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ceciliablossoms · 3 years ago

Note

tiramisu for diluc albedo and childe pleasee pelapdepleasepleaselplz

Of course!!

ALSO TYSM @nonbiananrywrites FOR YOUR HELP ILY

I did however choose to go easy on them

TW: Injury, Anxiety, Panic, Blood

Tiramisu: "Deep breaths... You'll be okay."

-------

Diluc

Anxiety was nothing new to them, especially when it came to Diluc and his role as the Darknight Hero. He mostly came home unscathed, but the rare injury often sent an icy panic through their veins. Even if the aforementioned wound were to be minuscule at most, it would still cause them great worry.

His bloody clothing often reminded them that he could one day never return home. Even with the occasional help of the Traveller on his side, their worries continued to eat away at them from the inside. The gash across his arm that stayed limp at his side was the straw that broke the camel's back.

When he entered the winery, exhaustion prevalent, they approached him with haste. Immediately, they ushered him to take a seat, offering to make him a meal, but as they pulled their hand away from resting on his arm it felt sticky. They glanced down at their crimson-stained palm with wide eyes.

It took them a moment to process as they stared at the red that coated the fingers. The warmth of it seemed to burn them as their panic set in. Their eyes began to water.

They demanded that he remove his jacket so that they could tend to his wound. As they gathered their supplies their hands trembled with fear. While they tenderly dressed his wounds, they wept, their bottled up anxiety finally spilling out.

As hard as they tried not to make a noise, they could not prevent themselves from sniffling.

Once their tears dripped onto his bandages, Diluc pulled his arm away, and with great care, he placed his uninjured hand gently on their cheek. With slow, careful movements, he guided them to look up at him, and they averted their eyes. As they let out a sob, he pulled them closer, embracing their shaking form as they cried.

His voice was quiet when he spoke to them, knowing why they were upset, "Deep breaths... You'll be okay."

There was a pause before they responded. "But you won't." Their voice broke as they spoke, clutching his shirt in their hands.

He hummed quietly as he glanced over the arm that they had bandaged, a frown everpresent on his face. He stared down at them softly as they grew overwhelmed.

They were afraid for him, and he knew it. He had always known it even when they had tried to conceal it. The emotions they'd tried to keep under wraps had begun to seep out, and as they tried so desperately to stop it from overflowing it slipped between their fingers.

"I'll make more of an effort to keep myself from getting injured again. Even if it means... I have to ask for help...." They stared at him in surprise.

Though his verbal reassurances weren't very much in terms of comfort, him swallowing his pride certainly was. Even if the help was from just the honorary knight, they'd be happy. He would at the very least have someone watching his back.

They smiled through their tears, "Promise?"

He nodded in sincerity but let out a small sigh. "Promise."

Albedo

They sighed, stumped once more as they worked on their experiment with Sucrose. Something just wasn't right. No matter how many times they redid it the outcome was always different, even if it was done the exact same way down to a T.

They exchanged glances of disappointment with Sucrose as the two looked over their notes once more. Usually, the liquid in the vials in front of them at the very least changed colour. This time it didn't do anything! No colour change. No heat or steam was produced. It didn't even bubble.

They were at their wit's end, despite their work partner's eagerness to continue. Running a hand through their hair, they glanced over their ingredients on the table, neat and organized in their respective alchemical devices and containers.

"Maybe we should ask Albedo?" They proposed. Sucrose looked up from the messy notebook in her hands.

"P-Perhaps you're right." She looked slightly disheartened that neither of them could figure out a solution but also relieved that they suggested grabbing Albedo for assistance before they made a big mess of it.

They'd stepped out momentarily to find the blonde alchemist as Sucrose continued to fiddle with the experiment.

On their hunt they found him browsing the library, searching high and low for a book he seemed to be struggling to pinpoint the location of. At the sound of familiar footsteps, he turned his head to peer over at them. He nodded in greeting as they waved at him with a smile.

"Albedo, could I perhaps trouble you for some assistance? Sucrose and I can't seem to figure out where we're going wrong." They kept their voice down as to it disturb the other people in the library.

"Of course. What is it that you're having trouble with?" He approached them as they led the way back to the alchemy lab.

"Well, the outcome is always different even if we replicate it perfectly. We don't know what the issue is."

"I see." He put his hand on his chin, deep in thought as they opened the door for him.

As the two entered, Sucrose stood over the beaker with a proud expression, "I-I managed to get a reaction out of it even though this one this one w-was different too."

They approached with Albedo following behind. As he stood on the other side of Sucrose, they picked it up carefully with the curious examination. This vial had become a peculiar shade of green and fizzed like it were a carbonated drink. It emitted an odd odour when they swirled the liquid inside.

"What did you do differently?" They asked as they held it up to eye level.

As Sucrose opened her mouth to speak the vial seemed to heat up rapidly. They let out a small whine and switched hands before setting it down entirely. Albedo was quick to move after that, pulling Sucrose away roughly and making a grab for them as the liquid reacted violently causing the glass to explode into shards.

Covering their face, they yelped as glass pierced their skin, Albedo not quite having reached them. They moved their arms, staring down at the glass embedded in them with widened eyes. Albedo kneeled to their level after telling Sucrose to fetch a medical kit.

They were breathing heavily whether, from pain, panic, or both was indecipherable at the moment. His top priority was to remove the glass. As Sucrose handed him the kit, she moved to clean the workspace and dispose of the mess.

He stood them up and moved them to a table across the room where he removed the glass with tweezers. Thoroughly, he cleaned their injuries, muttering a few words to them as they shook in his grasp.

"Deep breaths... You'll be alright."

His voice was soothing as they focused on it to distract from the stinging in their forearms. He'd fully removed and disposed of all the glass and was now focusing on cleaning any hazardous material out to prevent infection. It wasn't as efficient as it would have been if he'd taken them to see Barbara, but when dealing with things as hazardous as these, it was more pressing to clean it on site.

Gingerly, he staunched the bleeding as Sucrose tossed the shards into the bin before scurrying out hurriedly to go get Barbara. He wrapped their arms with bandages.

"Sucrose will return shortly with Barbara, so she can help you more efficiently." He kept his voice quiet so he wouldn't startle them.

They nodded as they leaned against him, but said nothing. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around them to keep them steady as their panic began to wear off. They seemed tired.

"Thank you," Their voice was groggy.

"Of course, dearest."

Tartaglia

Frigid rain burned their skin as they stared out at the serpentine beast rising from the ocean. Everyone around them froze, staring out at the monster that summoned the storm. Panic broke out amongst the crowd as the situation finally sank in and the citizens of Liyue scurried to either get inside.

They backed away from the docks slowly as the rain increased in intensity, pelting them painfully. As they made their way through the harbour, they got jostled left and right by others pushing past them. The overwhelming feeling made them panic, their anxiety skyrocketing.

There were so many people around them in hysterics, looking for loved ones, searching for family. Loved ones... Where was Childe? Their stomach dropped.

Despite their emotions, they pushed onward, refusing to stop until they found their significant other. They knew that he could handle himself and were 100% certain that he was fine. Yet, they couldn't help but feel like something was wrong.

High and low they searched for him. All across the harbour, they hunted for him, coming up empty-handed. Even with the occasional call of his name, they got nowhere.

As they came to a stop at the entrance of the harbour, their panic grew tenfold. As they crossed the bridge leading to Guili Plains, they saw a familiar mixture of grey and red upon the cliffside.

They broke into a sprint, calling out his name with urgency. He was staring out at the God that wreaked havoc, an almost triumphant expression across his face. At the sound of his name, he turned his head to them.

Immediately he stood to meet them, and his expression turned to one of pain. He wasn't bleeding but the hand clutching his side as well as his face showed very clearly that he was hurt. They clung to him, faltering when he made a pained noise at the impact of their embrace.

They tensed, "W-We need to get inside! A-And you're hurt."

They grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back to the Harbour. He could feel them shaking, the cold probably not helping their frazzled state. Coming to a stop, he pulled them to his chest.

He rubbed their back gently as they struggled to breathe evenly, "Deep breaths... You'll be okay."

He watched the chaos unfold over their shoulder, knowing he'd eventually have to slip away to the Northland bank to meet with Signora. Nonetheless, though, he comforted them with reassuring words and touches.

They pulled away and dragged him along toward their home so they could care for him, "What happened?"

Their voice was laced with broken confusion. They had no idea what was happening, nor what had spurred it on and on top of it all their beloved was injured.

His response was delayed but he said something about getting tossed around in the crowd. In all honesty, they weren't listening, focusing solely on icing the bruises across this torso. They fidgeted anxiously.

He cupped their face, feigning the same anxious expression that they were showing outwardly. "It'll be okay," He vowed, "Hey, whatever that thing is out there will get dealt with."

They nodded shakily, finding some solace in his words as they leaned against him in tears. He held them close and stroked their hair, shielding them from the window. It wasn't until the Jade Chamber fell and the storm stopped that the weight of stress wiped them out.

Tag List: @fictionalcharactersthatsit @youaskedfurret @nagatorou @seiiblue @dai-tsukki-desu @dilucs-claymore @rainy-day-vibez @duhsies @tempehlust @somniomi

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pangtasias-atelier · 3 years ago

Text

The Summoner’s New Drug

This was originally conceived as a joke between me and tumbyrumblings except I kinda wrote a lot and kept going lol. Though I feel like I wrote a whole lotta nothing despite this being 4k words abjsbjbbs

Please know that any inaccuracies is cause I meant it that way lmao. Story involves the obvious three characters at ridiculously large sizes

"They're brownies," Corrin softly chimes in from his seat in the corner, his downcast eyes focusing on his warm chamomile tea instead.

"And what exactly is so special about these…" Grima trails off with a grimace. A plate of freshly baked brownies held in Kiran's hands, Grima eyes them warily as if concocted to destroy him.

"We have nothing like that in Phoenicis," Tibarn stands behind Kiran. He inquisitively glances down at the baked goods. A quick sniff relays enough information on his lack of knowledge on the dessert. "Chocolate huh. Those Begnion pigs loved that stuff,"

"Unsurprisingly, Corrin's the only one to really know about this kind of stuff," Kiran gives a small sigh before going on to inform them. "They're brownies. A nice little gooey, fudgy, chocolaty sweet. And they're special because I baked them myself! Doubly so since they're pot brownies,"

Upon the sudden adjective, Grima and Tibarn both turn towards Corrin. "I've never heard of that word before," He curves his tail closer to himself, not exactly appreciating the attention.

"They've got weed in them," Kiran clarifies. With a lack of a reaction, he divulges further. "You smoke it to feel good but you can also use it in food?" All three of them simply stare at him with morbid curiosity, none of them understanding the summoner. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before placing down the tray of goods. Grabbing a notebook he roughly sketches out the plant.

"Ah, you mean bud," Tibarn is the first one to respond. "I didn't think you'd know of such a thing. I used to enjoy it from time to time with Ulki and Janaff growing up,”

"That's the devil's grass," Corrin adds, now eyeing the brownies warily.

Kiran holds back a small snicker. "Oh come now; this is nothing so morbid like that. It's perfectly harmless and it makes you feel pretty nice,"

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Familiar with it, only in a different form, Tibarn shrugs his shoulders without a care. Grabbing one of the brownies, he merely takes a simple sniff before heartily chomping into the delicacy. “Mmm, you’ve outdone yourself,” Tibarn takes another quick two bites to finish it, a content thumbs up thrown Kiran’s way. “Heh, don’t mind if I take another one, right?” His eyelids drooping, Tibarn doesn’t wait for a response; instead he grabs two at once, one in each hand. He lets out a small, breathy chuckle. He stares at his hands while he continues to munch, as if each digit contained limitless knowledge possessed by Ashunera.

"Who cares about a weed concoction? It is yet another pointless distraction meant to please you pathetic worms," Grima skulks about as ever. Unwilling to partake in merriment enjoyed by others, he keeps his arms crossed.

“I guess you’re right,” Kiran sighs. He turns his back towards Grima. “Alfonse did like these, so I should save some for him if you won’t eat any,” As he goes to walk towards the plate, Kiran already has a grin forming on his face while he waits for his plan to work.

“That pathetic princeling has no need or right of anything that is yours,” And work it does as Grima barrels past Kiran in a frantic rush to reach the brownies. Only wishing to deny someone else enjoyment, Grima angrily takes a bite of the brownie. Chocolate smears his lips. “Much less anything that is mine,,, ooh,” The sweet brownie dances on his tongue. A faint blush forming on his face, Grima’s shoulders lose their tension as they slack. “Perhaps I was mistaken. This weed thing is good,” Grima licks the chocolate smeared all over his teeth, desperate to not let a single gram go. “What was I even complaining about?” Grima’s eyes turn a bit red, the effect seemingly instantaneous.

“I think I’ll pass,” Corrin remains in his secure little corner; he continuously passes concerned glances at Tibarn and Grima.

“Oh come on. It’s not even bad for you,” Having already gotten two out of three, Kiran becomes pushy, pushing the drug onto Kiran. “They’ve only got a small amount” Standing over Corrin’s seated form, he towers over the petite dragon.

“I’m…” As Corrin mulls over on what to do, a voice suddenly pops into his head. ‘You know, my wife Nancy has a saying. Tell ‘em Nancy!’ Corrin’s mind is perfectly silent for a fraction of a second as it waits for another voice to join in. ‘Just say no!’ Corrin stares at the brownie in Kiran’s hand, his willpower marginally renewed from the voices of ghosts not from his world.

Seeing Corrin push back, Kiran pipes up more. “Everyone else is doing it. Just be cool about it,” Holding the brownie right in front of Corrin’s face, Kiran keeps a neutral expression. “Just try it,”

“Fine,” He brushes a bit of his hair to the side as he responds. Corrin trepidatiously accepts the brownie from Kiran, as if it were going to explode in his hand. His stomach churns and toils. He takes a few deep breaths to psyche himself up. Lifting the confection to his mouth, he takes a lil nibble of it. He nods his head in agreement, his body gently swaying to the side in clear enjoyment of it. “This is actually good,” He still takes small nibbles of it but each consecutive bite is always a bit larger than the last. A puff of air comes out his nose in a definite sign of contentment. By the time he finishes his first brownie, he grabs another one to peck at. He makes himself comfortable as he lies down on the couch. He stares at the plain empty ceiling. His mind relaxing, a myriad of shapes and colors that he never knew existed bounce around on the ceiling.

“You guys hungry?” Asking as innocuous as he can be, Kiran already knows the answer to his own question. “You boys wait right here, I’ll be right back with some snacks,” A chorus of hmms sound out as he saunters out the room. Kiran grabs the already prepared cart of food placed right beside the door. Waiting a few minutes, afraid to perhaps come off as too prepared and give something away, he comes right back inside after his self imposed time is up. “I figured you might be a bit peckish, so I got some snacks for you all,” Grima TIbarn and Corrin alike are all too faded to give much of a response besides another round of humms. Kiran doles out snacks to them, the three hungry men snacking away.

His plan on introducing the drug working exactly as planned, Kiran goes onto phase two. Not planning to crack down on them with unjust and pointless laws meant to harm minorities and benefit those in power, the second part of his plan is fundamentally the exact same as the first part; introduce more and more of the drug and let things take their natural course. As natural as the course can be with him being in charge of it all now.

All three perfectly chill and calm ever since having their first taste of weed in Askr, as befitting the effects of marijuana, they all feel another much more important side effect. Well, important to Kiran. The munchies. Addicted to it, all of them are constantly doped up on dope. They simply laze about throughout the entirety of their day, their days now filled with weed and food. Completely lacking awareness from being high all the time, they easily allow it. The pot brownie the gateway drug into other variants, Kiran introduces them to gummies, weed beverages, before even having most of their food contain it once their bodies build up enough of a resistance to it. Marijuana ice cream, weed milk, weed infused lobster, weed mac n cheese, weed gravy, anything and everything, upon hearing it contains weed, Grima Tibarn and Corrin clammer to try it. The more weed in their system, the fiercer the growing pit in their stomach demands food, the munchies taking a tighter grip on their bodies.

Their trim bodies gain an inkling of a pot belly, a trim sliver of pudge forming on the lowest part of their abdomen. That promptly thickens with a bit more time, said sliver of pudge blossoming into a full fledged gut, their arms gaining a bit of circumference all around as do their legs, their appendages getting a bit closer and compressed to their chunky middle. Over time, their usual outfits grow snug in places never before; shirts tighten around their swelling middles, pants constrict their jiggly thighs, and sleeves compress their flabby arms. Too faded to care, their addled brained minds preferring to fixate on satiating their cravings, they simply adorn their tight clothes even as those seem more akin to rags as their burgeoning bodies outgrow them near completely. They lack a single concern in the world with Kiran providing them all the weed and food they could want. Lazing and grazing about their only objective each day, all three’s activity spike down to near nonexistence. The only activity they get is shifting around a few times a day and the semi occasional walk to another location to space out and enjoy their environment, like the castle’s gardens or the lake. But even that minimal effort of movement begins to die down over time, their widening waistlines proving too taxing to bother themselves.

Moving past fat to obesity, Tibarn’s upper figure is the most prominent part of himself. A veritable gut rolls down his tree trunk thighs. The lowest roll of flab nearly reaches all the way down to his swollen calves. Each ponderous step Tibarn takes, the few that he has to, causes the great flabby beast to sway to and fro before undulating from the deep, heavy breaths he takes afterwards from the exertion. His defined pecs look like they never existed on his figure, two pendulous sagging breasts plunging to the side of his mountain of a gut. His arms are wider than the average heroe’s thighs, the doughy sagging arms constantly at an angle from the upper rolls of his torso. His once angular face lacks any sort of severity to it, Tibarn’s now cherubic face taken up by his puffed out cheeks and multiple squished together necks. His ass respectable in its own rights, the shapeless mounds for an ass sag down.

“About..” TIbarn takes a moment to catch his breath, his cheeks puffing out. “time,” Seated on a couch, Tibarn’s immensity takes up the entirety of it, his girthy love handles oozing out onto the armrests. Not a single space left on the seating, his gut rolls off of it and his thighs. The couch sags at the center from his crushing weight.

“Can’t keep you waiting for too long, big guy,” Kiran places a hand on Tibarn’s sprawling gut before rubbing slow circles on it, the immensity of his flab caving in from the slight pressure. “Brought you your favorites,” Handing him a tray consisting of meat, meat, and some more meat, Kiran places it on the titanic shelf of his chest. Kiran also hands him weed gushers. He pats Tibarn’s gut, the mass of fat wobbling in return. Tibarn promptly digs in as soon as his overly laden arms reach the plate of food.

Heading towards Corrin, the once constantly worried dragon is much more relaxed and chilled out. Used to some manners, he continues to sit at the now comparatively tiny table in the room. His body filled out everywhere, his plush rotund body bulges out with fat all over. One chair can no longer withstand his crushing weight, so now he sits on an entire three, the sides of his ass spilling off the sides of them. The inner rivets of his thighs curve inward from the fat piled onto them only for his great gut to smother the entirety of them under its weight. His flab digs into the table, his plush fat seeping above and below it despite it not being as massive as Tibarn’s. His breasts somehow retain a sense of form to them, his juicy, plump chest resting atop his gut.

“How’re you doing?” Kiran comes up from behind, placing a gentle hand on Kiran’s should as he walks around his obese form. “Hungry or anything?”

“I’m fine,” Corrin lets out a small sigh, his fat face giving a contented smile. His nose perks as the wafts of what Kiran is carrying reaches his nostrils. More weed arriving, Corrin’s gut involuntarily grumbles, a deep cavernous rumble shaking his entire body. “Actually,” Corrin pauses, embarrassed to admit his needs.

“I got you covered,” Kiran ruffles the top of Corrin’s hair. He places a plate atop his buxom chest. A spread of food, all of them contain fair amounts of weed. Knowing Corrin will wait a few seconds before stuffing himself, Corrin goes to check on Grima.

The fat fell dragon sitting on a mattress, the cushion offers no real purpose besides customary, Grima’s massive ass oozing off the edges of it. His titanic door crushing thighs remain plastered onto the mattress. The wide, gargantuan appendages spread over the entirety of the mattress. His gut nowhere near as exaggeratedly big as his lower half, the doughy mass of fat rests comfortably atop his thighs. His generous chest lurches forward down onto his heaping stomach, his line of neck rolls and chins resting above said chest. His fat addled arms are at a constant angle from the jutting fat from both his torso and his arms. “And why am,” Grima lets out a groan to catch his breath. “I last?”

Kiran wasting no time waiting, he steps to the side of Grima with a plate ready as well. “Cause I knew you could hold on a bit longer for me. And besides, I'm here right now aren't I?” Kiran places a plate full of nothing but sweets. Each confection is chock full of cannabutter, exactly to Grima’s liking.

Stepping back, he takes an appreciative look of all three’s bloated bodies. Not quite yet immobile, their bodies holding out a bit longer than expected, Kiran’s brain whits as he imagines their obese figures even bigger, said image only a matter of time.

The time coming very quickly, it doesn’t take much longer for the three of them to find themselves unable to get up. Unconcerned from before when moving was already taxing, they display the exact same lack of concern on the same day they can’t get up. And still, they continue to eat and grow. What is once the beginning somewhat resemblant of a body immobility eventually turns into shapeless immobile blobs. Clothes go completely forgone, the amount of fabric needed to cover a single mountain of a gut astronomical. Furniture gets swallowed under their lard, mattresses and couches alike unable to withstand and withhold copious amounts of flab. Space diminishes. With not one. not two, but three pathetically food addicted and weed addicted men, their ever flowing flab presses up against not only itself but against each other with only so much space in the room to go around. So much fat swaddling their entire forms, legs and arms become useless, the appendages becoming buried in a sea of flab. All too eager to keep on eating, the bulging walls are of absolutely no concern when their fat builds and pushes against all four corners of the room. Flab busting down a wall and seeping out in desperation of more room only earns a sigh of relief from them with more breathing room. The ever increasing rolls making up a chin eventually seem to meld together. A tire of fat forms around their fat faces. A handful of heaping rolls lining their stomach become two handfuls into even more, more and more fat piling on top of their corpulent frames. Where once a room was sufficient to house all three immobile piles of lard, soon it becomes a room plus a hallway. Then it turns into multiple rooms before half an entire wing is necessary. Eventually, they take up the entirety of said wing only to require even more space with their ever constantly fattening forms. Soon, the entirety of Askr castle becomes uninhabitable with the looming threat of the three blobs burying the castle under a cascading blanket of lard.

Askr castle now entirely devoid of any sign of people besides three blobs, the only sound one can hear is the churning of overtaxed machines as they perform their best to keep feeding their users. One machine per person is no longer sufficient, each of them requiring two to sate their black hole of a stomach. In what is presumably the throne room, a location Kiran can only guess from how big his heroes’ have gotten, what with any and all furniture destroyed and smothered by their fat, Grima’s big bloated body greedily guzzles away at his liquid food. His hands and legs are equally smothered under titanic fat rolls. His pale blubbery legs have absolutely no definition or shape to them, the oozing oceanic thighs splaying out on both sides around him. A sea of rolls making them up, each thigh alone rivals the size of an average room. So much fat stacked on top of fat, they even give Grima some height to his billowing, massively wide frame. Not that it means much when he’s over six times as wide as he is tall. His ass melding into his thighs, there is no distinction on where exactly they separate from his thighs. The back wall of the throne room bulges outward from the substantial weight pressing onto it. The side wall is already destroyed from his thighs. His stomach able to house, well a house, the big lake of fat comfortably slots itself in between and atop his thighs. His breasts divot down to the sides of his gut, each of them alone larger than an actual person. Tibarn visible in Kiran’s peripheral vision, at least one of the three immobile blobs visible even when far away from the castle, it takes Kiran a whole 50 meters to walk from the center of Grima’s body to Tibarn’s center.. Tibarn the unfortunate one to be stuck in the middle of the three, he took the role with gusto. Unwilling to let himself be outdone, his body gushes outward onto Grima’s and Corrin’s. So immensely fat, three tubes are stuck inside his mouth at all times, his fat cheeks cascading down onto his shoulders. A multitude of chins stacked on top of each other, the rings of fat sag all the way down to where his plunging chest is. Each breast so massively bloated with fat, his great big tits reach far down his stomach. A great feat considering Tibarn’s stomach alone could fill up a library twice over. So many rolls riddling his stomach, they all blend and mix in with his overtaxed thighs and ass, Tibarn’s body hard to tell where each part ends and another starts. His thighs mostly smothered by his absolutely mountainous stomach the appendage somehow manage to look comparatively small despite their overwhelmingly large size. Kiran walks another 55 meters to reach Corrin’s gut. Corrin the runt of the three, his body still puts a pack of elephants to shame. His body once holding out on keeping a semblance of a figure, now he is nothing but a bunch of fat laden rolls of a blob. His arms completely useless, the two rotund cylindrical columns of fat splay out to the sides of his engorged body. His back fat and neck rolls encroach his face, a bit of his hair obstructed by the growing mass of fat. On the right, most of his body takes up the entirety of a single wing where they first got addicted to weed. So massively big that he alone takes it up, Corrin’s gut and thighs are equally impressive. Able to cover far more than a dozen mattresses, his tonnage goes where it pleases, overtaking the few furniture not crushed under one of the three’s weight.

Returning from his own world, Kiran sighs with pleasure. Buying out an entire store, he holds a mere fraction of his pull. “I brought some more weed for you all,” He speaks into a small mic, the three unable to hear him from the gushing sounds of their guzzling without a speaker placed by their sinking faces of fat. The mere mention of the drug gets all of them going, the poor machines whirring even harder as they greedily suck on their slop of feeding tubes. “This is the life,” Kiran smiles to himself with a few stretches to prepare himself for the taxing climb of three mountains of fat.

Later in the day

“Kiran, don’t tell me you gave them even more of this weed thing to them?” Pacing back and forth in his new room in some other smaller, remote castle, Alfonse exasperatedly sighs as he slumps back in his chair.

“I went to check on them. See how bad the weed has been affecting them. Which is why people shouldn’t be taking drugs,”

Alfonse’s eyes shoot wide open from Kiran’s lecturing tone. “Y-you gave it to them! And you keep giving it to them! There is absolutely no lesson to be had here. No moral. No aesop. Nothing. Besides!” Alfonse points an accusatory finger at Kiran, staring up at them even as Alfonse goes to stand up. “There is no way such a drug normally exists. You had to have enchanted it,”

“And what about it?” Kiran noncommittal shrugs. He goes to sit in his chair, far too pleased with himself even as Alfonse berates him.

“Th-then!” Alfonse momentarily stops. His brain wracks itself as it tries to figure out what to say now, not expecting Kiran to purposefully admit being at fault. “Then stop acting like you’re innocent! You gave some to Kaden and Keaton and now this castle is soon to be overtaken by two blobs! They fill up the entire west wing now. Kaden’s chest is so huge that they could crush a wagon! And Keaton’s stomach could crush three of them! And if you’re admitting to being at fault then you need to fix this right this instant!” His entire chest heaves as he finishes his impassioned beratement. He finds himself standing right in front of the seated Kiran who only has a far too amused grin on his face.

“You’re wrong about that,”

“Huh? About what?” Alfonse’s eyes keep steady as they glare at the summoner.

“It’s not going to be two blobs,” Kiran stands up. He stares down at Alfonse, right in front of him. His steely eyes grin down at the confused prince, Alfonse’s body suddenly yelling at him to run only for his feet to remain plastered to the ground. Kiran whips Alfonse around, pressing him against himself. Producing a brownie out of nowhere he tauntingly holds it in front of Alfonse. “It’s going to be three,” He whispers in Alfonse’s ear. A single bead of sweat rolls down the side of his head as his arms and legs thrash about. His struggling slowly dies down the instant the brownie reaches the inside of his mouth, Kiran holding his hand against Alfonse’s lips. Feeling Alfonse’s body begin to slack, Kiran slowly lets him go.

“Ugh I…” With lidded eyes, Alfonse looks at his hands. “I feel so chill,” A little burst of giggling ensues as he drapes himself onto the couch. His flat stomach lets out a small little grumble. “I feel kind of hungry,” Grumbling to himself, he gently holds his stomach in hopes of soothing the pain.

“Here, I have some snacks for you,” An angelic smile now adorning his face, Kiran caresses Alfonse’s hair as he hands him some snacks. “I’ll go get you some more just in case too,” Walking off, Kiran goes to bring him the entirety of the kitchen’s stock.

Alfonse succumbing to the same fate as the others, Kiran has him working overtime in order to catch up. Stuffed to the brim with food all hours of the day, that is nothing compared to the copious amounts of weed he feeds him every half hour. So aggravatingly hungry, it takes only a few weeks for Alfonse to find himself immobilised by his crushing weight. Unaware of ever being angry from the use of weed, he can barely find himself begging for more of it before Kiran supplies it to him alongside another feast or two or three. His fat body is as plain as his once thin body; fat simply cakes itself onto it all over. No exact body part is a standout from the rest even as his body fills the entirety of his room only to take up a whole wing by itself, a sea of fat spreading all around with only Kiran able to tell that the body belongs to Askr’s prince. Making sure to give him a rough time, it all works out for Kiran as Alfonse soon grows to be fatter than Kaden and Keaton combined, the poor kitsune and wolfskin each taking up only a quarter of the smaller castle compared to Alfonse’s three fourths.

Kiran rests on top of Alfonse’s numerous chins, the cascading folds sufficiently enough for him to comfortably rest. He sighs contentedly as the whirs of three feeding machines fill his ears, Alfonse requiring two now. “Pretty soon you’ll need even more, fat ass,” Chuckling to himself Kiran grins from ear to ear. A good portion of Alfonse’s fat taking up his vision, Kaden’s and Keaton’s crushing weight take up another significant portion, the two of them needing one feeding machine. But it’s the sight in the far background that brings him the most joy. Off in the distance, the distinct sight of three blobs looms over the landscape. Askr castle entirely now no more, the great structure would be unable to contain a single one of them, much less three. A mountain itself an apt comparison to each of their bloated figures, Kiran simply grins himself as he thinks about his visit to them tomorrow, a great climb comparable to Mount Everest only done thrice in one day awaiting him. Though he considers it more than worth it, wondering just how big they can further grow, all of them happy to do so.

#My writing #SSBHM #male weight gain #maleweightgain #immobility #fat emblem #feeder emblem #fat!heroes #fat!Grima #fat!Tibarn #fat!Corrin #fat!Alfonse #fat!Kaden #fat!Keaton

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pretty-idol-hell · 3 years ago

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Idol Land PriPara 01

I’d suggest watching the episode before reading this because this is very disjointed and rambly. If nobody is working on subbing it I can make a detailed play-by-play summary at a later date (lemme know).

TLDR: PriPara took my OC and made her real but that’s OK.

She even has the same room as me. I literally live in an attic and have that SAME exact wall over my bed that I may or may not bump into... occasionally....

So it was immediately obvious to me why they wanted us to watch episode 01 before 00. That reason being the scene where Laala is stalking Amari trying to get her to be an idol is WAAAAY funnier if you’re not already aware that everyone has apparently forgotten about PriPara. It was just so.... SO PERFECT.

So yeah, if my understanding is correct, PriPara went through an update error which caused everyone to forget about PriPara and it’s up to Laala and the gang to get kirakira (the new iine?) by bringing all the people who were once idols back to PriPara.

And also Yui is dead. I mean asleep. You know the character they spent a year trying to sell as the new main character only to find a way to write her out of the series as quickly as possible. Hahah yeah. We’ll find out about that in episode 00.

Also I want to quickly note that they described PriPara as a “park of dreams” in this episode. I don’t EVER remember PriPara being described as a park before, do you? (That’s PriChan, no? ??)

But okay, let’s rewind. The way they were talking it seemed to suggest that Amari was already a PriPara idol in the past and just forgot about it. But was she? I thought it was kind of unclear. Because in the flashbacks they only showed Amari WANTING to be an idol and not actually going to PriPara/performing.

OKAY HOW OLD WAS AMARI DURING IDOL TIME AND LAALA IS STILL IN 6TH GRADE--

Haha they are in on the joke though. That’s why we got this going on. All of this is intentional.

*GASP*... so... SO.......

So if I’m understanding correctly.... Amari is NOT Mario but at the same time... she kinda is? She created him. (And now he’s going to take on a mind of his own?)

Edit for anyone who didn’t see the episode: Mario is like literally Amari’s DanPri OC (brother?) based on a black rabbit at her school that she drew when she was going through a pHaSE. In embarrassment, Amari desperately tries to hide the notebook with his picture in it, and ends up ripping out the page (or it flies off? But after rewatching it I think she rips it out) while in Idol Land.

Love her pose AHHHH. They really put a lot of effort into making her refreshingly quirky.

So Hysteric Bunny’s Making Drama hasn’t been programmed into the game yet eh.

.....The amount of time it took my brain to pull out the words “Making Drama” from the dark depths of my mind was shocking. (Yattemita...? No. Appeal? ...No...) Probably about the same amount of time it took Amari herself to remember what PriPara was. (This episode is totally calling me out.)

So this is a Cyalume Hurricane. Is this another Amari-ism or is this just how we do things in Idol Land hahah...

But man. I think it took until this very moment for me to realize this is real. PriPara is really back. We have Cyalume Coords AGAIN!!!!! I had no idea how much I missed them in the PriChan era.

So we don’t have PriTickets anymore. This is how they are showing adding friends in the app, or at least that’s my assumption. And I think that’s neat. They really put a LOT of work into rebuilding the PriPara world to work as a mobile game and it’s awesome. Going to a Prism Stone shop is a good allegory for going to an arcade. Falling into PriPara from the sky is a good allegory for taking out your phone and falling into playing the game wherever you are.

Oh man please let the game be good please please PLEASE

#im actually kinda disappointed the episode leaked so early #who leaked it WHO #i mean #of couse i wanted to watch it #i'm still just sad i wanted to support the series and i couldn't #given the choice i would have paid #idol land pripara spoilers #pripara spoilers #idolland pripara spoilers

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moonlit-han · 4 years ago

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bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive | gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I’ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

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all-by-a-dead-poet · 4 years ago

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AU where Todd is deaf

This got really long and really out of hand really fast, oh well

- Todd has been deaf since birth

- His parents figured it out when he was two

- They thought it was weird that he never reacted when someone said his name but looked up the second you walked into his line of sight

- So they went to a doctor, and he told them Todd was deaf

- Todd doesn’t really know anything about deaf culture

- His parents being who they are, they raised him in the hearing world and had him learn how to read lips and sent him to speech therapy

- They wanted him to be as “normal” as possible

- But Todd’s been bullied enough to know that he doesn’t speak quite the same as the other kids his age

- So he generally doesn’t speak and just carries a little notebook around with him for the times that it’s absolutely necessary for him to communicate

- Even though there’s not really anyone for him to sign with, his mother had him learn how

- She learned a little sign as well, and while she’s by no means fluent, she can hold a basic - albeit stilted - conversation

- Todd’s father knows none at all. When his wife suggested he learn so he could communicate with his son a little more easily, he refused

- He said it would encourage Todd to sign more and speak less, and therefore be more “abnormal”

- Jeffrey knows a few basic signs that his mother taught him, but that’s it

- Todd both loves and hates being deaf

- He hates it because not being able to hear what anyone around him or his teachers are saying just makes his anxiety worse

- But he also loves it because it gives him an easy excuse not to talk to anyone

- He loves poetry because he feels like it’s the only way he can truly express himself without any barriers getting in the way

- Normally Welton wouldn’t accept a deaf student

- But since Todd’s older brother is The Jeffrey Anderson and his parents offer to “make a generous donation to the school”, they let him in

- When Todd first meets Neil, Neil just starts talking a mile a minute, and while Todd is relatively good at reading lips by now, it’s still a lot harder than most people think, and he can’t keep up with the explosive enthusiasm and boundless energy that is Neil Perry

- So he pulls out his little notebook, writes “I can’t hear you” and holds it up to Neil

- He assumes this will be enough to get Neil to shut up and leave him alone like everyone else does because they don’t want to put forth the effort to communicate with him

- Yeah, that’s not what happens

- In fact, it has the exact opposite effect, and Neil just gets even more excited

- He’s never met anyone deaf before and he thinks it’s just the coolest thing and he wants to know everything

- The other poets are also welcoming and accepting

- They all make a special effort to talk a little more slowly and clearly than they normally would when they’re with Todd. They try to only talk one at a time and make sure that they’re facing him so he can read their lips and understand what’s going on

- They’re not perfect about it, but they’re trying, and that’s what counts

- But the person Todd feels most at ease with is Neil, there’s just something about him that makes Todd feel safe and truly seen for the first time in his life

- When Mr. Keating finds out Todd is deaf, he makes sure that he only speaks when he’s facing the class, and before every lesson, he types up a page of notes to give Todd to make sure he doesn’t miss anything

- He doesn’t want to single Todd out by having him be the only one who gets the notes, so he makes copies and gives them to everyone

- The first time Todd speaks in front of Neil, he expects him to laugh or at least react in some way to how he sounds “weird”

- But Neil just smiles and says he’s been wondering what Todd’s voice sounds like and that it’s beautiful

- Even though Todd and Neil have gotten into a pretty good rhythm when it comes to communication, Neil still wants to be able to have a conversation with him more freely

- So he decides to try and learn ASL to surprise Todd

- There’s not really anyone around who can teach him, though, so he gets a bunch of books out of the library and tries to learn that way

- But, as anyone who knows ASL will tell you, that really doesn’t work very well

- It’s very frustrating, but Neil keeps at it because he wants to do this for Todd

- He manages to keep it from him for a bit, only studying it when Todd’s asleep or not in the room

- But eventually he falls asleep on top of one of his books and Todd finds him that way in the morning

- When Neil wakes up, he’s all put out that Todd knows what he’s been up to now because he wanted it to be a surprise

- But Todd just tells him that he wouldn’t get very far with a book anyway and shyly offers to teach him

- Every night before bed, the two of them work on it together

- Neil’s a quick learner. He already gestures with his hands a lot when he speaks, he’s very expressive that way, so signing just clicks easily for him

- But Neil still wants to do something to surprise Todd

- So he talks to the other poets and they decide to learn how to sign a poem

- Every day, beyond teaching them what to sign for the poem and practicing it, Neil teaches the other poets what Todd taught him the night before so that they’ll be able to sign things other than the poem as well

- When they finally feel like they're ready, they decide to have their next meeting a couple days earlier than originally planned because they just can’t stand to wait

- When they all stand up at once instead of just one of them, like usual, Todd’s taken aback and confused

- But then they all sign the poem for him in unison, and by the time they’re done, he’s about ready to cry

- The amount of effort and love they put into it is more than anyone’s ever shown him and it just hits him like a ton of bricks

- After that, the other poets join in the nightly ASL lessons as well

- Even though some of them pick it up faster than others, Todd’s incredibly patient with them all

- He knows what it’s like to have a teacher get upset with you because you don’t understand what they’re saying, and he never wants to make anyone feel the way he’s been made to feel

- Once Neil’s fluent enough, he starts signing along whenever he speaks, no matter the setting, so Todd won’t have to read his lips anymore

- That’s a little harder for him, since it can be difficult to do both at the same time, especially when you’re still learning, but he’s determined to do it anyway. For Todd

- As the other poets improve, they follow his lead, signing when they speak too

- Mr. Keating actively encourages it, and even asks the boys if they would teach him as well, so he can sign while he gives lessons

- Of course, Mr. Nolan and some of the other teachers frown on the whole thing, and occasionally tell the boys not to do it if they think it’s getting too “blatant”

- But when have the poets ever let that stop them?

I might actually make this into a fic, idk, we’ll see

#dead poets society #dps #todd anderson #neil perry #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #steven meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron #todd's deaf au #my post

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a-libra-writes · 4 years ago

Note

I’m so so happy you liked my Stannis headcanons bc he is such a difficult character for me to write and you know him so well. I’m flattered you even considered them!~

I have so many Ramsay hcs my actual cinnamonroll. There isn't nearly enough headcanon about his mother or childhood. And I have a soft place in my heart for child hc in general. So if anyone here 💗s him as much as I do, I made some..

Ramsay was known around the village for being ill-tempered and cruel toward the other children

Mostly they stayed away from him and didn’t include him in any of their games :(

Occasionally he played with the sons of the village smith and fishermen, only because they were the roughest children of the village

He spent almost all of his time outdoors exploring in the forest and making snares to trap small animals

Sometimes he would bring back the game he had killed to his mother. Ive seen this hc other places and love it so much. It was then that he received the greatest amount of attention from her

When Ramsay was old enough he had to help his mother around the mill. He was also expected to help with the cooking and tidying things in the cottage

His mother tried to teach him not to break things in anger or throw stones at cripples ☺️ but that didn't work

She hit him when he acted like a brat

Most of the time he was well behaved. Sometimes though when he wanted attention he would do things to purposely make his mother angry just to get her to punish him 🥺

Occasionally his pouting worked on her, and then she would give him what he wanted and dote on him

She was likely an inconsistent parent. He would never know how she would act each day

He hated not getting his own way, and would storm off to be sullen if something happened like he didn't win at a game. He was definitely a sulky child

For some reason I wanted to attempt a few childhood!Stannis hcs too so..~

Your idea of Stannis having a repetitive hobby and being fasciated by How It's Made omg I remember that show from childhood is perfect. I feel like as a child he was interested in things like model airplanes and 3D wood puzzles, like smart toys

He liked watching shows and documentaries on nature/history/war from PBS and the Discovery Channel too

He would have been on the honor roll and won academic awards throughout school, which made his parents vv proud

I feel like his handwriting was always a messy scrawl, but he took lots of notes in class and filled more notebooks with the things he researched on his own

Although he grew up in a wealthy household, he wasn't spoiled. His parents had class and were not at all flashy with their money; I feel like they would be the kind of people who drive normal cars and wear tasteful, understated clothing

They definitely taught him the value of working vv hard and having a drive to achieve great things in life, which he did

I'm so sorry this is so long but hcs are so fcking fun to write

If I can share more on your page I will but I completely understand if they're annoying

And I adore your work (⊃｡^‿^｡)⊃

OMG yesssss so all this Ramsay is so good. I rlly love him playing with the "bad" kids of the village, but of course... Ramsay is probably worse. Probs a really bad influence on them. I can see there being an "incidient" and then his mother forbids him from being around the village boys. She doesn't want to get run out of town.

I wanna to add that she was probs a not great parent, like "inconsistent" is her at her best, she probs got worse when he got older. Probably when he started to look like Roose, and when his acting out was getting worse. I totally agree about him wanting any kind of attention, even negative. It's the exact same deal with his future wife!reader, tho obvs he's more obsessive.

are we just agreeing that Ramsay is basically a violent unloved pouty child sjdfjsjgfsgs

oh oh one more thing, totes agree that he'd bring her dead animals. like thats SUCH a red flag for questionable behavior in kids but they were poor AF and oftentimes the rabbit he caught was all they'd eat that night, and he felt so proud!!!! she actually approved. she might even have smiled or patted his head that night. she'd get angry if he brought a mangled cat or mauled rat so he learned which ones she liked best. he was doing more for sport than survival, after all ..... . ... also imagine his pride when Wife is pleased he brought her something she wanted to eat, like a big stag or boar. She smiles and says thank you. Eats it up. He actually gets a heart boner instead of a regular one maybe regular one later???

I def love all that for Stannis :D also Cassana and Steffon were totally that good sort of parent haha. I feel like for all the encouragment and resposibility only Stannis became their "successful" kid like modern AU robert and renly are a mess. Renly is an insufferable west coast millenial + probs a fucking instagrammer and robert is a divorced mess still thinking hes that hot football star from college

#lets have cassana and steffon be alive in modern au bc otherwise :(#i want to date modern stannis so bad even if hes so out of my league alskdkdk #also howd you send such long messages over anon are you a wizard????#ramsay bolton x reader #libra headcanons #anon headcanon

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fleckcmscott · 3 years ago

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 1

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Referenced self-harm, Severe struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,589

A/N: This novella has been bouncing around in my head since last September. At first, I was hesitant to write it, unsure of how the subject matter would be received. But inspiration sparked last month, so I decided to take the leap. 🙂 Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing and helping me get the summary right! Also thanks to my colleague Jane the Dame, who spent many years working at a state institution in the 1980s, for answering my questions. 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I'm still working on requests and Way Back Home!

The halcyon summer of 1988 was one of Y/N's favorites, filled with good news and great fun. Her oldest nephew, Jason, had been awarded a baseball scholarship to the University of Missouri, where he hoped to study business administration, following in his father's footsteps. In congratulations, she and Arthur had sent enough money to cover textbooks and one of those new graphing calculators. WXYZ ran a contest for The Main Ingredient tickets, and by being the ninth caller on a Wednesday afternoon, Arthur won two nosebleed seats. They'd taken a weekend trip to a bed & breakfast in the Catskills, and spent far more hours in bed than having breakfast.

There were professional achievements, too. Dube & Ellis merged with Flat & Flat Lawyers to become Dube, Ellis, & Flat. (It was fortunate they'd dropped the second "Flat;" her business cards wouldn't've fit in her billfold, otherwise.) The firm now specialized in labor and family cases, and luckily, she had extensive experience with each. After a quick interview process, her title was bumped to senior paralegal, an advancement that added the duties of interviewing witnesses and assisting less experienced staff.

Arthur's work seemed to be going well, too. The season was his favorite, what with the easy availability of gigs and breaks from rain and cold, and his mood since May had been boundless. Most mornings he'd head out to dance and do magic on a corner near Amusement Mile, even if he had an event to work later on. He'd filled notebook after notebook, periodically calling her up at the office to share a joke that couldn't wait. Walks overflowed with animated assertions that he'd get his name on Gotham's biggest marquees, that he'd fill the largest clubs, that it was only a matter of time before everyone recognized his talent.

While his self-confidence had increased, evidenced by knowing grins and occasional swagger, glimmers of arrogance were rare. It struck her as uncharacteristic, but she enjoyed the way it fit him, like the tailored seams of a brand-new suit. Though his ideas were a little grandiose, not quite realistic, the determination behind his assertions made her smile. Success in all aspects of his life, whether it be performing, happiness in his own skin, or managing his symptoms, were goals they shared. Vital elements she cherished, that made their partnership thrive.

As the last tendrils of August heat gave way to the cool breezes of late September, a shift pricked her perception. He'd had rough patches since they'd gotten together - a month when he hadn't felt up to intimacy, a week when he'd stayed in, a day when he'd lain morose in bed - and they'd always gotten through. The third night she went to bed alone, however, she began to sense this was different.

He still practiced his material, went through the motions of bathing his face in white, blue, and red to go spread joy to a kid. He functioned. But she'd find him on the sofa in the same position she'd left him the night before. The lights in the apartment blazed, whether it was 2:00 AM or 2:00 PM, like he was trying to chase back shadows visible only to him. Retreats to his writing nook increased, stretching on and on. She brought him coffee when she thought he was running low, gave his neck a quick massage, ensured he knew she was there for him. Moments of loneliness seeped into her soul, but she did her best to ignore them. Journaling had helped Arthur cope for as long as she'd known him. Though she ached for him to confide in her, she believed respecting his space was the right thing to do.

But she reported the changes to Dr. Ludlow, stated she suspected he was slipping.

"Continue to monitor him," Dr. Ludlow said, "and update me with any symptoms that are clearly excessive."

Frustration caused Y/N to stare at the receiver before hanging up. How was she supposed to judge what was "clearly excessive" versus what was "mildly excessive" when all of it troubled her? She tried to think back to the books she'd read after Arthur's appearance on Live! With Murray Franklin, and quickly concluded she was due for a re-read.

When the date night she'd crafted went awry, she finally resolved to investigate. Candles burned and his favorite LP played, yet his beloved dish of beef stroganoff and egg noodles lay untouched. He'd barely spoken, tossing her a spare nod every so often. Failing to fill the void of conversation by herself unnerved her. His thumb traced the edge of the table. She rested her chin on her knuckles. "You haven't been eating much," she said. "Do you want to try something new?"

"No."

"All right. But we could look through some of your cookbooks. Maybe we'll find an old favorite." She paused to ponder her words, not wanting to let on that it was getting more difficult to leave him alone for eight hours a day. "You're not yourself. Not lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I see you and talk to you, but it's like you're not there half the time. You're not sleeping, you're tenser than when we met." She covered his hand with hers and forced a slight grin. "I don't know where that gorgeous head of yours is. I'd like to."

On a curt huff, he shook his head. "No, you wouldn't." He picked up his fork to poke at a puddle of sauce and proceeded to lie to her for the first time she could remember. "I don't want you worrying about me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

The obvious untruth in his answer and his stubborn refusal to admit he was struggling evoked an earlier period of her life. The one in which her father had forgotten his patients' appointments and begun to lose vocabulary, resorting to describing diagnoses instead of naming them. Even with her mother, sister, and herself pushing him to get checked out, the normally open man brushed off their concerns like they were a brood of anxious hens. Y/N's worry morphed into anger, a burning coal in her chest. She flinched and tossed her napkin on the table, buttoned her lip before she confronted him further and said something she'd regret. Grabbing her glass of wine, she excused herself and went out onto the fire escape. Breathed deeply and leaned on the railing until he followed to ask what she wanted to watch.

But less than four days later, she arrived home from work and her fears were validated.

She hung her purse at the door and scurried through the living room, having had to use the restroom since boarding the subway, thanks to an ill-timed cup of coffee. The wet footprints on the cream color carpet went unnoticed, superseded by a dull thumping emanating from behind the bathroom door. Bafflement halted her momentarily; misgivings compelled her to fling it open.

Clad in his briefs, soaked from head to toe, brown locks dripping, Arthur stood at the side of the tub, ramming his forehead against the shower door. Splinters shot through the reeded glass, a cracking sound Y/N would never be able to erase from her ears. Herky-jerky motions possessed his arms, disconnected, agitated. He kept at it. Hard. Harder.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Fear sparked her nerves. Of him, which made her feel awful, and for him, which induced an urge to fight off whatever his conditions were putting him through. The later won out. "Arthur, what the fuck?" she said. Then louder, taking a step towards him. "Arthur!"

Disregarding the possibility of unhinging him further, she grabbed him. Repeated his name until the slamming diminished to a resting of his temple on the door. His shoulders sagged, he panted. Blood formed on his forehead, a drop that expanded to a thin rivulet down his cheek, dribbling off his chin.

She sat him on the toilet, yanked the hand towel from the hanger beside the sink. "Arthur, what's wrong?" Hot water flowed from the faucet after thirteen agonizing seconds. She knelt before him, seized his chin as she wiped coppery flecks away, pressed the terrycloth to the fine cut below his hairline. "I don't know what to do." Shrugged, mumbling incoherently, he dropped his gaze to the floor and gave a smothered laugh. Her voice rose, louder than she intended, and she shook him by the shoulder. "Tell me what to do!"

As if seeing her for the first time, he blinked. The pain of realization crossed his face, tightened the lines at the corner of his eyes, the fine wrinkles around his mouth. With a shiver, he folded in on himself, pushing Y/N back and dropping his head between his knees. "Nothing seems to make a difference," he said.

Freaking out was in order. An honest-to-god, old fashioned case of hysteria. Instead, she willed herself to ignore the growing flames of panic, but she was powerless to stop her eyes from watering. She stood to retrieve his bath towel. Got him to stand, pulled off his underwear, draped it over the radiator. She patted his back, covered with goosebumps and cold, and wrapped the cloth about his waist. A million phrases went through her mind. Sentences full of comfort and solutions, sentences that felt ghastly in their emptiness. She chose the truth. "I'm going to call Dr. Ludlow and see what we can do. I'm not asking permission."

At first, he didn't react. No gestures of compliance, no scowl of defiance. But gradually he dared to meet her gaze, as if begging her not to give up on him, and began to dry himself with the clumsy coordination of a child. She managed a comforting smile, even as her heart split, and gave his bicep a tender squeeze.

~~~~~

Y/N waited in a small, corner room of Arkham State Hospital, which sat smack in the middle of McKean Island, set off from the rest of Gotham like a scapegoat expelled to the wilderness to pay for the city's sins.

Despite the asylum's measly fifteen floors, it dominated its space. Four separate beige buildings, each connected with a skybridge, loomed over the surrounding streets and train tracks. A watchtower sprung from the top of one wing, the one she assumed was for the criminally insane. Bars stretched across every window, even the one she currently peered out, and she lamented that most of what she'd seen so far of this medical facility felt equal parts institution and prison.

More study than workspace, Dr. Kellerman's office was far warmer than the facility's stately façade inferred. Between narrow bookshelves, poplar framed two bachelor's degrees from Gotham University, one in biology, one in psychiatry, alongside an MD degree from Hale, arranged in a circle on almond wallpaper. His license was up to date, renewed four months prior. A certificate for the Elizabeth Arkham Spirit of Medicine award hung in the middle, awarded for "thirty years of outstanding service to the citizens of Gotham." His apparent expertise quelled an ounce of Y/N's anxiousness; ruminating on Arthur preserved the rest.

The desk was wooden, like an old teacher's desk with drawers that no longer rolled smoothly, and pictures of what she assumed were a wife, children, and grandchildren cluttered one end. An Orator intercom speaker took up the other. A calendar pad covered the center, full of scribbles and appointments. And on the right, beside Dr. Kellerman's forearm, sat a doorstop he claimed was Arthur Fleck's file.

"Mrs. Fleck," Dr. Kellerman began. "Dr. Ludlow and I spoke briefly. She sent your husband's records over about an hour ago. Now, they haven't arrived yet, so I'm hoping you can give me a run down. He's been in therapy with her for...six years?" He flipped the folder open, pen poised between the first knuckles of his fingers.

"Seven next January." Y/N leaned forward, craned her neck to look at the top page. Reading upside down, she couldn't make out much more than the Department of Hospitals' twin-snake seal. "Before that, he was in treatment with the Department of Health."

"What was the reason for the change?"

"Budget cuts. The round before last," she said. Dr. Kellerman let out the sigh of one who'd heard that story too often. He indicated she should continue with a quick, but not unkind, wave. "He keeps a journal and takes three medications. Temazepam, fluoxetine, and an anti-psychotic." Frowning, she tried to picture the bottle of white tablets on the bureau in their bedroom, the blue typewriter ink on the label. "I'm sorry, I can't recall which one. It's been a long night."

That was an understatement. As soon as she'd gotten off the phone with Dr. Ludlow, Y/N dialed 911. Arthur and she had spent five hours waiting in Gotham General's emergency department, with him getting more agitated by the minute, only for the attending physician to state they weren't equipped to handle his case. A shot of sedative stuck Arthur's arm as they'd wheeled him into an ambulance for transport. Y/N caressed his cheek before they parted, pecked his slackened lips with the promise to see him soon.

"I'm sure it's all right here," said Dr. Kellerman. He tapped the stack of paperwork before him. "Any changes over the last few weeks? New or odd behaviors that set off your radar?"

She went through what she'd already reported to Dr. Ludlow, the ER staff, and the intake nurse she'd bribed to ensure Arthur got a private room. "Nothing I thought would end in this."

"How about stressors?"

"He had a bad night at the Smile Factory awhile back, a drunk heckler. Occupational hazard - Arthur's a stand-up, mostly works open-mic nights." She counted on her fingers, tried to catalogue everything in her mind. "An old client of mine passed away recently, but they'd only met once or twice."

"Have you been fighting?"

"Only about how worried I've been." Heat flushed up her shoulders and her neck, the scene of shattered glass and blood replaying over and over in her mind, an unwelcome horror film she should have foreseen. If she'd been more attentive, could she have stopped this? The suggestion tore her insides. She crossed her arms over her chest, a fractured shield against her burgeoning guilt. "Dr. Kellerman, he's goes through periods of depression and mania. But he's been doing so well. We had a wonderful summer together. I don't understand what's different now."

"Where the mind and spirit intersect is still a mystery. Medication can stop working. Incidents that would be minor to you or me can build and build until a relapse occurs. Even the changing of seasons, as you just described. Sometimes we can't pinpoint a cause." Dr. Kellerman's eyes narrowed, salt and pepper brows pulling together in concentration. "I'll be calling Dr. Ludlow tomorrow morning to discuss Mr. Fleck's case. Once we've determined an appropriate treatment plan and he signs a release form, I'll contact you. Let me share how a typical stay here wor-"

"Dr. Kellerman?" The intercom crackled to life. "You're needed in ward C."

He reached for the volume knob. "I'm in a meeting, Janet."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but it's a code grey."

"Be right down." He stood and straightened his corduroy suitcoat, then turned his attention back to Y/N. "The ward's charge nurse just had a baby and we were already short staffed." He stopped in the doorway and pointed to his right. "There's a coffee dispenser and vending machine down the hall. Avoid the tuna salad. I'll be back as soon as I can." Y/N listened to his footsteps hastening, fading, the squeak of far-off hinges echoing through the corridor, the slam of a metal door. Hunger and thirst eluded her. Swirling questions - how Arthur was doing, what clothing to bring him, how long he would have to stay - crowded out her needs.

Except for one: to know.

She'd sought to respect his privacy, be satisfied with what he was comfortable confiding. And he'd confided a lot: his history of being deemed a danger to himself, disassociation and hallucinations, his laminated card. But the file on Dr. Kellerman's desk taunted her, a temptation in coffee-stained manila. Maybe a glance would be all right. Just enough to get an idea of what had remedied him in the past so she could replicate it in the future. Just enough to understand him a little better. Just enough to soothe the all-too-familiar ache of helplessness. Scraping her chair forward, she reached to grab the expandable folder with both hands and situated it on her lap.

Its documents were sorted in order from newest to oldest, opposite from how she sorted files in her office. The Department of Hospitals form she'd spied earlier was a psychiatric report, blank besides Arthur's name and today's admission date: 9/27/1988. Experience with court ordered evaluations told her it would take at least two days for it to be completed. She'd have to keep digging.

After a quick peek over her shoulder, she flipped through a bundle of pages, bound by a large, black clamp. They appeared to be weekly reports from a Dr. Kane, notes stating Arthur had trouble spelling, maintaining eye contact, and didn't elaborate on his feelings other than to say he didn't want to feel bad. But he never missed his appointments, even if he didn't do much participating. "Major depressive disorder, suicidal ideation, uncontrollable laughing fits. Inconsistent with bringing journal." Those descriptions pained Y/N, but the rest constricted her throat with pride. "Consistently well-dressed, neat. Polite. Heavy smoker. Prefers butterscotch candies." She snorted lightly. Whoever this Dr. Kane was, she already liked her.

Beneath those notes, about a third of the way through the file, she came across Form-39274, which looked to be an application. The version name in the corner, "Rev. 01/1981," caught her attention; it must have been from his last hospitalization, a scant nine months before they'd become involved. Judging from the two empty hole punches at the top and lack of signature, pages were missing. She read on regardless, desperate to glean as much as she could. There were the usual demographic questions. Whether or not Arthur had ever been married (he hadn't), how many bedrooms were in the apartment (one), if he had a criminal record or unresolved federal or state tax liens - as if that would preclude his need for medical care. (He had neither.) He'd apparently worked up to sixty hours a week, a number of hours that rivalled hers, even when she'd worked for Shaw & Associates.

When she got to the section about his education, a weight dropped into her stomach, as heavy as the concrete bricks of this building. According to this, Arthur had quit school in the tenth grade. The same year his mother had been lobotomized. Y/N held her breath. This was why he'd never gotten invitations to class reunions, why he'd claimed to have forgotten his diploma at 8J and hadn't asked about a replacement, why he thought her "very smart" when, really, she considered herself happily average. The unfairness of the situation he'd been thrown into, the adult choices he'd had to make as an adolescent, tugged the thread tangling her ribs.

The man who'd completed the form had terrible handwriting, some of the worst she'd ever seen. All her practice deciphering affidavits and orders should've come in handy, but she could scarcely make out a sentence: "Laughing all the time." "I don't know - happy or what?" "I really don't understand it." Given this record, a record that denoted a mystery instead of a person, Arthur was lucky he'd escaped Penny's fate. She turned to the folder's final section, where pages yellowed and specks of mold bloomed.

An admissions photo stared back at her, perhaps twenty-years-old, black and white, the size of a recipe card. Happy to finally glimpse Arthur's earlier self, she brought it closer. His gaze was blank, averted from the camera, his full lips agape. Wisps of dark hair stuck out from behind his ears, his curls as unruly as when he'd try to slick them into submission for a special occasion. Her fingernail traced the round apple of his cheek, not yet sharpened by the chisel of age and hammer of life. He'd held such beauty in his youth, a beauty that had matured into the handsome man who held the power to steal her breath whenever he walked into the room.

Suddenly, a sob shuddered through her, down to her bones. This photograph wasn't a joyful memory. It existed because he'd struggled, isolated and weary, for nearly three decades. Longer than he, longer than anyone deserved. If her circumstances back in Boonville hadn't turned into a leaky hull, if she'd gotten to Gotham sooner, she would have made a difference. Sure, she might not have had much money, a newly divorced transplant finding her feet. But she could have done something.

She rolled her eyes at herself and put the photo back in its place. Closed the folder and dropped it on the desk. Shoulda, woulda, couldas wouldn't do either of them any good. She wasn't a savior and he didn't need saving. What he needed was for her to be here with her feet planted firmly in the present. In reality. She grabbed a tissue from her purse, determined to pull herself together before Dr. Kellerman returned.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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the-modernmary · 4 years ago

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my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 8)

Chapter summary: When Aaron gets stuck at work late and Jess has to go help out her dad, Aaron has nobody else to turn to but you to watch Jack. The only problem? Up until now, Aaron has been keeping his home life completely separate from you, and you have no clue how this will effect your already precarious relationship with Aaron.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This was not part of the original plan at all for this story, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

masterlist || read on ao3

In between What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine Love is so confusing, there's no peace of mind If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good You teasing like you do - Blondie, “Heart of Glass”

~~~~~~~

You were on your couch doing homework when you got the call from Aaron, and you frowned in confusion when you saw his name flash across your cell phone screen. Aaron never called you while he was working, and you especially didn’t expect a call from him today. He was doing a custodial interview with an inmate sentenced to death somewhere in Virginia, and you figured prison didn’t have the greatest cell service.

“Hey there, jailbird,” you greeted. “Are you inviting me to the dance?”

“Very cute, Elvis,” Aaron joked, but it was half hearted. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I need to ask you for a favor, and I want you to know that I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other options.”

“Mhm, I love being the last choice,” you mused sarcastically. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Aaron.”

Aaron elected to ignore your last comment. “The prison just went on lockdown, so I’m going to be stuck here for at least a few more hours,” he explained, and there was an unnatural nervousness to his voice. “And Jessica has to go deal with an emergency with her father.”

You frowned to yourself, unsure of where Aaron was going with his explanation, and even more unsure of who this Jessica person was. A pang of jealousy shot through you, but you quickly bottled that feeling.

Aaron took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Would you be willing to watch Jack for a few hours? I know it’s not ideal, but it would just be for a little while until either I get out of here or somebody else from the BAU gets off of work. I would even be willing to compensate you for your time.”

Oh.

OH.

Silence crackled through the phone as you took in his request, and you could practically feel Aaron’s nervousness. It shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it was. It had been two months since you’ve been with Aaron, you slept over at his house enough, and you worked in the same building as him. It was pretty inevitable that of course you were going to meet Jack at some point, but you always figured it would be with Aaron there to mediate. You had pictured that it would probably be accidental, maybe Jack would wake up early and would catch you sneaking out of Aaron’s house. Or you would be invited to one of Rossi’s famous dinners and the kids would be there and then there would be no questions asked. You definitely didn’t expect to babysit.

“Yeah, of course, I can watch him,” you said finally, and you heard Aaron let out a sigh of relief. “And you don’t have to pay me… or worry about finding a replacement. He can hang out with me for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Aaron told you, still sounding completely drained. “I will send your address to Jessica, and she will drop Jack off at your place in about half an hour. I really owe you, Y/N. I have to go talk to the warden now, but please call me if you need anything, okay? Bye.” Before you could even answer, Aaron hung up.

You took a deep breath as dread settled in the pit of your stomach. How hard would babysitting be, really? You’ve babysat before - Aly had a little brother who basically became your little brother. However, a weird part of you was nervous that Jack wouldn’t like you, which was ridiculous. It didn’t matter whether or not Jack liked you.

Right?

Deciding that you couldn’t just sit there and panic, you chose to use the time to tidy up your apartment, just to make it extra presentable. The organized mess that was your homework space was quickly arranged so that all of your notebooks and papers were in a neat pile. You took down the half empty tequila bottle from forever ago that was sitting on the top of your fridge and shoved it into a cabinet somewhere. The throw blanket that you had been wrapped up in was refolded and placed on the arm of your couch. You wanted to at least give the illusion that you were prepared to babysit Aaron’s son, and not completely freaking out inside.

Right on schedule, knocking came from your door, and you rushed to open it. You were greeted by a blonde woman, probably a few years younger than Aaron, who you assumed to be Jessica. Next to her was the elusive Jack, with his blonde hair and missing front tooth. You had seen a few photos of Jack in passing, hanging up around Aaron’s house and whatnot, but you never got a good look at the photos.

“Y/N?” Jessica asked cautiously, and you nodded slowly. “Hi, I’m Jessica, Jack’s aunt.”

Jack’s aunt. A million emotions hit you at once. Oh god, she was Haley’s sister. Your stomach started to feel queasy, and it took you a second to realize that it was guilt, although you weren’t quite sure what you felt guilty about.

Logically, you knew Aaron had a life outside of you. Hell, you had slowly become part of that outside life now that you were friends with his coworkers, but you really tried to avoid thinking about Aaron’s home life. When he wasn’t with you, it was out of sight, out of mind. He was his own individual entity.

Now you were face-to-face with just how insignificant you were in the grand scheme of Aaron’s life. The fact was that you were probably no more than a side storyline in his life, a character created just for Aaron’s own development. He had a life and a family that you barely knew about. There was evidence of his home life everywhere - the bins of toys at his house, drawings on his fridge, family photos in matching frames in the hallway, even a small jewelry box on his dresser that looked like it had been collecting dust for a few years - but you had gotten good at averting your eyes.

“Hi, yes, that’s me,” you replied, shaking Jessica’s hand. Then you bent down so you were closer to Jack’s height. “Hey dude, I’m Y/N,” you introduced, giving him a small wave.

Jessica took the backpack she was carrying and helped Jack slip it onto his shoulders. “Thank you again for doing this on such short notice. Aaron should have sent over my phone number if you need anything, but Jack’s a good kid. He just has some homework that he needs to get done,” she explained.

“It’s no problem,” you told her, giving her your best reassuring smile. “He’s in good hands here.”

Jessica smiled gratefully at you before kneeling down to say goodbye to Jack. You stood in the doorway awkwardly as you watched the interaction curiously. It was as normal as it could get, Jessica telling Jack to behave and that she loves him, but it also fascinated you, like you were watching a movie and all of the characters had popped out of the screen.

Jack gave his aunt a hug before she left, and the two of you stepped into your apartment. That same nervousness came back in full force. What kind of games did he like to play? You didn’t have any toys for him. What if you couldn’t help him with his homework? Do kids his age learn fractions yet, because you did not remember fractions. What if-

“Woah!” came Jack’s voice, breaking you out of your spiraling. “Can I please sit on the bean bag chair?”

Well, Jack certainly wasn’t nervous, which offered you more relief than you thought it would. “Yeah, of course, you can. It’s my favorite place to do my homework.”

Jack flopped onto the bean bag chair, his tiny frame almost completely consumed by it. You could see the confusion growing on Jack’s face. “You have to do homework?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” you told him. “And I know you do, too, so we can do homework together.”

Jack jutted out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will I have to still do homework when I’m old?”

At that, you let out a genuine laugh, even if you were a little shocked. The kid had personality, you had to admit. “I’m not that old,” you halfheartedly protested, “And maybe. It depends on what you want to be when you grow up.”

“I want to be a superhero,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Like Spiderman.”

You nodded, the movement playfully exaggerated. “Oh, well Spiderman is really smart. I’m sure he does a lot of homework, so you better get to work. Let me know if you need any help, okay?” You chuckled again at Jack’s increased pout, obviously disappointed in the fact that even superheroes had to focus on school.

Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out a pencil and a brightly colored folder with papers sticking out of it every which way. He started on his worksheets, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration, and it hit you just how much he looked like Aaron. The blonde hair threw you off, but you had seen that exact look on Aaron’s face many times, eyebrows together and lips pursed ever so slightly. Like father, like son. You had to resist the urge to audibly coo at the sight. You were only human, after all.

You tore your eyes away from the boy and glanced over at your laptop, which was sitting open on your coffee table, the cursor blinking back at you teasingly, reminding you that you also had to get to work. You had essays to write and practice contracts to draft up. The two of you did your work in comfortable silence for a while, Jack occasionally asking you to help him read the instructions of his worksheet.

“Done!” Jack exclaimed proudly after a while, holding his packet of papers high in the air.

Just in time, too, because if you had to do any more criminal tax litigation work, you were going to pull out your hair from boredom. There was only so much corporate fraud you could read about in one sitting.

“With all of your homework?” you clarified, and he nodded so fast that he looked like a full-on bobblehead. “Good job, dude!”

“Did you finish your homework so that we can play?” he asked you.

“Yup, I’m all done,” you lied. Your paper wasn’t due for another week, anyway. “So what do you want to play?”

Jack tapped his finger on his chin as he thought about it. You were aware that you didn’t have much in the way of kid’s toys, but you had stuff to color or paint or play board games, and you were confident enough in your imagination to come up with a game if it came down to that. Jack looked around and suddenly his eyes got wide and he pointed to your Switch.

“Do you have Mario Kart?” he asked hopefully. “Can we play that?”

“That sounds like fun, let’s do that,” you told him, making your way to set up the console. “I’ll even let you be player one.”

Jack was practically bouncing up and down in his seat now. “I’m really good at this game. I can even beat my uncle Dave!”

You laughed as the two of you picked your characters. Jack chose Yoshi, a solid choice, and you went with Toad. “You can beat your Uncle Dave? Wow, that’s impressive. I have to warn you, though, I’m also very good at this game. Do you think you can beat me?” you teased.

“Definitely,” Jack challenged, and the game began.

The two of you played for a little while, and Jack’s mind was blown when you told him about the shortcuts on each track. After about three cups and you telling him where every shortcut you knew was, the 7-year-old was starting to get antsy just sitting, so you decided to switch gears.

You brought out some leftover paints and canvases you had from a paint night with your friends, and you and Jack laid on the floor and did some painting, although you were not prepared for how messy it would get. Somehow, Jack ended up with his fingertips covered in blue paint, and you had a streak of green on your cheek from where you mindlessly brushed hair from out of your face. As you placed the artwork to the side to dry, Jack had already decided on the next game - the floor is lava.

Before you even realized it, three hours had passed and it was time to make dinner. Jack chose pizza, which you luckily already had in your freezer. The game was still going, but you and Jack agreed that the kitchen was the only safe place without lava, considering there were too many dangerous things in that vicinity.

Babysitting Jack was easier than you expected, and much more fun. Even in his more playful moments, Aaron was always a little bit guarded and on edge, so you had a hard time imagining what his child would be like. A weird part of you almost imagined a mini adult in a child-sized suit and a briefcase full of fruit snacks and crackers, as ridiculous as it sounded. But Jack was just like any other 7-year-old - goofy, a little loud, and excited about the world.

You wondered if Aaron was like that as a kid, or if that part of Jack’s personality came from his mom. Maybe Jack was a mini version of his mom. Now that you had gotten the tiniest taste of Aaron’s home life, you found yourself craving to know more, to see Aaron in dad-mode.

Selfishly, you also wanted Aaron to watch you interact with Jack, just to see his reaction. It was a gamble and you realized it. Best case scenario, Aaron would be able to breathe a little bit easier. There wouldn’t be that half second of awkward silence between the two of you every time he mentioned Jack’s name. That stupid guilt you felt so often would dissipate because, hey, you met Jack and now that was out of the way.

On the other hand, everything could come crashing down. Aaron could walk in, see you with Jack, and immediately regret his decision and regret you. It would solidify in both of your minds that you were no more than somebody he could call and fuck when he felt himself on the verge of breaking down. Any self-imposed importance you had placed on yourself in Aaron’s life, no matter how small it was (and it was pretty small), would be a lie. He had a shorter temper now than before, and maybe this would be the exact thing that would set him off.

You didn’t want that, of course, but you really did want to know what would happen, to see where you stood with him. Call it morbid curiosity.

You were pulling the pizza out of the oven when you heard the knock on the door. “Coming!” you called.

“Don’t touch the lava!” Jack reminded you from his spot on the coffee table, just as you were about to leave the kitchen. Your method of movement to and from the kitchen was the rolling chair from your desk and a broom so that you could push yourself where you needed to go, which you had to justify to Jack as being a lava boat.

You “rowed” yourself over the door and looked in the peephole. Aaron was on the other side, nervously rubbing his thumb over the rest of his fingers. It took some work, but you were able to open the door without falling off the chair.

“Hey, I know you,” you greeted Aaron, but your smile fell when you took in his appearance. His whole body was tensed up, like a rubberband about to snap. He didn’t have his tie or blazer on, and the cuffs of his shirt were undone.

“Dad!” Jack shouted, waving excitedly.

“Hi, buddy.” Aaron smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was scanning the room, studying the scene in front of him. Aaron’s expression slowly shifted to confusion as Jack bounded across your furniture to get closer to his dad. “Jack, what are you doing on the table?” Aaron’s eyes shifted to where you were, noticing for the first time that you were kneeling on a rolling chair, holding onto the broom like a trident. “And why do you two have paint on you?”

“The floor is lava,” you explained nonchalantly.

“And you’re going to get burned!” Jack pointed out.

You chuckled and swiveled your chair so that you could get a better look at Jack. “How about we give your dad a minute to find a spot, okay dude?” You turned back to Aaron, lowering your voice. “The kitchen is a safe zone, if you don’t want to have to crawl around on furniture.”

Aaron frowned, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain. “No, I should take Jack home anyways,” he finally said. “You’ve helped enough today and I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you insisted. “Besides, we just made a pizza that I’m not going to be able to eat by myself. Come in, have dinner. You look like you need it.”

He really did. You were certain that he hadn’t eaten anything the entire time he was at the jail. He looked exhausted, too, and it was taking every bit of his energy to keep his usual stoic and stony composure.

Aaron wanted to argue, but instead, let out a resigned sigh. “Thank you. You, uh, said that the kitchen was a safe zone?”

“Mhm, and you might want to hurry because Jack is in it to win. Already tried to sabotage my chair boat.”

While Aaron’s face remained emotionless, his gaze softened as he stepped into your apartment. “Jack, did you have fun with Y/N?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

Jack hopped from the coffee table to the couch and onto a trail of pillows he had made. “Yeah! She taught me how to cheat in Mario Kart!”

You rolled your way back to the kitchen, chuckling sheepishly. “Shortcuts aren’t cheating, it’s playing smart,” you defended.

Jack just giggled and continued to animatedly tell Aaron about his day at school as you each started to dig into dinner. Well, Jack and you dug into the pizza, while Aaron took all off two bites and pushed his plate to the side. You had originally thought that it was the interview that caused Aaron’s tenseness, but you realized with a start that Aaron was completely focused on you. He was watching you curiously, like you had subtly changed your appearance and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different.

He was just intrigued by your interaction with Jack as you had been with Jack and Jessica’s interactions. You had thought that he was going to make a snap judgment and decide if he was ever going to want to see you again the second he saw you with Jack, but he was taking his time. He was profiling you.

“Hey Jack,” you interjected once he finished eating. “Your dad and I are going to do dishes, but I need you to do me a big favor. I can’t win Bowser’s Castle no matter how hard I try. Do you think you could do that race for me while we clean up?”

Aaron looked at you in confusion, but you kept your eyes on Jack, who was all too happy to have an excuse to get out of cleaning and go back to playing video games. He practically bounced back into the living room, leaving you and Aaron alone.

“Do you want something to drink?” you offered. Aaron was watching your every movement, studying you carefully. “I have tea, coffee… Irish coffee, if it’s that kind of night.” You added the last part as an afterthought, only partially joking.

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched upwards so subtly that if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have even noticed. “No thank you,” he answered formally.

You mindlessly traced circles on the tabletop with your finger, keeping your eyes downcast. You knew you couldn’t just outright ask what was on his mind, he’d never answer truthfully. “Do I want to know what that creep did to be put on death row?” you asked, keeping your voice as indifferent as possible..

Aaron shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell you even if you did,” he admitted and the two of you fell into silence again. It was the answer you had pretty much come to expect from him.

Despite the fact that, as a lawyer, you’d have to hear about all these awful things and see the evidence, Aaron tried to shield you from his work. He didn’t talk about cases, didn’t glamorize the work he did the way some younger agents would. In all the time you’ve known him, you could count the number of criminals you knew he took down on your fingers, and some of those were only because you learned about them in class.

That was fine. You didn’t want Aaron to have to bring that to your bed, not when you were supposed to be his distraction from all that mess. And what a fun distraction you were.

Aaron looked at his watch, effectively ending the conversation. “We should go, it’s getting late. Thank you for watching Jack. And for dinner.”

You paused, debating your next move. “It’s no problem,” you said sincerely. “And if you need anything else from me… I’ll be awake for a while.” You let your offer hang in the air for a few moments, watching as Aaron seemed to be weighing options in his head, you just didn’t know what those options were.

You were just about to rescind your offer when he opened his mouth to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want any compensation?”

You waved off his offer. “I’m positive.”

Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Then let me buy you dinner sometime this week. It’s the least I can do.”

You paused, trying to keep your expression as neutral as possible. Aaron had never made an offer like this before, never took steps towards anything that could push this into something even remotely considered a relationship. It was easy to explain the constant sex. You could even justify the lingering morning-afters or the nights spent hunched over your textbooks while Aaron wordlessly refilled your coffee cup without you having to even ask by claiming that it all happened organically. It’s not like the two of you planned to stay up and debate the lost history of the term “beyond a reasonable doubt”. It just sort of happened, and who were you to turn down free coffee?

Anything more would complicate the carefully curated system, and neither of you had the time or energy for complicated.

Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to walk away and leave while you were ahead, you couldn’t help the soft “Yeah, I’d really like that,” that slipped past your lips.

You could have sworn Aaron smiled at your answer, but he didn’t say anything more.

The two of you walked back to your living room in silence. “Alright buddy,” Aaron called, ruffling Jack’s hair. “It’s time for us to head home. Say thank you to Y/N.”

Jack pouted as he exited the game. “Can Y/N watch me again soon? Please? It was fun!”

“We’ll have to see, she might be busy,” Aaron mused, looking at you so that he could gauge your reaction. It was enough of an answer to not crush Jack’s hopes, but vague enough that it gave you room to deny the offer. He was letting you choose how much you wanted to be around Jack, if you wanted to be around him at all.

You grinned down at Jack and held out your hand for a high five, which he took as an invitation to try and slap your hand as hard as he could. How could you say no to him? “Of course I can watch you again. I’ll even have Legos next time.”

For the first time that night, Aaron gave you a real smile, one that you could actually see. It was small, but it was genuine. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Y/N,” he told you and Jack echoed the sentiment, waving at you as they walked out the door.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #jack hotchner #my writing #my best habit

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littlemissagrafina · 4 years ago

Text

I want you to be happy (to see me, to hear me, to love me)

By @littlemissagrafina for @mshermia

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Teen and up

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener Flash, Thompson

Summary: Peter loved his family. He loved Tony and Pepper. He loved Morgan and Harley. And they loved him as well. That was a fact.

But he still felt left out a lot when Tony had subconsciously started to greet everyone else before him or spend more time with Morgan or Harley.

Peter knew that if he asked, Tony would gladly spend time with him, or hug him, or listen when he wanted to talk about his day.

Except for the fact that Peter didn't want to ask for that because as time went on and he faded to the background, so did Tony and Pepper's attention for him. They started having less conversations then they used to, they started noticing less when he didn't speak during dinner, and they started to forget the hugs they would give him before school and at night before bed.

And that was when the hurt started. When the jealousy joined it.

A hurt and jealous Peter fic for the friendly neighbourhood fic exchange

Read On AO3

Peter knew that it wasn't on purpose. He knew that Tony cared about him just as much as the man cared for Morgan and Harley.

He still couldn't help the hurt and jealousy that would bubble up when Tony's attention and care were focused on them. It felt as if the care had been focused on them for so long, it had forgotten Peter was there to be focused on as well.

Peter hated that he felt that way towards the man who had become his father in all but blood, that he felt jealous of the little girl and resentful of the other teen.

He knew that Morgan was young and needed a lot of care, attention, and stimulation. He knew that Harley was struggling a lot after his mom and sister had died in a car crash when people had returned with the second snap.

Peter understood Tony's worry for Harley, the understanding they shared thanks to Tony's own parents' crash, even though the exact circumstances had ended up being so different from the regular crash that Tony had believed it to be for so many years.

Peter knew what it felt like to lose family and loved ones, and he hated that Harley knew that pain as well. He also knew and understood the separation anxiety that Morgan had developed for her parents.

So Peter had started deferring. When he had been talking to Tony or spending time with Pepper—and either Harley or Morgan would need them—Peter would make an excuse and then quietly slip away.

When he had first started doing it, Pepper and Tony would protest and reassure him that just as much as Morgan or Harley would need or want them, Peter could as well. He would just smile and say, "I understand, but they need you more right now."

And it hurt Peter to say those words even though he felt that they were true. It hurt because the more times he smiled and slipped quietly away, the less it was protested at and questioned. It became easier and easier for Tony and Pepper to go to whoever was calling them until it got to the point where they would eventually get up, stop talking, or leave the moment either Morgan or Harley would ask for them.

Slowly but surely, Peter drifted into the background. He stayed out of the way and tried to cause as little trouble or disturbance as he could. They were all dealing with a lot. They didn't need him added to it. He was okay with giving them space and time.

Sure, it was lonely, quiet, but it wasn't like they didn't pay Peter any attention or care at all. They still smiled and hugged him each morning, they still asked about his day during dinner, and he was still included in their movie or game nights.

He loved Harley and Morgan and Peter knew that they loved him too. It was evident in the jokes and the laughter they shared, in the occasional sleepover between the three when they would build a pillow fort in the living room. They would banter and tease each other but they never ever went too far. There was an understanding and respect between the siblings that even Morgan, as young as she was, understood.

Peter loved his family. He loved Tony and Pepper. He loved Morgan and Harley. And they loved him as well. That was a fact.

But he still felt left out a lot when Tony had subconsciously started to greet everyone else before him or spend more time with Morgan or Harley.

He felt hurt and guilty for missing Tony when he was needed so much by his other kids. Peter knew that if he asked, Tony would gladly spend time with him, or hug him, or listen when he wanted to talk about his day.

And that was when the hurt started. When the jealousy joined it.

The hurt when Pepper would fuss over Morgan's scraped knee or Harley's sprained ankle but hadn't noticed when Peter came home with a bruised wrist thanks to Flash's bullying.

The jealousy when Tony helped Harley with a school project in the lab but forgot about Peter's project when he was called up to help tuck Morgan into bed.

Tony never came back down to the lab, so Harley let Peter borrow his blueprints, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't Tony helping him, spending time with him like he used to. It sucked up every bit of joy and excitement that Peter had felt when they had first been given the project assignment in class.

Peter didn't know how long he sat at his workbench, staring at the borrowed blueprints—waiting and hoping for his dad to come back down for him.

Something inside him shattered when Friday alerted him of the late time and told him that everyone had already gone to bed.

The sketch he had been working on was crumpled up and thrown in the trash; his notebook with his ideas and half-written formulas were tossed into the workbench drawer.

It stayed there until Peter would be forced to work on it if he wanted to get it done before the deadline. Even then, it felt as if he spent days staring at the blank pages; all creativity dried up and gone without his dad to help him or spend time with him.

Eventually, Peter resigned himself to the fact that he was doing this by himself. No, Mr. Stark, Dad, Tony, whoever the man was now. Peter was on his own.

But that was fine, right? Of course, it was. It had to be.

Because Peter didn't know how to cope with the not fine. He couldn't, so it had to be fine.

There was no other choice.

---

79%. That's what he got for his project. Peter knew he could have done a lot better than that, been better, but he hadn't wanted to. Hadn't been able to bring himself to do better.

He was just glad (and even surprised) at the good score, and was happy that he had been able to put effort and work into it at all. It was with relief, and a momentary hint of pride, that he slipped his project report into his backpack after they had been handed out to everyone.

He'd done okay, and he was proud of that. With some courage that was bolstered by the knowledge of the report in his bag, Peter promised himself that he would tell Tony and Pepper about it. They still cared, right? Maybe the report would make them happy, make them proud.

Peter hoped so. Maybe if it did, then they would notice him.

---

Peter's heart soared as he walked through the front door, Tony's voice speaking from the living room.

"Kid! I'm so proud of you!"

Just as Peter was about to answer, a happy thank you on his tongue, he heard Harley respond before he could.

"Thanks, Dad." The other teen unknowingly echoing the exact words that Peter wished he could say.

With light footsteps, Peter moved to stand just outside of the doorway to the living room. Peeking around the corner of the wall, he saw a piece of paper, almost identical to the one in his bag, held in the boy's hand. This one was obviously Harley's own project report.

The paper flopped backwards as Harley moved to put it down on the coffee table, and Peter saw it.

There, scrawled in red ink, was Harley's score. A bright red 98%.

Where moments ago, Peter had been hopeful and excited to show his own report card, now it felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him—the chill bringing reality with it.

He wasn't good enough. Not anymore. He wasn't smart enough, just wasn't enough. Not like Harley or Morgan.

Peter darted up to his room, trying to be quiet but not really caring. Nobody would notice he was home anyway.

Once his door was shut behind him, he dug his homework out of his bag, the report coming with it.

Seeing it just made Peter more hurt and disappointed so he shoved it back into the bag and zipped it closed.

For the rest of the afternoon, Peter sat at his desk doing his homework, headphones pulled over his ears.

Nobody came to his room, nobody said hello. He only left when Friday told him dinner was ready.

Tony got a tub of Harley's favourite ice cream for dessert as a celebration.

Peter's project and report was never asked about. The ice cream was finished by the time Peter went to get some.

He trudged up to his room alone, half-hearted goodnights ringing in his ears.

The voices and laughter of his family downstairs mixing together to make a bittersweet lullaby, Peter went to sleep.

A crumpled up report forgotten in the backpack on the floor.

---

Peter yelped as he was slammed back into his locker, his head hitting the metal so hard that it left a dent as he was trapped against it by the hands fisted in his shirt. He knew he could get away. It would be easy to just pull away and walk off, but Peter was tired.

He was so tired. Of the pretending, the silence, the hurt. All of it. But it was the acceptance that truly exhausted him, and how it turned into a lack of motivation to speak, to make anyone notice him, to apply himself to anything.

Peter supposed that was the reason Flash let him off so easily today. Maybe the bully had finally gotten bored of him now. It wasn't a surprise to Peter, not really.

He was unimportant, after all. Just another random kid that wasn't even good enough for a bully to not get tired of.

With a tired sigh, Peter bent down to pick up the backpack that Flash had torn away from him. His back protested, obviously bruised from the impact against his locker.

Straightening up again, the world started spinning, a dull pounding at the base of his skull, immediately making him regret bending down in the first place.

Hand against his now slightly dented locker, Peter took a moment to get himself orientated again. Once the hallway stopped looking like it was gonna flip out from under his feet, he gripped his bag and walked out towards the school’s entrance where he knew Happy would be waiting to pick him up.

At least he was predictable. Peter knew where he stood with Happy. He knew the man didn't hate him, just didn't really know how to deal with teenagers.

Peter just hoped he would be able to stop the man from noticing his very woozy state once he got in the car. He took it as a win, thinking he'd gotten away with it when he was allowed to slump against the seats without a comment from Happy apart from a slightly awkward greeting.

What Peter didn't see was the concerned glances towards him in the rear view mirror and the text that Happy sent.

His head had started to ache too much for him to care to notice things. Why should he when he was never noticed anymore to begin with?

---

The rest of Peter's day passed in a haze of pain, absent minded distraction. He couldn't get himself to focus on his homework long enough to get any decent work done. Every time he tried, the words would swim and blur, adding a nauseating twist to the throbbing in his skull.

The lab was out of the question too. Any time that Peter spent down there just served to make him more hurt, more homesick and sad for what he used to have with Tony and his family.

Carefully getting off of his bed, Peter waited for his head to stop spinning (which it didn't, it just became less violent. But it would be fine later, right?) before he started rummaging around his room, looking for something to keep himself occupied until the call for dinner came.

Eventually he stumbled across the square Buckyballs box filled with his old magnets. Peter couldn't resist a snort at the name, thinking of sticking the little, round, magnets all over Bucky's vibranium arm.

He grabbed the magnets and went back to slouching on his bed. Squeezing them in his hand a few times, Peter started connecting and building the little balls into as many shapes and patterns as he could remember.

He remembered now why he always liked them as a kid. They were perfect for calming his senses and anxiety, as well as stimulating for his mind when he tried new patterns or shapes.

Pulling them apart and allowing himself to get lost in what he was making with the magnets, he felt calmer than he had in a while.

Eventually he heard his name being called for dinner and he reluctantly put the little magnets back in their case and gingerly made his way downstairs to the dining room.

He wasn't greeted apart from a small smile from Harley when Peter sat down next to him. It was okay though. Yeah, it hurt, it always did, but with the pain in his head and his distractedness, Peter was almost grateful for the lack of attention.

As dinner progressed, the pain in his head grew worse and worse, eventually being joined by a wave of nausea that didn't leave.

Without noticing, the knife and fork in his hands started bending. Peter's control over his strength slipping a bit from the throbbing in his head.

"Peter?" Harley asked from next to him, concern clear on his face. The question had everyone else at the table pause. Their attention turned to the brothers.

Peter went to nod his head but the movement only made him more nauseous and had another stab of pain shooting through his head. He didn't realise that he'd started swaying until strong hands clasped his shoulders, steadying him.

Opening his eyes (when had he closed them?) Peter saw Tony kneeling in front of his chair, one hand moving from Peter's shoulders to cradle the back of his neck.

He saw Tony's mouth moving, knew that the man was speaking, but it was like he was underwater, the words getting lost long before they could reach Peter's ears.

The hand on his neck moved, accident brushing against the back where he had been slammed into his locker, and Peter flinched. The pain surged, reaching a crescendo that had dark spots dancing across his eyes.

The last thing Peter was aware of was a panicked shout before he slumped forward, giving in to the blissful call of unconsciousness.

---

The first thing that Peter became aware of was that he wasn't in his own bed at home. The next was the distinct smell that every hospital or clinic had. By those two things he knew that he was probably in the medbay at the now rebuilt compound.

Another realisation that came to Peter was that fact that he was mostly pain free. There was a lingering tenderness in his head, not unlike what you would experience after a particularly gruelling migraine, but it wasn't anywhere near the excruciating level that it was before.

He could vaguely hear a familiar, unsteady heartbeat, but he wasn't sure if he was just wishing for it to be there or if it actually was.

He tried to open his eyes but it felt as if they were weighed down with lead. He was aware but trapped in that weird space between unconsciousness and being awake.

It took a while but eventually Peter started to wake more, his senses and mobility returning. His surroundings confirmed when he was finally able to open his eyes.

That was when he realised that it wasn't just his imagination when he heard the off beat thumping of Tony's heart. Sitting up in the hospital bed, he saw that the man was really here, and he was sitting in a chair at Peter's bedside.

Seeing him sitting there was what did it. Peter knew that man cared, he did, but dammit if he wasn't angry.

It felt like he had missed his family, his dad, for so long and the thing that finally made them pay attention to him was when he passed out at the dinner table.

"Where were you?" Peter croaked out, throat dry and voice still thick from sleep. It startled the man next to his bed. He obviously hadn't noticed that Peter was awake yet.

"Peter!" Tony sat up immediately, but something in the teenager's expression stopped him from getting closer to him. "What did you say?"

Peter took a breath, voice raising a bit more than the croaky whisper it had been. "I said, where were you? I needed you, I needed all of you, but you weren't there." Traitorous tears started welling in his eyes. He wished they wouldn't.

Tony didn't say anything. He had frozen slightly, face twisted into an almost horrified expression before it dropped to sad resignation as he took in the anguish that was clearly written across his kid's own face.

"I wanted my Dad, I wanted my family and I needed you to care, but you didn't, " Peter continued, the words building up to join his tears as the both spilled over.

"I know—I know I made it easy to let me go, to let all of us go. I know that Harley and Morgan needed you, that they need you. I know all that but I miss you, Dad." Peter's words were rushed and a bit stilted from his steadily increasing tears.

"I miss you, and I let you all go, but I thought you wouldn't let me, and I don't wanna go. I don't want to be alone like I have been, but I don't know how to get you to see me." With the words he had been holding in for so long finally out in the open, Peter sobbed. Tears welling and spilling over his cheeks

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Tony stepped up and wrapped him in a proper hug.

It almost shattered Tony's already broken heart when the kid just accepted it and melted into him.

"Oh, kid. I'm so sorry. I screwed up, and I—" Tony hesitated, the realisation of the cheap and easy way he took in the situation finally hitting him. "I did all that, we all did, and I will never be able to tell you enough how sorry I am and how wrong we were. I'm not gonna sugar coat it, Pete. We both know that this can't be excused. I screwed the pooch big time, and there is no denying that."

He pulled away, lifting Peter's chin to look him in the eye as he spoke. "We shouldn't have let you drift away, we didn't want to in the beginning, but it became easier with what we had to do for Morgan and Harley. We shouldn't have let it take you from us, not for a second.

"I have no excuse. I took the easy way, the coward's way because I didn't want to face everything that had changed, hoa we had changed towards you, and I will apologise to you and work at fixing this for the rest of my life if I have to."

As Tony had spoken, tears that had slowed started up again, falling over Peter's cheeks and Tony's own as they both finally got their words out into the open.

"I'm jealous, and I'm hurt, but I don't want to be. Please, help me. Please stay and don't let me be alone."

Tony knew that it wasn't just physical isolation that Peter was talking about, but the mental as well.

Instead of speaking straight away, Tony picked up one of Peter's hands and linked their pinkies together.

"I promise you, Peter, that I will not leave you again. I will do my damndest to fix this and to change what we've done to you because you don't deserve this.

"I know that it isn't going to be easy, that there is a lot of love and trust that needs to be gained back, but i'm not going to take the easy way out again. Not ever. I promise." He gave their pinkies a little squeeze before letting go and pulling his kid in for another hug.

Peter didn't know how to react to his dad's words apart from the two words that came to mind. He knew the man was sincere, but he would have to see it all happen for himself to truly believe it.

"Thank you," he murmured into Tony's shoulder, exhaustion suddenly weighing him down.

"You never have to thank me for this, kid, but I understand, and you are so welcome."

They didn't speak for a while again, not until Peter's head shifted, and he flinched from the sudden return of pain at the movement which Tony immediately noticed.

"Whoa, hey, you’re actually supposed to take it easy there, bud. You almost had a cracked skull, which we'll talk about how you got another time, but it's just a mild concussion at this point thanks to that metabolism of yours."

"Oh." Peter's voice was a bit small at that revelation. "I didn't know it was that bad."

Tony shook his head. "Didn't—you know what? We'll get to that later okay, for now I'm gonna call Cho and see if it's fine for you to go back to sleep. If you can, you're gonna take another nap and then when you wake up, I'm sure Pepper and the others will be awake by then and I can call them down for us to all talk this through, okay?"

With a mumbled agreement, it was only then that Peter saw the digital clock on the table next to his bed, the neon red numbers displaying a bright 04:17 AM.

"You can go to sleep. I'm sorry for keeping you up."

"You didn't keep me up, Roo, I needed to be here, make sure you were okay. Your swan dive at the dinner table gave me a few more grey hairs than I'm willing to admit, you know," Tony quickly reassured him.

He spoke again before Peter could go on target of apologies he knew would happen. "I'm gonna get Cho. We'll talk later, okay? I promise, bud, I'm not gonna leave you alone again."

Peter relented and Tony only left to find Cho once he had heard an "Okay" from the teen.

He came back with Helen in tow, the doctor glancing at the monitor and checking him over before announcing that it was fine for Peter to sleep

He drifted off with Tony once again in the chair beside him.

Maybe things would change from now.

---

Things did change. It took far longer than any of them had hoped for, so many habits had to be changed, trust had to be earned.

It took months of communication and even the occasional therapy session. It was draining and there were so many setbacks, slips, and mountains to climb.

It took misunderstandings, arguments, hurt and confused feelings, and so many more that just those two. With each rift that the family repaired, it felt like another would take its place but dammit if the end result wasn't worth it all.

Peter wasn't sure of the exact moment that it changed for the better. If he was being honest, he didn't think there was just one single moment where they all just clicked back together.

There was one thing, however, that he knew would stay in his memory for the rest of his life, and it happened when Tony picked him up for school one day.

Peter had walked out of school, calling out a goodbye to Ned and MJ as he did, when he caught sight of Tony's car in the parking lot.

He darted towards it, excited that it was Tony, his dad, picking him up and setting this time aside for them.

When he opened the car door, he paused. On the seat was a McDonald's paper take-out bag and Peter could see a drinks cup in the holder next to the seat as well.

"Hey, kid. C'mon, get your butt in the car. I have the seat warmer on, but I know you don't like takeout when it's sat for too long, so if you want it fresh, you better get a move on." Tony smiled at him, the corner of his eyes creasing at the smile and "thank you" that Peter shot back at him.

Peter shrugged his backpack off to the floor in front of the seat and picked up the takeout. He slid into the seat and pulled the door closed before eagerly tucking into the McDonald's waiting for him.

When he opened the bag, he was momentarily stunned. Inside was his favourite chicken burger meal. He took a glance at the drink and saw it was the same Starbucks drink that had become his favourite ever since the moment that Tony had first convinced him to try it.

Not saying anything, Peter turned slightly in his seat, watching and waiting as Tony drove them away from the school, eventually stopping at a red light. He quickly lent over the console and hugged Tony, his dad squeezing him just as tight and only pulling away when the light turned green and Tony had to drive.

It was in that little moment that Peter knew he was truly cared for, that he wasn't just forgotten. It was then that made Peter feel so incredibly loved because his dad had remembered his favourite takeout. He had remembered .

There were many other moments as well, which allowed Peter to see the work and care that he and his family had put into growing and changing, but none of them would ever be remembered just as clearly as this one.

And things were okay now. Peter had his family back.

He wasn't jealous anymore, wasn't hurt or lonely anymore.

He was okay. They all were.

#irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #ironman #marvel #mcu #irondad fanfic #irondad fanfiction #the friendly neighborhood exchange #fanfic #fanfiction

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kathrynalicemc · 2 years ago

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Phoenix Resistance BTS - Part 2!

I changed up the format of this because I can’t be bothered. Anyways, here’s 5 more chapters! Again, I’m only talking about chapters I’ve written. Also SPOILER ALERT IF YOU HAVENT READ PR!! THIS IS UR LAST WARNING DONT LOOK! You can also blacklist #pr spoilers.

Chapter 7: Phoenix in the night

This chapter served as a way to have some other peoples OCs have some cameos and to show that there is an entire team of people who aren’t main cast or supporting that work every night. There’s actually a few different teams she uses occasionally. I also used this chapter to show off how the paper works. I love the intro scene with a random muggle finding it.

Chapter 8: Kingsley’s Code

This chapter is very short and honestly was me scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas but tbh it’s kinda important. The code (if anyone managed to decode it, which I don’t think anyone actually did oof) would be a sneak peek at the-al-chemist joining the project!! It also features one of the only companion art pieces I’ve done. Wanted to do more but didn’t. The last little piece of bts is that Kingsley’s favorite type of bread is important later on.

Chapter 10: Tricks & treats

Hello this is one of my top 5 chapters maybe?? I love these kids so much (I may make them full OCs with profiles later??) This chapter is mainly to showcase Kaari on one of his escort missions where he would regularly escort muggleborns to safehouses and then smuggle them out of the country to Paris via the portkey.

Chapter 12: The Healer

Mirai Wilson my beloved. Realized she was the same age as Kaari so I brought her into the PR because they obv needed a Healer for later lmfao. Also eheheheh angst for now and later. People who read Kiri’s profile before this already knew her fate ahead of time! (Also I gotta redo Kiri’s profile soon since I changed her canon around a bit for this)

Chapter 13: Canary Wharf

Ok ok there’s some great bts here and one piece of info I never fully outright mentioned. This is the payoff for in chapter 2 when Kaari said he had secrets and had Nym in his pocket. Dragon in the rafters is the new “fly on the wall”. For the info I never said: Devon’s notebook is enchanted and whatever is written down gets magically transferred to an exact copy she keeps in her office hidden (yes the same one that she rushes to save near the end of PR). It’s so that if she’s caught out in the field, they won’t discover her intel!

#pr spoilers #hphm #hogwarts mystery #tpr #the phoenix resistance #tpr bts

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dirtyoatmeall · 4 years ago

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Dig (Tsukishima x Reader)

A/N: I will def be writing more for these, as an archaeology major, I hold paleontology major tsukki in a special place in my heart. Also everything about the dig I describe is most likely incorrect lmao.

Pairing: Paleontology major! Tsukki x Archaeology major! Reader (she/they pronouns used)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None :)

You met Tsukishima Kei the first day of your first year of college. It was your intro Anthropology course, and you had bumped into him on accident entering the auditorium. You had kept your head down, mumbling an apology before hurriedly finding a seat in the middle of the room. He sat a few seats over in the same row and you tried your best not to glance at him, he was obviously attractive, but all it took was a raised eyebrow when he caught you staring for you to look away blushing, pretending to look through your bag for something. You busied yourself with numbering the pages in your notebook until the professor started class.

It was a relatively small class, so the professor had everyone stand up and introduce themselves with their pronouns, major/minor, and one thing they want to accomplish. When it was your turn you tried your best not to sound confident as you spoke, though it didn’t last long, as the professor immediately asked you to repeat yourself louder. You were bright red by the time you finished introducing yourself. “H-hi, my name is (Y/N), I’m double majoring in bio-archaeology and Classics, my pronouns are she/they and I want to find Alexander the Great.” The professor nodded and the next person stood up to introduce themselves as you sat down, fiddling with your pen.

Tsukishima didn’t really think much of you until he watched you do the icebreaker for class. He thought it was an ambitious goal, and respectable dual majors. Though the thing that really drew his attention to you was the face you made when the person next to you introduced themselves as an archaeology major and that they wanted to find a complete T-Rex skeleton. Your face had twisted rather cutely into a grimace at your classmates words, turning to your notebook and scribbling in the corners. After the professor kindly explained the differences between archaeology and paleontology, it was his turn. He stood up, introduced himself “Tsukishima, he/him pronouns, paleozoology major, museum studies minor. And I’d like to find a job right out of school.” He sat down as the professor nodded and made a joke about finding a job. Soon enough the entire class had introduced themselves and the professor started going over the syllabus.

The first time Tsukishima saw you outside of class it was a Friday night. 3 a.m. to be exact. Thankfully your university had a 24hr library, and most of the students took advantage of it, though it was usually dead at this time of night, or morning. He spied you almost right away, nestled in a corner with multiple stacks of books and cans of energy drinks. You were nodding your head along to a dong and when he walked past he could very clearly hear ABBA blasting in your headphones. He smirked to himself and sat down a table down from you, getting ready to study for the upcoming test on Wednesday. He would get up periodically to get a book or a snack from the vending machine near the door. He noticed that every time he got up, your eyes would flicker to him, and you would pause your work, messing with your phone until he sat down again. He would return the favor, watching your things while you were gone.

About an hour into his study session he looked up to your spot when he heard you groan quietly. You aggressively paused your music and cutely pouted down at your notebook. You skimmed a few pages in the book next to you, comparing it to your notebook and whatever was on the screen of your laptop before rolling your eyes and softly face planting onto the book in front of you. Your eyes briefly fluttered to where he was, and you smiled slightly when the two of you made eye contact. He pretended to get back to the book he was supposed to be reading, but he watched you sigh as your eyes flickered from your notebook to him before you quietly got up and shuffled towards his table. He fully looked at you when you slid into the seat across from him, and he raised an eyebrow when you smiled awkwardly.

“Uh, Hi. I’m (Y/N), we have anth 250 together right?” You asked even though you very well knew he was in that class, but you still waited for confirmation before you continued. “That’s what I thought. Could you maybe help me with this? I’m having a hard time grasping it.” He glanced at what you were pointing at and nodded, he had also had some trouble with it, and had just recently figured it out. He explained it to you, smiling when he saw your eyebrows raise as you let out a soft ’ooohhh’ once you had grasped it. You had moved to get up when he cleared his throat, “Uh, you can sit here if you want, that way if you have any other questions you don’t have to come all the way over here.” Tsukishima didn’t look at you when he said it, but saw you smile and nod out of the corner of his eye. You brought your stuff over to his table and the two of you studied together for a few more hours, occasionally talking about class that led into talking about random things the two of you both liked.

At 5:30 you sighed, closing your laptop and putting away your things. “I should probably head back to my dorm, I have been here for about 12 hours” You chuckled and Tsukishima nodded and began to pack up as well. “I’ll walk you to your dorm.” You paused, looking at him puzzled. “Oh you don’t have to do that, I live all the way in East Village.” He simply waved your concern away “Me too, I have a class at 10 anyway, I should probably stop for the night. You snorted and waited for the blonde to be done before the two of you headed to your dorm building.

The two of you continued to talk about random things on the way back, from music tastes to favorite myths to what tree you would be. You both paused to watch the sunrise at the hill next to your dorm building, watching the colors slowly melt together as the stars disappeared from view. You turned to smile at Tsukishima to find he was already looking at you, an uncharacteristic soft look on his face. You flushed slightly and the two of you continued to your dorm building. You saluted to him before getting off the elevator onto your floor. You glanced at your phone as you got ready for bed, glad you didn’t have any classes until noon.

From that day on you and Tsukishima sat together during your anthropology class and studied together every Friday. You partnered together for the few projects assigned and even hung out outside of class, growing closer as the semester flew by. You were planning on meeting him for lunch after you finished finals, which you just did. You sent him a text and headed to the café the two of you frequent. You ordered a drink and sat at the corner table, scrolling through your phone until Tsukishima arrived. The two of you discussed your finals, and the classes you were taking next semester (you had 2 of them together thankfully) before Tsukishima sighed. “Do you want to get dinner on Saturday?” You smiled nodding, “Yeah! Are there some last minute things you want to go over for a final?” He rolled his eyes and looked at you flatly, which was a normal look for the blonde. “No, like a date.” You stopped, mid-drink as you absorbed his words. When you did you flushed and swallowed, looking away shyly. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Tsukishima smiled and nodded.

10 years later~

You sighed, wiping your forehead as you straightened up, moving to your phone to change the music blaring from the speakers. It was hot, the hat doing nothing to shield you from the sun as you crouched down again, picking up your trowel. You were about to continue your section of the dig when you heard a noise of surprise from the next section over. “(Y/N)! I think I found something, it looks like bone!”

Your eyes grew wide and you jumped out of the pit into the one a few feet away, joining the college student in looking at what they found. They brushed some more dirt away, revealing a large bone, too large to be human. You groaned, climbing out to grab your phone, disconnecting it from the speaker and dialing a number before stepping away, pout on your face. The college student looked at the other dig lead, confused on why you seemed upset. The dig lead chuckled, waving away their concern. “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. (Y/N) just has to call in a paleontologist, and the one on this dig just happens to be an ass.” The college student nodded and climbed out of the pit, not wanting to disturb anything.

Thankfully it wasn’t too long before another car pulled in. You immediately walked over, hands on your hips as you talked to the person getting out. The rest of the crew could see them smirk and flick your forehead, before leaning down to kiss you. The college student made a noise of surprise as the two of you walked over, bumping shoulders and you discussed details of the dig. “Wait, I thought you said she didn’t like them.” The dig lead just shook his head, “I said he was an ass, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like him, in fact, they’re married.”

#My writing #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

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