beating of Allegria’s wings against his legs, the feeling of Logan’s arms wrapped tightly around him as though he were his only lifeline. The intermittent shaking of his partner and the face being pressed deeply into his back was putting a shred of worry into Roman’s mind, but he didn’t want to embarrass the mage by asking. At least, not until they were done climbing higher into the air.

They levelled out after a minute or two, though it did feel like an age to Logan. Shakily, he pulled his head back and glanced around. He wished he hadn’t the moment his gaze tracked downwards. Logan’s grip tightened and he instinctively shuffled forward to press himself against Roman.

“Everything alright?” Roman asked casually, as if he hadn’t noticed Logan’s sudden shift.

“We… we are extremely high up.” Logan stated, the wavering of his voice giving him away as much as his tight grip.

Roman smiled warmly, “Yes, we are, indeed. It’s precisely as high as we need to be, right?” Roman gently patted at Allegria’s neck, which prompted a responding noise. Logan twitched violently at the sound. Roman could hear an intake of breath, which meant Logan was about to apologise. He cut him off, “Do you trust me, Logan?”

That had the mage pausing for a moment. “Of course I do, Roman.”

“Then believe me, and trust me, when I say that you are safe with me, Logan. I trust Allegria with my life. I would not even entertain the thought of bringing you along with me if I did not.”

He would later tell Roman that it was the high altitude, but still Logan found himself almost unable to breathe at the sincerity of the prince’s words. He was sure that if Roman had been able to face him, his expression would have made Logan’s heart skip a beat – as impossible as that was. A few moments later, Logan’s grip relaxed a little and he was simply resting against Roman’s back, “Alright, Roman. I will… endeavour to remember that.”

Roman’s smile widened to a grin. He wanted to say something back, but he bit his lip to stop himself from ruining the moment.

They flew in a comfortable silence towards their destination. Logan began to stare at the passing clouds, watching them in fascination. He also observed the sky he’d been admiring previously slowly change shades; the pinks and oranges fading away to tones of reds and blues. The bright stars began to seemingly pop into existence in the sky and he had a full view of it all. Logan was enraptured by it all. So much so, that he missed when Roman alerted him to their descent. All of a sudden, Allegria headed towards the ground and Logan yelped in surprise. His grip tightened so harshly that Roman could feel the air being pushed out of him, as though he’d just been knocked back in training yet again. It was over in a matter of seconds, as the pegasus’ hooves landed gently upon the white snow.

Carefully, Roman pried Logan’s grip off and he dismounted. He helped the shaken mage down to solid ground before turning his attention to his animal companion, “Thank you, my sweet. Take a nice rest.” Allegria tossed her head slightly but allowed Roman to pet her softly before she wandered off to a patch nearby to take a rest.

As Roman was busy, Logan took a moment to place himself in his surroundings. It was clearly somewhere high, as they had taken far less time to come to solid ground that they had coming up from the castle courtyard. It was far colder than it had been on ground level, and the snow was but one indicator of such. He peered off around, trying to see what was nearby in the darkness, but could only make out vague shapes. He wracked his brain, thinking of a place that held all the characteristics that he had noticed.

“So, Logan, have you-” Roman began a dramatic-sounding speech, his arms held wide as he faced away towards the distance.

“The peak…”

“What?” Roman stopped mid-sentence, sharply turning around.

“You’ve taken us to the peak of the mountains. Carlecona’s Peak, to be exact, if I am not mistaken.”

Roman pouted, “You weren’t supposed to know where we are until I told you. Now my whole speech is ruined.”

Logan snorted softly and approached the prince, reaching out to rest a still slightly shaking hand upon his arm, “Many apologies for having functioning eyes.”

The prince scowled at his partner for a moment before sighing dramatically, “I suppose I can forgive you, as this was only the start of the surprise. Come.” Roman began trekking through the snow up a small incline. Logan followed as best he could, doing everything to not fall down and make a fool of himself. Once at the top, Logan’s mouth fell open.

The view was absolutely stunning from the mountain’s peak. Somehow, this one specific spot had just a perfectly clear look across the kingdom, all the way to the sea in fact. Clusters of dim lights illuminated the darkness, giving Logan a way to place himself as he noted which town would be which. Even through the darkness, he could see the farmland and forests, the ruins and the houses. It was all so… beautiful. And then, Roman gently tilted his head upwards towards the sky. The stars were all alight, all in their places, with the full moon bright and round. It was everything Logan had already been looking at back at his tower, but there was so much more for him to see here. He could turn and look in all directions and still be surrounded by the fascinating night sky.

As the mage looked awestruck at the view, Roman was content to stand beside and watch. The excitement and surprise in Logan’s eyes were as clear as the stars in the sky above and Roman couldn’t help but smile. He rarely saw this side of the stoic man, as he preferred to keep everything close to himself, but seeing him with his guard down just did something to Roman’s heart. The prince wanted to see Logan like this more. He took a seat in a rather well-worn nook of a boulder nearby and turned his gaze out towards the kingdom, “No one else has been up here, you know.”

“What?” Logan ripped his gaze away from the sky to look towards his pensive partner.

“Up here, on the peak.” Roman reemphasised, “At least, I have never brought anyone with me.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Logan took a seat beside Roman, looking out upon the same view.

“Because… I’ve never trusted anyone to know about this place.”

“What do you mean? Many know of it; it is the peak of the mountain. The fabled one that is said to be cursed if man stepped foot on it once more, lest they be haunted by the ghost of the hero who won the battle singlehandedly right here, or so the legends say.” Logan recalled with an underlying tone of distaste for the rumours.

Roman shook his head with a soft chuckle, “That is not what I meant. I mean, that I’ve never trusted anyone with the knowledge that I come here. It’s where I come to… escape whenever things become too much.”

“Ah… I see.”

The couple sat looking out towards the horizon for a moment before Logan suddenly realised the implications of Roman’s words.

“W-wait a moment, Roman. You said you have never brought anyone up here?”

“Yes.”

“No one, at all?”

“At all.”

Logan’s face bloomed red and he settled back into his spot, trying not to alert Roman too much to his sudden comprehension, “Well… I feel somewhat… honoured that you trust me with such… things…” The mage cringed as he couldn’t quite find the words he was looking for. It didn’t seem to matter much as the warmth of Roman’s hand covering his own had him turning to see such a loving gaze turned towards him. The view was forgotten as they stared into each other’s eyes for moments on end, almost daring each other to take the plunge.

When Roman finally did move forward to capture Logan’s lips, the mage was overwhelmed with the sensation. It was far different from all the other kisses they’d shared previously somehow. He thought he’d experienced them all, but Roman always managed to find a way to prove him wrong. It was utterly indescribable, the way it made him feel. The only thing Logan could think of doing to explain was to return the kiss with the intention of letting Roman know all of it through said action.

They parted soon after, as breathless as they normally were after far more involved kisses. Neither said a word, Roman simply turned his gaze back to the view and Logan instinctively rested his head against the prince’s shoulder and also stared.

“Why did you bring me out here?” Logan asked softly, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Roman smiled down at the man resting upon his shoulder, “After you mentioned wanting to see the stars, I remembered how many I could see out here at night. I thought you would enjoy seeing it. Also… I wanted to bring you here, to show you how much you mean to me.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed yet again, and he turned to bury his face into the prince’s firm chest, “How dare you?”

A gentle laugh pulsed through Roman’s body in response as his arms came up to hold Logan close, “I will not apologise.”

Logan’s lip twitched up into a smile. He was content to sit here in Roman’s arms just a while longer, before they had to return to their regular schedule. “I think I understand now…”

“Hmm?”

“Why you come here.”

“You do?”

“Yes. May I make a request?”

“Of course, you may. You know I can never turn you down.”

“Bring me along next time as well?”

---

Previous —— Next

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka @notalwaysthevillian @pumpkinminette @doces-e–tuga @coloursintheblur @safesandersides

OPAP Tag List: @frankiprowsworld @shoot-i-messed-up @roxiefox24 @ravenclawunicorn1 @gr3ml1n-loser @icecoldparadise @immortal-turtle @id-rather-go-live-in-a-trash-can @himrachel

#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Logince #Deceit Sanders #Creativity Sanders #Logic Sanders #Royal AU #Fantasy AU #Of Princes and Potions

23 notes · View notes

thegoldenavenger · 5 years ago

Text

guess who watched given and immediately had to shove tony waist-deep into this fucking thing because [they forgot they already ”wrote” this au]

it’s me

unedited as always, light spoilers for given if you havent seen that and wanted to.

anyways, tony stark is the high profile son of a business mogul based in LA because the mcu loves giving tony centric plot points to howard stark industries is capitalizing on the silicone valley fever. after a major manic episode tony uproots his life and goes to school in new york, as far as he can physically move away from his stifling family and the pressure.

tony’s done with building robots for his father’s business, he’s done being manipulated by the adults in his life and he abandons everything from the stark life. he picks up a guitar, learns how to play it, and never looks back.

tony finds he likes the life of a garage band. he glides through classes and focuses on his fingering (not that kind) and absent-mindedly writing down notes for songs he doesn’t really think he’ll write. He really likes being that guy, bringing out a guitar and everyone groans but people request songs anyways. besides, he’s never really been a fan of wonderwall.

of course he plays piano, it was that or violin and his dad thought strings were for girls. he’s used to playing in front of a crowd, stiff collared and sweating under the calculating gazes of his parents’ party guests. just another new trick to show off.

there’s something so indescribably different about playing guitar under cheap lights in a garage, the casually gathered crowd gaining interest and beer and his fingers feel like splitting over the strings of his instrument. The noise, the whine as he coaxes his guitar to sing, amplified through speakers that thump with his bassist’s steady beat and he can feel the sweat slick down his back making his shirt sticky.

tony’s lucky to have met the bandmates he had. Pepper’s a riot on the drums and Rhodey is tony’s constant, reliable bassist and both of them have deigned to take him under their wing even if he’s less experienced and more annoying then they should have to deal with. Being able to play with them, it’s more than tony could’ve asked for.

he’s happy with his life, which is why he’s a little less than pleased when he runs into a short, scrawny blond holding a guitar with white knuckled fingers. tony runs into him, and the boy jolts violently, the guitar slipping the grip like he’d tossed it. it’s a nice guitar, so tony instinctively reaches out for it.

“why are you keeping the snapped strings on like this?” he asks, taking the chance to inspect the guitar.

“Give it back.” The boy says. well, demands. Tony does nothing of the sort. Instead he straightens it out and sights down the fret board.

“it’s a nice guitar, but leaving your strings like this is a bit--”

“I said: give it back!”

The boy’s grip is surprisingly strong for someone so small, tony thinks distantly.

“Okay! No need to bite my head off about it,” He lets go of the guitar, but doesn’t leave quite yet. “Look, these will work to replace those...” Tony digs in his bag for a second, taking out an unopened pack of his own replacement strings. Maybe not the exact match, but they’d do well enough. “Get them done as soon as you can, it’s a shame to see something that nice look like that.”

He gives the packet of strings away and leaves.

Tony doesn’t think much of this incident. But he guesses he made more of an impact than he thought because now he’s been ambushed by the same blond boy.

“Look, I can’t figure out how to change the string. Just show me!”

“Can’t you, I don’t know? Youtube it or something?” Tony asks.

“Don’t be an ass! I just--” Tony notices how startlingly blue the boy’s eyes are as he glares to the side. “I can’t undue the pins.”

It feels like pulling teeth, the way the words force their way past the kid’s lips. Like he’s spitting out something bad, admitting that he can’t do something.

“I don’t have the right tools and I--I don’t want to break it more.”

His fingers grip the guitar awkwardly, and Tony knows that kid hasn’t played even one chord before. Probably hasn’t played even a guitar themed rhythm game with how unbalanced he’s holding the body.

Tony rubs the back of his neck.

“God, I don’t know why I tried!”

“It’s fine--” Tony blinks as he cut into the kid’s frustrated venom.

“It’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll help. Here.” He holds his hand out and is handed the guitar very reluctantly.

He remembers his first snapped string. The shock, the sharp sting as it flicked against his hand. But learning to play guitar was painful. From the blisters to the muscle aches, the endurance. He finds himself smiling.

He narrates what he does, his hands gliding over the sleek body of the guitar. “See, you need to keep track of the pins. it’s easier with tools, I can lend you these ones I have an extra set. My name is Tony.” He shifts the guitar so he’s holding it properly, plucking a string and adjusting the peg.

“What? What are you doing?”

“Listen,” He says, as he twists a peg. The blond gets that look on his face again, the squinty one with angry eyebrows. Tony laughs, and strums the guitar.

The chord comes out sharp and clear.

“There you go, it’s all fixed.”

Tony thinks it should be the last he sees of him. Tony’s pretty sharp, so he noticed the graphite smudges on his fingers and the large portfolio on his hip. An art student. There’s no reason to cross paths again when Tony’s classes are all music based and he should probably start paying rent for how often he’s fallen asleep in the computer labs.

But apparently that kid isn’t finished with Tony.

“Teach me to play this.”

Tony blinks.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“If I tell you, will you teach me to play?”

Tony shrugs.

“It’s Steve.”

Tony tries walking away. It’s not very effective.

He can’t really dodge Steve, and finds himself followed all the time now. Honestly, tony would be a little flattered if Steve didn’t look like he was swallowing a lemon every time Tony catches a glance at his face.

To be fair, Tony is kind of relishing the attention. He complains to Rhodey and Pepper and they both roll their eyes at him before they start jamming. It’s after one of these jams that he runs into Steve again.

He’s standing outside the door, his face with angry looking eyebrows but his eyes watery. His face is red, he doesn’t have a jacket and Tony is getting reacquainted with the cold himself now that he’s let himself out of the steaming jam room.

“Teach me how to play like that!”

Tony tries ignoring him, but Steve is determined to follow him, even through the cold, dry night. Even when his breath hitches and his voice turns reedy.

“Teach me! Teach-- Te--” Steve starts gasping every other breath and Tony spins around. Steve’s flushed cheeks from the cold have drained away and now he’s pale, pale, pale.

“Steve!” Tony stops, right there, his hands hovering over Steve like concerned birds, unsure where to touch. Steve looks, if possible, angrier than ever, still trying to speak even while gasping.

“Please, Steve shut up!” Tony puts his hands over Steve’s mouth, he doesn’t know what to do. “I’ll teach you, or whatever, just! Do you have an inhaler or something?”

Steve points to his bag, and after Tony is done rifling through it and hands Steve his uncovered rescue inhaler, he’s grinning the smarmiest grin someone having an asthma attack can possibly muster.

Tony finds himself feeling distinctly played. He doesn’t mind it as much as he should.

Steve is an incredibly stubborn student and Tony is perhaps not the most patient teacher. He grabs Steve’s hands more than once to force them into the right position and demands he try again, and again, and again. It almost gives him flash backs, but Steve almost dares him to be less than serious about the lessons. Like it would kill Steve if Tony treated him the least bit kindly.

Tony brings him to his and Rhodey’s and Pepper’s jam sessions. He grins and points and says “this is how a real rock star does it,” and plays with a loose fluidity he hasn’t felt in a while. He sees Steve’s foot tapping and grins widely, like he’s won something. He feels like he won something.

Steve learns the chords and how to read tabs and even how to restring his own guitar, though Tony finds himself doing it more often then not. There’s something really endearing about the ferocious way Steve devotes himself to learning guitar.

They sit next to each other, out of class but on campus. Tony is demonstrating a fingerstyle more suited to an acoustic guitar even though Steve is learning on an electric. It sounds like shit, but they’re both grinning anyways.

“Then what kind of music do you like?” Tony asks, shaking out his hand.

“Just, you know. Stuff.”

“Come on, you have a favorite song, everyone does!” Tony says, blustering. “You already know what I like.”

“I wonder...” Steve says, trailing off. He stares into the middle distance for long enough that Tony is about to laugh to break the sudden tension and switch topics but Steve interrupts him.

“It’s like...” and he humms something, his hand doing half-aborted conductions as he feels his way through a tune. He trails off and looks into Tony’s startled face.

“Did you, did you write that?”

“Not, I mean, not really. That’s just what came to mind.”

“Freestyle, just now?!”

Tony can’t tear out his notebook fast enough, transposing the notes steve had hummed onto the page. Steve finally looks something other than stubbornly angry or determined as Tony pries him for another verse, to repeat this melody, to hum that again.

For once, Steve finds himself following along with Tony, watching as his hand rushes to keep up with their conversation, as the notes spill across the page and Tony grabs his guitar half way through to pick his way through half written melodies.

Tony’s dark hair is short, relatively speaking. It curls at his neck. But his dark, dark eyes are the same and his eyelashes sweep against his cheek as he leans over to check his fingering on the fret. He’s sitting cross legged and when he looks up to grin at Steve, Steve is already walking away.

“He’s a genius!” Tony starts as he barrels into the jam room.

“Ohoh?” Rhodey laughs and Pepper dutifully plays the rim shot as Tony slides his carry case off his shoulder.

“I’m not kidding, look, listen!” he demands

tony does his damndest to get steve to write songs for the band. he reaches out and compliments him and buys him lunch, and new pencils, and compliments him some more and well, he’s out of practice with the whole shmoozing thing now. it’s fun though, and tony thinks steve at least enjoys the attention.

at least steve enjoys the attention enough to keep brainstorming with tony as they go through their guitar lessons. steve has a certain way of composing, tony notices. he pulls notes from the air that tony wouldn’t choose, but it compliments the way he and rhodey and pepper play. still, tony can’t help but think the notes are being written for someone else.

tony knows this life can’t go on the way it has been. He’s been expecting a shoe to drop for years now. but he’d been preparing for his father to fly in and tie him back down to the californian mansion, or maybe someone from his past coming in to wreck his life.

he’d been a mess before the move. even after it. he’s always expected it to catch up, or for his touch to ruin the good things in his life now. between being half in love with the three people who care about him, and spending too long hoping three thousand miles was enough distance to outrun his past, tony knew his number would be coming up soon enough.

at least he’d been happy for a while. truly, genuinely happy.

he was the son of a household name, popular in the tabloids for getting in trouble, and the internet was forever he’d been told. so he was prepared for the past to come up.

He had just been expecting it to be his past to come knocking.

bucky barnes is tall, broad, and missing one arm. he’d be impossible to miss and yet somehow tony didn’t notice six feet of pure american beef stalking across the campus. it must be the arm, or lack of arm. maybe how he kind of hunches down to hide it?

He approaches with only the sound of boots to announce his presence and Tony looks up startled, but it’s only Steve this man has eyes for.

“That my guitar, Stevie?”

Steve has kind of locked up, his fingers white against their grip on the guitar. His face is turned away, but Tony can see the tenseness of his thin shoulders. Tony isn’t good for much, but he’s not gonna sit back while Steve faces whatever this is on his own.

“Well, I don’t see you playing it anytime soon.” Tony says.

It’s like shattering a mirror, the moment Tony sees the threads holding Steve snap. He looks at Tony with something like disgust as he jolts to standing. “I’m sorry,” he says, before bolting.

He leaves the guitar behind. Tony knows it wasn’t him that Steve was apologizing to.

“Was it something I said?” Tony asks the air.

Tony doesn’t know his name yet, but Bucky Barnes takes the seat across from him.

“Might’ve been me.” he says, like a confession.

turns out bucky barnes and steve might’ve been a thing. tony finds out through less than reputable means, but bucky says himself steve feels guilty about the accident that led to bucky’s hospitalization and amputation.

he used to play guitar

the one tony’s been thinking of as steve’s.

bucky’s hand is callused the way a working man’s is. If tony tried he could probably find the places strings wore at until they hardened, but tony doesn’t try. he can imagine well enough. like he can imagine the summers spent listening to guitar plucked on windowsills or whatever sickeningly cute domestic childhood things steve and bucky got up to

and, because tony’s never been one to let himself go without a good rubbing in, he’s found a couple ancient recording on the internet of bucky’s old high school recitals. he can hear the strings of bucky’s guitar through the tinny audio and though and suddenly he knows just who’s fingers the notes for steve’s song was meant for.

tony won’t let steve go without a fight. whether the songs were meant for him to play or not, tony wants to play them. he wants the chance. so he drags bucky into the band whether anyone wants that or not.

bucky can’t play the guitar--right now, tony suspects with enough research and bugging of that cute radiophyscist that could change--but he still wants to reconnect with steve and it’s easy enough to use that to tony’s advantage. bucky’s kind of a puppy once you get past the six feet some inches and what seems like solid muscle.

tony takes him aside one day, with his guitar and set him down. “listen,” he says, and plays the skeleton of the song steve had been helping write.

bucky blinks, recognition in his eyes and tony nods as he plays. bucky gets it, tony thinks. steve is supposed to be writing these songs. he’s good at it, in a way that tony thinks he used to be good at things. like he was creating something worthwhile.

“this is steve’s?” bucky asks, softly. tony doesn’t have to answer him. “I remember. it’s familiar like... hmm, how did it go...” bucky’s hand twitches like his fingers want to find a fret board. “like... i never liked the winter / the cold never leaves soon enough / and i’m tired of waiting / for the sun to call your bluff... something like that...”

Tony’s fingers have stopped strumming, and he stares at Bucky with widened eyes.

“what?” Bucky asks and Tony whips his arms out, gripping Bucky’s shoulders as if to stop him from bolting.

“you can sing. no one told me you could sing.”

“well, it’s nothing much.”

“No, shut up. it’s amazing. you have to sing with us.”

It’s almost harder than convincing steve to write with him was. but eventually tony has all his pieces lined up. steve writing songs, bucky singing. him, pepper and rhodey doing all the hard work.

tony can sing, but he’s never been drawn to it the way he had been with playing guitar. RIP to his father’s weird brand of masculinity, but tony just liked strings. Still, he knew enough to help bucky strengthen his voice. to sharpen his consonants and find where his head voice and chest voices lie.

he plays scales on the guitar and leads bucky through vocal exercises. It’s like working on fingerwork with steve, only bucky’s got less of a temper. He’s surprisingly earnest, taking criticism easily and turning around with the proper work. tony almost feels out of depth with the ease he has coaching bucky.

where steve would shove and huff and yell when he didn’t get something right, bucky would nod and clear his throat and ask questions before trying again. steve would roll his eyes and grab tony’s card so he could pay for his half of the lunch. bucky would smile that half smile and thank tony when he picked up the tab.

it was cute.

or, well.

tony makes steve play the scales for bucky and spends a couple weeks jamming with just the band. he’s rusty, he says, too much teaching means not enough practicing. bucky seems understanding if melancholy and steve’s face is stubborn as always.

it’s while all of them are in the jam room that pepper announces they have a gig in two months.

“it’s a good opportunity to debut some of the new songs we’re working on.” she says.

“we should start doing group practices at least twice a week,” rhodey says, narrowing his eyes at tony.

“ah, we don’t actually have lyrics for most of our songs.” tony says, haphazardly.

“we have some, you can teach bucky those. or you can sing them like always,” pepper says, brightly.

Bucky seems to perk up, catching tony’s eye. “you have songs?”

“nothing that special,” tony says.

“I’d like to learn them with you,” bucky replies. tony blinks.

“two months is enough time to write lyrics.” steve asserts. “bucky and i have been working on them anyways.”

“okay.” tony finds himself agreeing with the rest of them.

They spend some times going through their set list. Pepper and rhodey bring up some songs they like that bucky and steve will need to learn. they rearrange the order to accommodate the new song steve and bucky have been working on.

tony bites his lips. it’s perfect. steve writing songs for his band. bucky singing in his band. pepper and rhodey, perfect and constant. tony’s hands on the neck of his guitar. it’s as perfect as it can get.

tony’s glad that the impending deadline is at least forcing steve and bucky to come head to head. he doesn’t know what happened exactly, to drive a wedge between the two in the first place. he doesn’t want to ask. he doesn’t want to know. but being forced to volley lyric timing and melodies back and forth is eating away at the distance between them.

it’s also driving home the fact that tony’s the last thing on either of their minds. he can hear it in the chords he picks out, that steve has written for someone else’s hands. and even though he isn’t going to school for literature he can read symbolism when the lyrics are as plain as what bucky’s been mumbling under his breath for hours now.

“i thought you were done marching to someone else’s tune.” pepper says to him as steve drags bucky through another practice.

tony shrugs his shoulders. “i think... i think i’m happy we’re all here. together. i think this is happier than i’ve ever been.” he looks down at his hands. he’s got the calluses from guitar blisters like every other wanna be rock star, but his hands are rough for other reasons. his knuckles littered with scars from welding, his thumb and forefinger smooth in the places he’d strip wires. there’s a burn on his palm from touching something that hadn’t quite cooled.

he might’ve loved building once. that could have been his life. but he’s sure he would have missed out on this: real friends, who cared about him. who wanted to play with him. he’s not sure he would have had that, if he’d stayed.

it’s happier than he thinks he deserves, really.

the date of the gig draws closer and while steve has been writing and rewriting the song chords--and tony and rhodey and pepper all drag themselves through rememorizing the new versions--bucky hasn’t submitted any lyrics.

it’s troubling but tony can’t help but feel relieved each time practice comes and goes without bucky’s voice rising in some new chorus or verse.

each time, tony claps his hand against bucky’s shoulder and grins at steve and says, “you can do it!”

“why don’t you help?” rhodey asks one time and tony shrugs. “i think they need it?” he answers.

and, increasingly, tony is sure he doesn’t want to help write someone else’s love story. it’s bad enough seeing steve strike through the tabs tony had just played and know it’s because he wasn’t doing it the way bucky would’ve. steve keeps writing for someone who won’t play again.

tony doesn’t mind standing in that much. a replacement is what he’s been his whole life.

but having to sit next to steve and bucky and help spell out why they’re having such trouble? tony’s never been a saint. he can’t just say “you like each other!” without any thought to himself.

ah.

he thought it.

“it’s fine, we’ll just use the instrumental version and lead with Star Driver.” he says.

“I’m fine with it,” Rhodey agrees.

“Well, Bucky doesn’t have a part in Star Driver.” Pepper points out.

“Ah, then we’ll start with uh, Monaco, Bucky you practiced the lead for that one, right?”

Bucky nods but Steve cuts in.

“why can’t we do it as planned? That’s the way we practiced!”

“because we spent the whole rehearsal playing the same first chords waiting for someone to start. We’re playing tomorrow, there’s no more time!”

steve, angry faced as always, steps forward like his short, skinny body was ready to fight tony right then.

“what happened to ‘you can do it!’ did you not actually believe that?”

“Steve, c’mon...”

“we’re out of time! it doesn’t matter if i believe in you or not if you don’t follow up yourselves!” tony says.

pepper looks to the ceiling like a prayer.

steve scoffs, “it’s not like you ever believed in us in the first place! you just take whatever new shiny thing there is to put in your band so you don’t get bored and have to fly back to california!”

tony’s fist clenches and rhodey pinches his nose.

“we don’t have time for this,” rhodey says under his breath but no one listens.

“whatever.” tony hisses and spins.

the next day is fraught with tension as they prepare for the show. none of them are willing to back out, even if they’re a mess.

“did we decide on a set list.” tony asks rhodey.

“well,” rhodey trails off.

“we’re doing it as planned,” steve interrupts.

tony gives him an unimpressed glare, “well, i’m good enough at improvising, whatever actually happens.” he says.

steve clicks his tongue and turns back to his guitar, tuning it.

tony pulls a face. he glances up at bucky in the middle of it, and feels kind of bad. bucky’s been nothing but nice, it’s steve that has a bee in his bonnet. but tony’s words probably hit just as hard if not harder for bucky.

tony clenches his jaw.

“Ah, Bucky, I...” He trails off as Bucky meets his eyes.

tony can sing. he even writes lyrics. he’s the front man of the band, or was before he drug bucky into it. so of course, after steve and hummed the song to him the first time he’d written some lyrics on the back of a napkin because he couldn’t get it out of his head. and when bucky had started outlining a sketch of verse, tony’d rewritten those lyrics like the impressionable boy he’d tried to grow out of.

he just likes playing guitar more. he’s always like working with his hands more than talking in front of a crowd. but as the hot, heavy lights turn on them, and the crowd in the cafe all face them he remembers the first time he’d ever played. not just guitar but anything at all.

plucking the ivory keys of a piano, the discordant clanging echoing through the big house. his mother had clapped and he frozen up, suddenly frightened at the thought of someone looking at him, of seeing him maybe fail. his mother had slid into the seat next to him, her finger showing him where to hit.

his father had swung in and scoffed, said if he was old enough to fool around he was old enough to actually learn. none of this coddling, maria, get the boy a real tutor.

Pepper taps her drumsticks and lays out, her foot keeping a steady beat. Tony automatically joins in, his fingers following muscle memory. tony’s used to the lights now, he even likes it. the heat and the attention.

he hears steve join in, the dual guitar melody working even though steve isn’t very talented yet. Rhodey jumps in, the bassline smooth and grounding.

They play the intro, then loop it when bucky misses his cue. the second time they loop tony glances away from the crowd to see bucky, sweating by the mic. he catches steve’s worried eyes, sees white knuckled fingers again, and he takes a step forward.

he gets close enough to bucky he can lean into the mic, and bucky jumps at his presence. tony grins at the crowd. this is planned, he says with his grin and waits until the cue comes up again.

“how did it go?,” he says into the mic, “i never liked the winter, i’m tired of the sun. as days go on, i fall apart, and i thought this might be fun.” he steps back from the mic and plays breathing in for the next part.

“I never liked the winter,” bucky’s voice cut in, and if tony hadn’t been expecting it, well. “the rain won’t go away. but it’s fine, you see, because this is just the start.”

tony let his fingers follow the frets as he leaned into the song. it was a mistake not to practice this. it was a mistake letting bucky debut a song no one in the band had actually heard the full version of. but tony hadn’t been lying when he said he was good at improvising.

he followed steve’s lead well enough--hell, he knew enough of steve’s style he could ape a riff or two if need be. and he’d written down enough of bucky’s half thought poems mumbled through jam sessions that he might well have had the whole song compiled in his notebook somewhere.

He leans back in for the chorus as bucky’s voice swelled. “And even if you let go, there’s something holding on to you!”

the concert is a blur, with the stage lights and the crowd. tony backs off as bucky finds his feet, manages to get back to his own mic and sing back up from there. it isn’t like he’d imagined. somehow, there’s room on this stage. hearing bucky sing, for real, for the first time. it’s tugging something inside tony’s chest. and even though the riff he’s playing wasn’t written for him he finds that there’s a flair here and there, a little space for him to improvise.

there’s a place for him here.

he can hardly believe it’s over, just the cheers of the audience that make him aware that his fingers have stopped moving and no one is playing any more. it’s a rush to get back stage where rhodey and pepper clap his back and yell, and bucky and steve both look ready to have some kind of attack.

“that was good, right?” bucky asks

“good?” steve says, incredulously.

“that was amazing!” tony exclaims. he throws his arms over both their shoulders. “that was something else!” he grins back at pepper at rhodey who are hugging as well.

“i want to...” bucky starts, then stops.

“play it again, right?” tony says.

steve is the one who answers yes.

“we will! we have to!” tony shouts. he can barely stop from jumping for literal joy. the sweat under his shirt makes the fabric stick to him when he moves and now that he’s not under the stage lights his skin is chilling fast but hell if he can focus on that.

“i want to write more songs.” bucky says

“i want to, too.” steve says and they both look at tony, like if he tells them yes or no they’ll listen.

like maybe they want him to have a say in this.

“i want to play them,” tony answers. he bites his lips.

“i want to play songs your write for me. and, i want to play songs we write together.”

he closes his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. he can feel it again, the weight of someone watching him, the potential of failing in front of someone he cared about,

“okay,”

he blinks his eyes open. steve is staring, stubborn and determined, into tony’s face, like tony was a new fingerstyle he had to learn. bucky looked slightly confused.

“i did write the song for you... well, you and steve but--”

tony inhaled sharply, looking at bucky for what felt like the first time in a long while. exhaling, he lowered his face into his hands. “nooooooo.” he whined.

“this is why you can’t have nice things, tony!” rhodey yelled from somewhere behind him.

“you’re always over thinking it!” pepper agreed.

someone’s hands patted him on the shoulder. “i thought you knew, you were there when i came up with the first lyrics,”

tony shook his head.

“it was pretty obvious,” that was steve.

tony stuck a hand out to swat him, but found it caught instead. he looked up. “i guess it’s my fault.” steve said, “i’m not good at explaining things.”

“neither am i.” tony grinned. “but i think i get it now.”

“good”

#kamaeteWRITES #the ot3 #tony stark #james barnes #steve rogers #what the fuck with the ship name for these three #oh #stuckony #i hate it.#stark spangled arms engineering

31 notes · View notes

metamorphicrocky · 5 years ago

Note

For the prompts, how about a sickfic where either Little Catto or Gary is sick and starts out by trying to hide it, until the others find out during a mission?

fun fact, started writing this one when I was sick! I am still sick. I started this last week, but I finally found time to write this morning so I finished it off

Gary is so tired. It's a bone-deep exhaustion that he's never experienced before. All he wants is to sleep for days, but he can't do that. He almost misses his days on the Galaxy One when he was bored out of his mind with absolutely nothing to entertain him.

But no, having people around is much better, even if he's so busy that he barely has time to sleep. Between trying to track down dimensional keys, piloting the ship, fixing random things on the ship, being a father, and trying to not let worry over Quinn and Avocato consume him, he has a packed schedule.

Gary likes having things to do, but this is just a bit excessive. He's not going to complain though, especially about parenthood, because he's lucky to have people he likes around.

He yawns in the pilot's seat, his eyes craving to finally shut, but he forces them open and watches as the ship lands on the planet beneath them. He stands up and walks to his room to wake up Little Cato, who basically lives in there now, seeing as how every night for the past week or so he's been sneaking in there to sleep with Gary. The kid has no idea that they're landing today, and that's because Gary wanted to surprise him with a festival he heard about on a nearby planet. And if anyone needs a break from life, it's Little Cato.

The kid is still asleep, Mooncake nestled in his arms, his face squished against the pillow in the most adorable way. Gary takes a picture of it with a tired smile on his face, then he places a hand on Little Cato's shoulder and gently shakes him.

His boy's eyes open slowly, and Little Cato smiles at him when he realizes who's in front of him. "Mornin'," he mumbles.

"Morning, Spidercat," Gary greets, ruffling the kid's hair playfully. "Go get dressed, I've got a surprise for you."

Little Cato immediately sits up, excitement in his eyes. "A surprise? What is it?"

Gary laughs. "Get ready and then you'll find out. Meet me on the bridge."

The kid throws himself off of the bed, immediately running to his actual room to get clothes on. Gary shakes his head fondly and heads to the bridge, staring out at the landscape from the hill that they're on. The scenery reminds him of autumn on earth, so this should be a fun day.

Speaking of fun, Gary can hear small and rapid footsteps quickly getting louder, so he turns around just in time for Little Cato to sprint into the room, then crash into Gary's legs, Mooncake eagerly trailing after him.

"Tell me tell me tell meeee!" Little Cato says, jumping up and down in excitement.

Gary laughs. "You and I, are going to a festival. I have no idea what they've got down there, but we're doing it anyways!"

Little Cato gasps, and a bright grin splits his face.

"Yeah, I know," Gary says. "I'm excited, too, but it looks like it might be a bit chilly outside. So go grab a coat, bud."

The kid waves him off. "I've got all this warm fur right here, I'll be fine."

Gary lifts an eyebrow at that. "You sure?" Little Cato nods, grabbing Gary's hand to start pulling him towards the exit. "Okay, but if you get cold, that's for you to deal with."

----

Why did he let Little Cato get away without bringing a coat? Why? That has to be the dumbest parenting decision Gary has made yet.

Little Cato literally started shivering only an hour after being there. Gary wasn't going to cave because he told him it would be cold, but he couldn't do it. So he gave him his leather jacket.

Which was a mistake.

They just got back to the ship after a long day of fun, and Gary sent Little Cato to his room to sleep. He knows full well that the kid is going to wake him up in the middle of the night again, but he's not worried about that right now.

He's mostly thinking about how his nose is running, and he feels very shaky right now. Is the room spinning? Maybe, he can't really tell. Okay, so he might be getting sick. No big deal. He can walk it off. It won't last for a while, he'll be completely fine if he gets some sleep tonight. That should be easy, sleeping. It's simple, just sleep.

Gary splashes cold water on his face, trying to get rid of the clammy feel of his skin. Now he's going to bed. To sleep. So that he isn't sick.

Gary makes it to his room okay, and he puts on his pajamas and climbs into bed.

Sleep, now.

How about...now.

Or maybe....

Nope, okay, sleep is not happening.

Gary rolls over and smushes his face into his pillow, muffling a scream. No matter what he tries, he can't get comfortable. With a blanket, he's too hot. So he takes the blanket off, but then it's too cold. Keeping his eyes open hurts, but shutting them without being able to sleep is annoying.

How long has he been tossing and turning, he wonders. Gary grabs his phone to check, and damn, it's one in the morning. He got in bed at ten.

Gary rubs his face with a sigh, his prosthetic arm bringing some minor relief to his heated face. God, this is not good. At all.

He hears the pitter-patter of bare feet in the hallway, signalling that Little Cato has finally come. Oh no, Gary doesn't think he has the mental strength to be comforting right now. He's so tired, and he feels like crap, to put it simply.

The door opens, light from the hallway flooding in and causing Gary's head to pound from the sudden shift in brightness. The kid quietly walks in, the door shutting behind him, providing Gary's headache some relief, and he slides into the space Gary makes for him on the bed. It's a tight fit, but Gary has found that only having room to cuddle means that Little Cato is more likely to seek comfort.

"What's up tonight, Spidercat?" Gary rasps, holding back a cough that he knows will only end up starting a coughing fit.

Little Cato shrugs, wrapping his arms around Mooncake who snuggles into the warmth. "I can't really remember. I forgot the whole thing by the time I got here."

Gary nods. "Okay, just try to go back to sleep then, kiddo."

Little Cato inches closer to Gary, and he wraps his arms around the kid as he drifts to sleep again. Gary, however, now is not allowed to move for fear of waking the kid. So that means every time Gary can feel a cough coming on or wants to kick off the blankets or gets a chill through his entire body, he uses all of the strength he has to avoid that from happening. The kid needs sleep, and Gary will not ruin it.

Okay, so it isn't that bad. This is just a little cold that will pass within the day, then he can continue on with his life like normal with no one knowing. Perfect plan. Gary lays in bed all night, counting down the seconds until he can get up at a time that doesn't arouse suspicion.

Finally, after several agonizing hours, Gary carefully sneaks around Little Cato to get up and do something. If he stays busy, he can do this. Maybe.

Probably.

...He really hopes.

Another coughing fit racks his body, and he buries his face into the crook of his elbow to try to silence it. Okay, wow, that was really gross; he can taste and feel the mucous trying to come out, ew.

"You got this, Gary. It's just one day," he tries to say, but it comes out as a raspy set of words that he barely understands.

This is going to be fantastic.

It's nearing the end of the day, and somehow Gary hasn't collapsed yet even though his entire body is shaking. Did he eat today? Wow, he can't remember anything.

Right now, he's sitting at a table in the dining room, head in his hands as he tries to breathe without it sounding like a wheezing car engine.

"Hey, Gary!" Little Cato shouts.

Gary winces at the loud volume, but he collects himself anyways and turns to look at the kid in the doorway with a smile. "Hey, buddy."

"Wanna play a game of cards?"

Gary nods, so Little Cato hands him the deck for Gary to shuffle. Just as Gary starts dealing out cards, the ship's alarms go off. The sound slams into Gary's headache, but he stands despite the urgent need to lay down and never get up again. "AVA, what is it?"

"Bounty hunter ships have been detected. And they are coming straight for us," she says.

Shit. Gary and Little Cato sprint into action, both of them running towards the bridge as fast as they can. Holy fuck, Gary thinks his lungs are going to give out, but he can't worry about that right now because he has a ship to pilot. They reach the bridge, Gary sliding into his seat and immediately taking the controls.

There is so much sweat dripping down his face, his arms are violently shaking, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe. Gary just stares at the controls to see his hands jittering and messing up the controls. He can't pilot properly like this, especially with his vision blurring.

"Gary, come on! They're gaining on us!" Nightfall shouts, hurrying into the room. "What are you doing?! Move!"

His head whips towards her a bit too quickly, making him even more lightheaded. His hands slip from the controls as his body tips forward out of the seat, passing out cold onto the ground.

----

Gary wakes up very slowly. And groggily. God, he feels terrible, but also better at the same time? How the hell does that work?

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty."

Gary turns his head towards Nightfall, who's sitting in a chair next to the bed he's in. Wait, bed? When did he get into bed? Also, isn't this the medbay...?

Gary shoots up into a sitting position, trying to disentangle himself with the sheets, but Nightfall stops him with a strong grip on his shoulders. She shakes her head, anger written across her face. "Nope, you are not doing that. Lay back down, Gary, before I make you."

He doesn't lay down, but he does stop when a wet towel falls down from his forehead into his lap. He looks at her in confusion and tries to ask what's going on, but only a painful breath of air comes out. Gary's hand flies to his throat in double confusion, so he just looks to Nightfall for answers.

She crosses her arms. "We were being chased by bounty hunters, and you practically collapsed from over-exhaustion. Little Cato was losing his mind, but I told him to pilot while I dealt with you."

Gary looks around the room at that, not seeing his little buddy anywhere.

"He's making you soup," Nightfall answers, practically reading his mind. She smiles. "Just a warning, it'll probably taste terrible."

Gary smiles at that, then Nightfall takes the towel from his hands and dips it in water, ringing it out before giving it back to him. He puts it on and sighs over the relief it brings to his fever. Oh, that feels so good. But wouldn't it be easier to just shove him in a healing pod?

Gary points at them with a raised eyebrow, and Nightfall glares at him. "When you collapsed, you had a 105.2 degree fever. You could have died, Gary. I don't know what you were thinking trying to do everything while being this sick. So, as your punishment for scaring us all half to death, you have to recover at a normal human rate. Which means, get some rest for once. You can't take care of the kid if you can't even take care of yourself."

Gary frowns at her words, even though he knows that they're true. He really messed up.

The two adults turn their heads to the hallway when they hear small footsteps approaching, Little Cato's voice saying, "Don't spill it, don't spill it, don't spill it—KVN, stop, you're gonna make me spill it—don't spill it, don't—." Little Cato stops himself as he sees Gary sitting up in bed, and he gasps excitedly. "Dad! You're awa—fuck, I spilled it!"

Gary tries to laugh over the look on the kid's face when some soup spills onto his hands, but he just ends up coughing painfully. Little Cato sets the soup down on a table and hops up next to Gary on the bed. He ruffles his boy's hair gently, and the kid smiles at him.

"Are you feeling any better?" Little Cato asks. Gary nods. "Good," the kid says firmly, right before he slaps Gary across the face.

Gary holds his cheek in confusion and looks at the kid angrily, wanting so badly to ask what the hell that was for. But before Gary can even try, Little Cato's head falls to his chest and his ears droop.

"Don't scare me like that again, okay? You always yell at me for doing stuff like this, so take your own advice for once." The kid looks up at him with pleading eyes, and Gary really wishes he could speak right now. His boy can see his expression though, so Little Cato smiles slightly. "I know, you probably wanna say something like, 'I'm sorry, bud. I promise not to do it again,' right?"

Gary smiles at the kid's terrible-on-purpose impression of him and gives him a kiss on the forehead.

"Now, eat the soup and then I'm gonna yell at you some more so you know what it feels like to be me," Little Cato says as he hands the soup to Gary.

"Okay, Spidercat," he rasps with a smile.

He takes a sip of the soup and immediately is hit with every wrong flavor in there. He looks at the kid in confusion, just begging to know what happened to it. Gary doesn't even know what he's tasting, but it is not good.

His kid rubs the back of his neck. "Well, Nightfall told me to make chicken noodle soup, and I don't know what that is. Also we don't have chicken. So I put in those yam-thingies you like? And I think those are noodles?"

Gary looks at it in disgust, but the effort was sweet so he's going to eat it anyways. Actually, it's not that bad after the first shocking bite.

"Well, I think your son can handle yelling at you, so my work here is done," Nightfall says, standing up to leave. But Gary grabs her arm and smiles gratefully at her, so she smiles back.

Little Cato gets comfortable as Gary eats his soup, and the kid takes out a piece of paper from his pocket. It's a list of every single thing Gary has ever said to reprimand the kid, and he smiles incredulously at the boy. As the kid goes through each quote, imitating Gary in the most obnoxious way ever, causing Gary to laugh and then start choking, Gary thinks that getting some rest isn't that bad if it'll be like this.

#we love gary trying so hard to take care of everyone he loves that he forgets to take care of himself #final space #gary goodspeed #little cato #nightfall #mooncake #ava #dadspeed #fs fics

54 notes · View notes

mysticmelove · 6 years ago

Note

hello! i wanted to request hc’s for the choi’s with a methyphobic mc? i get nauseous and terribly anxious (shaking, stuttering, sweating, crying, etc) when alcohol is around me or mentioned. my mom was a pretty horrible alcoholic, and that’s where the fear/ptsd sprouted. my friends and family all think i’m odd for it, but i experienced a lot of trauma bc of alcohol, so it makes me feel rlly bad when they don’t try to understand. i was hoping for a bit of comfort through this!! thank you so much!

*I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this (I don’t have methyphobia but I understand what it’s like to have something people don’t really understand). That being said, I hope I’ve captured it well enough and I’m truly sorry if it’s not realistic. xx

Methyphobic

(Seven+Saeran x MC) [slight angst]

Seven:

“We can go straight home if you want...” Seven could see how anxious she was. She was leant up against the car door, her eyes fixated on nothing, and she was as tense as ever. “The others won’t mind. I’ll just say something came up.” He was the only one who knew; she wasn’t ashamed of it or anything but it was hard for others to understand. MC was a nervous wreck around alcohol, and he knew well enough that it wasn’t her fault or anyone else’s but her mother’s, but it was hard to watch her suffer nonetheless. It felt almost demonic watching her struggle, yet she’d persisted on being in attendance.

“...It’s his graduation party... I can’t miss it...” In reality, MC was dreading to even step anywhere near the party. There had been no promises of alcohol or anything of the sorts but she knew it to be very possible. It wouldn’t be an enjoyable time if that were the case, but Yoosung had been so proud of himself and wanting to share his achievements with everyone that she couldn’t skip it. It’d just be a case of hoping: hoping there’d be no alcohol and that she’d end up enjoying herself.

Thankfully, she was greeted with no such beverage. Instead, her time was spent humoured by Yoosung and Seven’s antics; the way Yoosung’s face beamed with joy as he retold his graduation and what he was going to do now, and the way her boyfriend joked with the younger man haphazardly- all the while taking the role of a supportive older brother. Meanwhile, Jumin and Jaehee remained more reserved throughout the humour. And then there was Zen. Zen hadn’t be present when they arrived, Yoosung simply saying he was running late and he’d be there soon. Though he was missed, MC had been enjoying herself a lot more up until the point when he arrived; with him came absolute torment.

He made a grand entrance, of course, as he usually did. Announcing the presence of the beauty which was himself, and, like an almighty bombshell, he held two six-packs of beer. MC’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Her chest tightened at the sight and she couldn’t help but feel the need to get out immediately. “Now we can celebrate,” the actor laughed, while MC’s face contorted into complete unease. She was no longer enjoying herself in the slightest.

Shamefully, Seven would admit that he hadn’t noticed her initial reaction, too focused on enjoying himself- selfish. He’d been to careless as to even notice the introduction of alcohol to the room but his eyes undoubtedly caught her figure within the small company. She was distraught: her eyes spiked with tears, her chest heaving, and her eyes wide. His conversation was dropped as he subtly left to move to her. She didn’t even recognise his presence until he stood right before her, her eyes wide and red as she looked up to him. “Let’s go,” he spoke ever so gently and quietly as he held her arms softly in his grasp, guiding her out of the space.

MC shook violently against him, Seven leaning against the wall of the corridor and stroking her back tenderly- trying his best to keep her grounded and calm. She kept her eyes pinned to the floor, words becoming trapped within her throat, “I– I’m going to vomit...”

“It’s fine,” he spoke quieter now, “We’re going home and you can relax.”

“Tha– Thank you...” She followed him gingerly out of the apartment, her head was clouded with unmentionable anxieties but she was thankful for Saeyoung’s care.

Saeran:

He had no idea what was going on, one moment they were fine- sat together watching some random film that happened to be on- and the next his girlfriend was shifting around uncomfortably. Her phone had been discarded, though she’d previously been knee deep in a conversation, and she’d grown agitated all of a sudden. She’d distanced herself considerably from Saeran, holding a hand over her chest, and her eyebrows furrowed almost violently. Concerned with the behaviour, Saeran watched quietly- her mannerisms mirroring ones he’d previously seen in himself; something he didn’t wish to see her suffer through. “What is it?”

“Huh?” His voice had snapped her from her thoughts, her head drawn to him immediately. MC hadn’t even heard what he’d said.

Her dazed shock almost left him disgusted, he didn’t know the cause but it must have been horrible. His voice was almost lacking in remorse: “What’s wrong?”

“Oh...” MC came to realise the reaction she’d had to her friends’ suggestions- a night out was never something she’d enjoyed with them. Relaxing her shoulders, she removed her hands from her chest and shook her head dismissively, though nausea still washed over her. “...It’s nothing,” Saeran’s face was a telltale sign of his disbelief, she continued quietly: “really...”

He took the phone from her side, eyeing it as he attempted to open it. “I’ve seen that face before. I’ve made that face before,” his eyes didn’t shift from the screen, “What is it?”

She wanted to take the phone from him, continue to hide her trauma, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. He’d find out eventually, he’d find it weird like everyone else did, and he’d try to awkwardly avoid the subject or ignore it- as per usual.

Saeran watched her hesitation as she reached out for the phone and gave up almost immediately, she’d given in. It didn’t take him long to find her recent conversation but it was just a regular group chat with a bunch of her girl friends. They’d only been discussing the idea of going out for a few drinks for some reason or another- nothing too out of the ordinary. Saeran looked up to her, questioning, “I guess you don’t want to go out?”

“I want to,” MC sighed heavily as he put her phone down, “I just... I can’t.”

“Why not?” He was blunt with his questions as he persisted on finding an answer.

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap, ignoring his commanding glare. “It’s noth—”

He grabbed and held her chin within his fingers before she could finish her sentence, forcing her eyes to meet his and for her to finally listen. “I know that face, MC,” he confessed softer now, “Whatever it was made you scared and uncomfortable.”

At this point, he’d find out even if he had to pry it out of her. She sighed, her voice wavering, “I- I’m methyphobic...” his puzzled face demanded more explanation, “...I have a fear of alcohol...”

An awful silence fell between the two; MC not really wanting to say anymore and Saeran just unsure of what to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You came first?” She questioned herself and her motives, was that really the case? “I was focused on you, and then I wanted to build our relationship and it never came up... I don’t drink and neither do you; it didn’t matter.”

Saeran felt a pang of guilt in his chest but he had been beyond his self pity for quite sometime now, he wanted to focus on her like she did him. His hands encased her cheeks, “I wish you’d told me... I feel like there’s more I have yet to know about you,” he tried his hand in humour but her demeanour didn’t follow suit.

“There’s a lot,” she admitted: “but... if you want to know maybe today is the day I properly open up.”

He was so undoubtedly supportive. MC’s reaction to alcohol was, in part, hard to understand but he didn’t dare think any less of her. And, having found out the cause of her trauma, he felt as though they could relate on an even more personal level; they’d both experienced more than any child should have to and they could serve as comfort to each other. Saeran made it his goal to educate himself more and MC could rely on his support regardless of the situation.

#mystic messenger #mysme #seven x mc #saeran x mc #saeyong choi #707 #mystic messenger 707 #mysme 707 #mc mystic messenger #mc myseme #saeran choi #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #mystic messenger drabble #mysme drabble #mystic messenger headcanon

96 notes · View notes

roseunspindle · 6 years ago

Text

Getting back into Hellsing and...

I am really loving the idea of dawn era Walter and Alucard, I think they are my favorite ship. This turned into a part fanfic/part train of thought. Oops.

Like, Alucard is just waiting for a Hellsing to slip up, but isn’t very interested in Arthur, he’s the head of the family but is to much the philanderer and playboy to even interest Alucard, so he’s just biding his time, being as unsettling as possible, when Arthur bring to the manner a boy, a peculiar boy.

This boy is everything Arthur isn’t, he’s fierce, strong, passionate, violent, and yet binds that up in hilarious upper crust British stuffiness. Plus, he actually seems to enjoy Alucard’s antics, dropping books on his head, skulking in shadows, talking to him through his mirror, he takes the shape of a young girl to make the boy relax, that doesn’t really work, Walter never seems to forget what Alucard is, but he also, in many ways, doesn’t seem to care.

Arthur mostly tries to ignore that the 500 year old warlord has gone from being a malevolent presence to pelting his butler/assassin/soldier with dried beans in the kitchen like he has a crush...(Arthur does is best to drown that thought out with a lot of booze.)

Alucard keeps waiting for something to be “to much” for Walter, but the fact that he’s a vampire only takes Walter about a day to process, the “I’m a boy but I changed myself to look like this when you arrived” somehow leaves them both a little quiet. The “I’m Dracula” conversation is actually the least painful yet mostly because Walter starts pulling his fingers away from his nose and Alucard has to shift into his original form just to prove to Walter that his nose didn’t really look like that.

Walter of course has to read Dracula, as well as Mina and Van Helsing’s journals, and instead of being as painful as Alucard remembered, Walter will ask about some things for clarification or Alucard’s point of view, he can tell Walter doesn’t agree with most of his thoughts at the time, but doesn’t condemn him for them.

Though the conversation about the reeking breath leads to Walter trapped in giggles for nearly an hour after Alucard admits that Transylvania wasn’t big on modern things like toothbrushes, and finally proves to Walter that his oral hygiene has greatly improved by kissing his still laughing mouth.

This does end the giggles and leaves Walter, who’s only thirteen, blushing rather alot, while looking kind of pleased, and Alucard feeling a bit shocked. That wasn’t dark, calculated seduction, it was a pure spur of the moment, he looks cute laughing, thing. Alucard feels a bit lost.

Things come to a head when they are in Poland, fighting side by side with Walter is glorious, the boy truly earning his moniker The Angel of Death. He and Alucard rip through Millennium and anyone else like nothing. Walter see’s Alucard shred through soldiers with teeth and hounds and shadows, and (after suitable brushing) still kisses him.

Another hurdle is passed when Walter and Alucard (and Alucard’s coffin) are well out of range of any pick up for a while and Alucard offers Walter space in the coffin, and Walter accepts, they have to tuck it further away from the sun, do to them needing to keep the lid cracked since Walter actually has to breathe.

Alucard feels and odd peace when he lets himself sleep, Walter and he tangled around each other together in his last domain.

It isn’t until they return to England, back to Hellsing and Alucard finds himself a bit listless, for the last months of their tenure in the war, they always slept in the coffin, but they are “home” now, and Alucard fears it will end, but no, come nightfall when he is waking, Walter is sliding into the coffin with him, and he’ll hold the boy for a while, and days when he and Walter have been out hunting all night are the best, for then they sleep the day away together.

Arthur continues to do his best not to notice or think on things. Such as Walter actually using a chunk of money (that he never really spent) to order a stately four poster bed, which went now where upstairs in the house, or the soldiers muttering about seeing the pair embracing after a mission.

He really has to try hard to not notice and not laugh, when the pairs fights often seem to to involve Alucard purposefully running about in dog form and getting things muddy and Walter eating obscene amounts of garlic bread.

He can’t ignore anything the day that Walter gets a deep, nasty stab wound to the side and is in surgery for hours, a frantic Alucard pacing back and forth, masks aside and worry plan on his face. Arthur can’t deny it now, Alucard is in love (with a fifteen year old boy, his mind cries out), he ignores, that. He sent Walter to war at thirteen, he has no room to quibble.

Alucard see’s him watching and stares, almost daring, but at the same time begging him to say something. The great warlord is afraid. Afraid of this fragile being he’s bound to, afraid of these feelings Arthur think’s he’s never really experienced before. When the nurse comes to say Walter can see visitors, he sends Alucard in ahead of him.

When he glances through the open door, Alucard is in his original body, forehead pressed to Walter’s, their hands are clasped and both look peaceful.

After that the pair are less circumspect, though still maintain a level of propriety, for which Arthur is grateful and display’s this gratefulness by trying to clean up better after his own dalliances.

Walter knows that someday he will let Alucard bite him, and turn him into a vampire. It a bit amorphous, this “someday”. It is, until is isn’t. Seriously, a trip to the tailor’s to grab a new suit for Arthur, an unwary driver and Walter thinks and first it is all over.

Until, until a voice, comes to him in the fog, asking, begging, Walter let me, Walter stay with me, forever, an of course, Walter knows this voice, he feels he has an inkling of what the voice wants and does his best to give assent, the world is very fuzzy. There is a sensation to the side of his neck, and he knows, just on the edge of his mind, he thinks he knows what it is, then warmth, on his mouth the voice saying, drink, please, drink, he loves that voice, and so he does.

An undetermined amount of time later, Walter wakes up. He doesn’t hurt, and doesn’t appear to be dead, which is an improvement from his last conscious thought. There are arms around him and when he opens his eyes, he can faintly make out Alucard’s in between face. The face of the body that favors the bright red coat. Interesting. It isn’t until he tries to sit up and bangs his head on the coffin lid, the completely closed coffin lid, which means it’s pitch black but he could still see. Walter mentally adjusts the “not dead” bit on his assessment. Alucard hasn’t moved, though he must be awake, for his own comfort, Walter slides the lid to the side bit, letting in the faint light. Alucard looks at him, waiting, worried, afraid, Walter realizes.

He supposes it’s one thing to think “someday” but even Walter hadn’t figured he’d have just made nineteen when it happened, nor that it would be a car accident of all things, or that Walter wouldn’t even be properly conscious for it. He looks down into Alucard’s face and lets his own soften and Alucard’s relief is palpable. There will be time to learn this new body for fighting later for now...

Arthur really can’t help but notice his butler’s new red eyes, delicate fangs, and for whatever reason, new lineup of black, grey, and red shirts, he asks about the shirts and Walter simply rolls his eyes and mutters “Alucard” and Arthur accepts that as the explanation it is.

Things are a bit raw, the men are unnerved by it, well some are, others seem almost thrilled, Arthur really doesn't want to know, the maids are a bit leery, but Walter never falters, never even gives a hint that he desires human blood. Though the way Alucard hovers in those first weeks, Arthur rather thinks that no human blood, fresh or preserved passes Walter’s lips. only Alucards.

Arthur shakes his head as he watches Alucard in his feminine form drop a just neatened stack of books on Walter’s head, life is strange and he feels almost happy about that. Because if a a five hundred year old warlord vampire can at long last find love in a boy from from the streets, well, anyone could, even womanizing drunkards like him.

#hellsing #aluwalter #girlycard x walter #hellsing the dawn #sort of a fanfic #Alucard #walter c dornez #sort of train of thought #i apologize to people trying to read this

54 notes · View notes