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bumirang · 3 years ago

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Turtle, Duck, Dragon, Horse: Ch. 8 excerpt

It’s a chilly afternoon when Bumi sits in on Hana’s worst training session since she arrived at Air Temple Island.

Under Jinora’s supervision, she and six other novitiates were walking the circle in a coordinated effort to create a sphere of solid wind nearly twice her height. Intimidating, but she’d managed it before. She actually wasn’t doing too terribly, until she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Maybe it was excitement or performance anxiety or just the distraction, but that’s when it all went wrong. She immediately fell out of step with the others, but the more she tried to correct for it, the more unstable their formation became, until the sphere was a roiling squall-ball they were struggling just to contain.

Master Jinora stepped forward and summoned a gust with thought alone. “That’s, uh, impressive, but if you’ll slow down and back away, I can safely disper—”

Then it exploded, with a roar like a thunderclap in reverse. Thankfully, they were shielded from the worst of it by a barrier whipped up by their teacher, but it was a close thing.

Hana’s ears are still ringing when she makes in Bumi’s direction, ignoring the accusatory glances from her fellow novitiates. It’s obvious to all of them who messed things up, but they can’t prove anything, so whatever. Bumi, in contrast, just waves happily, absentmindedly petting Bum-Ju on his shoulder.

She stops five feet away from him and plants her hands on her hips. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hi to you, too,” he replies, slightly offended.

“Sorry, that sounded… I mean, did you need me for something?”

“Nope.”

“So, what, you popped by to watch me be a screw-up?”

“Well, I like to get a feel for where the newbies’re at. Didn’t think you’d be out with ‘em.”

She deflates a bit. “You saw how hopeless I am. I’ll be stuck with the newbies forever at this rate.”

“Nooo, no… Your bending’s just, uh, chaotic.” His smile is wide but not very convincing. Oh no. He’s trying to be nice. Her face burns at the realization. Pity is the last thing she wants from him, of all people.

He continues, “Form was great, though. Right, buddy?” He glances at the dragonfly-bunny, who shrugs. “Yeah, he thinks so, too.”

“…Thanks.” She stares past him, at the ground, wishing she were anywhere else. At the same time, Bumi’s easily her favorite person on Air Temple Island, and it’s usually such a treat being the focus of his attention. If only she could be anything other than a pathetic misfit in his eyes.

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, kid, don’t get hung up on it. We’ll figure it out.” His voice has gone all serious, worried.

“You don’t have to… be nice to me.”

“…Huh?”

“Because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want…” She feels her eyes flood with hot tears. In a panic, she slaps a hand over her face, harder than she intended. “Ow.”

Bumi clears his throat and calls over her head, across the courtyard, “Hey, Jinora, gonna steal Hana for a bit!”

“Oh, we’re all done!” she calls back, sounding less rattled than she probably feels. “No theft required.”

“Great! Seeya at dinner!” His hand slides down to Hana’s arm, sending a wave of goosebumps shivering along her shoulders and neck. She almost jumps when he mutters into her ear, “I know a good place to talk. No lookie-loos.”

Then they’re hurtling through the air, and she forgets about her shame for a sweet thirty seconds. His grip on her arm is firm, but she latches onto him anyway. Just survival instinct, she reminds herself, as she hears him laugh with her ear against his chest. He wraps an arm around her then, and she feels safer than she ever did on the ground.

Bumi sets them down in a little grassy clearing on the eastern edge of the island. It’s not far from one of his favorite places to have class, but without any obvious paths to it, you’d have to survey the island from the air to even know it exists. Or just know its layout like the back of your hand. It’s late afternoon, leaving most of it in the shade from nearby trees. What sunlight there is glows gold on dead grass. Framed by two stunted trees jutting from the cliff’s edge is the skyline of Republic City, painted gold as the grass. Bumi pulls a little ta-dah pose in front of it, which gets a smile out of her.

“That’s more like it,” he says, wearing his own smug grin. “Now what was that about you not wanting me to be nice?”

“I just meant…” She grasps at the air, like the words she needs to complete her thought are buzzing around her. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go out of your way. For me.” It seems like a moot point now.

“Why not you?”

“I’m not cut out for this. You’re wasting your time.”

He laughs softly to himself and crosses his arms. For a moment, Hana’s terrified that he might be mocking her, but when he looks back up at her, his eyes are kind, and a little sad. “I know how ya feel,” he says with a shrug.

“How could you poss—”

Bumi just raises an eyebrow at her, and she slaps her hand over her face again. It stings worse than the first time, but she figures she deserves that.

“Fu— Nngh! I’m such an—” Hana drops down onto her haunches, holding her throbbing face in both hands. Maybe with enough pressure, she can shove the tears and snot back where they belong. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

She hears him sit down across from her. “M’not mad, kid. Like I said, I’ve been where you are. More or less.” She steals a glance at him, seated maybe a foot away and wearing the city itself like his own personal aura. “I see you busting your ass to do what comes so easy to others, and I know what that does to ya. Shame and doubt. Anger. A lot of anger. It can make ya feel worthless…”

She nods and eases into a cross-legged sit, mirroring him.

“S’not true, though. Everyone’s worth something. You’re worth a lot. Trust me, I’ve got an eye for talent.” Bum-Ju, who’s been hovering at a respectful distance, picks that moment to park himself on her head. “See? So does he.”

Hana wipes her runny nose, trying to hide it at first, but Bumi’s expression is so genuinely affable that she feels silly for thinking he might judge her. He’s on her side. A goopy face won’t change that. For lack of better options, she wipes up with a sleeve.

Hands dry, she reaches up, tentatively, to pet the dragonfly-bunny. “Is it okay if I…?”

“That’s up to him.”

The spirit doesn’t flee at her touch. In fact, he leans into it. She gasps as she runs her fingers through his fur, which is easily the softest, silkiest texture she’s ever felt, like yarn spun from cloudstuff. To her surprise, he gives a happy little chirrup and plops into her lap, landing on his back.

“He says to tell you he wants belly rubs.”

“Heh. Okay.” Petting Bum-Ju is supremely soothing, like lemonade on a summer’s day. His quiet little chirps merge and blend into a purr, and she smiles again. How could she not?

“It… It’s humiliating. I knew training wasn’t gonna be easy, but this is like being a little kid all over again.” She runs a finger along the edge of one of the spirit’s strange insectoid wings. Like the fur, it doesn’t feel entirely substantial. “I was supposed to be an earthbender, y’know.”

“Yeah? Says who?”

“…My dad.”

“Hah! Ain’t that always the way?”

“Heh…”

“You don’t give me earthbender vibes at all. You’re too… squishy.”

Her head shoots up to glare at him, and she notices how the sunlight’s shifted since they arrived. Twilight’s creeping up fast. “Did you just call me squishy?”

She’s caught him off-guard, and he blushes at the unflattering implications of such a word choice. “That’s to say… Well, the way rocks aren’t, right? Does that make sense?”

“No…?”

“You’re, I dunno, airy.”

“So I’m squishy like air…?”

Bumi runs a hand through his hair in actual frustration. “Forget I said you were squishy!” He looks relieved when she giggles and clues him into her teasing.

“My point being,” she continues blithely, “I may be the worst airbender here, but I had no earth talent whatsoever. Dad was not pleased. I never even wanted to do it, except to please him.”

“Sorry.”

“I have a little brother, though, and he’s brilliant with earth. Stone, glass, metal. You name it. Guess it worked out for Dad in the end, but I always… Even though it was crazy, I always wanted to fly. Not in an airship, but like the birds do. It never seemed fair.” She winces at how naive that sounds. “After Harmonic Convergence, I thought, y’know, finally. This is who I’m supposed to be.” Sympathy fills the lines around Bumi’s eyes and mouth, and she looks back down at the fuzzy spirit in her lap. She gives him some experimental chin scritches, which seem to go over well. “But it’s been more than three months now, and I’m still… I’m just a screw-up.”

“You’re the best teaching assistant I’ve ever had.”

Hana blinks. “Aren’t I the only one you’ve ever had?”

“Nah, I used to spend summers teaching new recruits arts ‘n’ crafts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Says somebody who has no idea how boring it can get on a tour of duty! Keeping your hands busy staves off Sea Madness. And fistfights… Well, that is until somebody badmouths another guy’s macramé. I’ve been called as a witness at some crazy court martials, lemme tell ya.”

“I… Wow, okay. I guess you’d know.”

“And before I forget, let’s get one thing clear,” says Bumi, leaning forward and pointing right in her face. “I like being around you. Aren’t we friends?”

What’s the appropriate response to that? “You… friend… with me?” Well, it’s definitely not that. “I guess I didn’t… I thought you were just trying to figure me out. What’s wrong with me, I mean.”

“That, too, but hey! We have fun, right?”

“Yeah?”

“There ya go! Friends!”

She laughs. She can’t help it. Seeing the way Bumi’s face lights up only makes her laugh harder. Bum-Ju launches clear of her lap as she doubles over. Collapsed on the grass, she finally admits, “Okay! We’re friends! I guess!”

“So…” Only when she sees his shoulders relax does Hana realize how tense he’s been this whole time. “You always wanted to fly, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. More than anything. Thought I could grow up to be a bird if I put in the effort, but I was forced to develop an overactive imagination instead.”

“Sounds like a fun story.”

She pushes herself back into a sitting position and picks bits of grass out of her hair. She could do with a trim, now that she’s thinking about it. “Not a whole lot to tell. I was basically a toddler, and I don’t remember much.”

“Yeah?” Bumi’s grinning at her. He grins a lot, to be fair, but he has a different style for every occasion. Goofball, smart-ass, encouraging, nervous, and so on. This is a pure look of amused contentment, just for her. It makes her feel all gooey inside, but in a nice way, no snot involved.

“Hm. Well, okay. Mom did tell me about one time she found me eating worms out of the garden.”

“Hah! What’d it taste like?”

“Slimy dirt, probably? I only know it happened from Mom. Like I said, toddler.”

Bumi scratches his neck and looks off to the side, like he’s debating something with himself, then says, “I jumped off cliffs a lot.”

“Wow. Dark.”

“Into the water! Got pretty good at climbing. Diving, too, but that’s just, y’know, falling with style.”

“Umbrellas.” He looks at her expectantly, eyes glittering like chips of ice. They might be the palest she’s ever seen, and if they aren’t the most beautiful, they’re definitely in the top five. That’s a strange thought. Despite his age, he’s actually quite handsome. In fact, the wrinkles themselves emphasize his features in a way she didn’t realize she appreciated until just now. They tell a story of a life well-lived.

A quirk of his eyebrows reminds her that she’s in the middle of a conversation, during which she’s just said “umbrellas” and stared at him for ten seconds.

“W-well. Um. I saw this character in a storybook who flew around with an umbrella, so I found the biggest one I could and ran down the street, screaming my head off the whole time.” Hana feels herself blush at the admission. “That part seemed important for some reason. I was, like, five.”

“How’d that go?”

“As I recall, I broke the umbrella, and several people called the cops. They thought I was escaping from a murderer or something. Can’t imagine why.”

Bumi just laughs. Hana revels in it until he quiets enough to keep telling him embarrassing things about herself.

“Then there was the time I spent a month collecting loose feathers around my neighborhood and stuffed them all in my shirt,” she says, with a bit of added pantomime. “Was gonna jump out the apartment window, but I chickened out.”

“So… it worked?”

“Shut up. You are horrible, and I hate you now.”

“Minus 57 points for disrespecting your elder.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault they dress me like a giant baby.” She tugs at a corner of the scarlet shawl sewn around the shoulders of her standard-issue Air Nomad pajamas. They both snicker.

Then Bumi sits up straight like he’s been struck by lightning. “I got it!”

“Hm?”

“A wingsuit. Try one on!”

“That’s not really allowed unless you’ve qualified, though.”

“Eh, if you get in trouble, I’ll smooth it over,” he says with a little hand wave. “It could be just the confidence boost you need to get over whatever mental block is tripping you up.” He gestures at his own outfit. “Think about it. The right uniform can totally change how you see yourself. And I should know.”

“That’s a good point, but…” Hana shrugs and makes various non-committal noises. What she doesn’t mention is her discomfort at the snugness of the wingsuit’s fit. As ridiculous as the pajamas look on her, they’re at least loose and comfortable. Squeezing into a skintight flight suit to practice—probably clumsily as ever—is just another humiliation waiting to happen. It does give her an idea, though.

“Remember when I told you how I’ve had a bit of Kyoshi Warrior training?” she asks with a little smirk.

“I remember you not flipping me, even after I asked nicely.”

“Well, I might still have my fan lying around somewhere…”

#text #bumi ii #lok bumi #lok fanfic #fanfic #tddh #oc hana #hana #hanumi #yes i'm shipping bumi with my oc fight me

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lunarliza · 4 years ago

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JJ Maybank Must Die | Chapter 2: Ping Pong Balls

fuckboy!JJ x Reader

series masterlist | chapter one

JJ Maybank is the island’s most infamous fuckboy- not that you ever cared. But when a group of tourist girls come to your surf shop crying to you about him, you agree to help them plot revenge. Sabotage is all fun and games, until you find that the playboy you were sworn to ruin happens to be falling head over heels for you.

Yes, this is based on John Tucker Must Die lol

Problem not solved.

You and Sophia eagerly sipped on your smoothies, waiting for the trio to show up to their five-o’clock session the Monday following the party. Alas, they piled through the front door with deflated shoulders.

“Well?” Sophia perked, eyes gleaming, “How’d it go? Did you make him cry?! Please don’t spare any details!” Her palms clasped together in front of her like a kid who just came up with an evil-genius plan.

“Tell them what happened,” Annalise ordered Arabella, clocking the fiery-haired girl’s shoulder.

Arabella sighed dejectedly. “Well... not exactly. So I went to the party, hoe clothes on and everything like we planned. Saw him, used my signature look and look away move, and it worked! He came over and we started talking and-”

“She fucked him,” Maia finished bluntly, prompting a betrayed gasp from Sophia and face-palm from you.

“Mhm,” Annalise added, “He whisked her away before me or Maia could get the chance to interfere.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Arabella cried, covering her face in mortification, “He was just so... smooth and sweet. And those eyes! We started talking about sea turtles! You guys know they are my weakness.”

You couldn’t help look on your face. Arabella was sweet, no doubt, but boy, the girl sure was spineless. It was a good thing she was pretty.

“He is the devil!” Sophia enunciated each word of her sentence and huffed. “This is going to be harder than I thought!”

“We just need someone stronger! Someone with a heart of steel unlike this one,” Annalise added, smacking her friend on the back.

“We could give it another go,” you agreed, “but who’d be our guinea pig now?”

You pondered at the ceiling until you felt all four pairs of eyes practically stab at you. It was like jumping into a vulture’s nest.

“Oh no, not me!”

“Why not?” Maia questioned, frustrated. “You’re the only available one left. Plus, you couldn’t give two shits about him. It’ll be like busy work to you.”

“Yeah not gonna happen. Find someone else, please. This is non-negotiable.”

Out of nowhere, Sophia seized your hand and tugged you into the back room of the shop. “Excuse us for a minute,” she said to the girls before shutting the door of the crammed space.

It was a good thing your supervisor left early for the day, your asses would be toast if he were to witness the scene.

“I think you should do it,” your best friend urged.

“Have you lost your mind?!” you yelled-whispered.

“Oh come on, y/n! Do it for me. For Annalise. No! Do it for all the girls on this island who has ever shed a single tear for him!”

You sighed heavily. “I can’t do it, Soph. I’m sorry. He’s terrible and Karma has her kiss for him, but not me. Also, you know how I feel about those parties at the Boneyard.” Your look grew to one of disgust.

“Mhm,” she crossed her arms, “This wouldn’t be because of Pope would it?”

“No!”

Yes. It absolutely was.

So you might’ve maybe use to have a teensy tiny little crush on Pope Heyward-one of JJ’s best friends. It wasn’t your fault he was so cute and smart... and respectful!

The boy stole your heart and ran away with it when you were paired up for science lab sophomore year. Him, being the genius he was, always did the experiments so gracefully while you royalty fucked everything up.

One day, you poured the wrong solution into the beaker and the goopy liquid exploded everywhere. However, without an ounce of complaint, Pope offered to stay after with you to scrub down the walls and tables. A modern day romance if there ever was one.

After months of daydreaming about him, you finally worked up the courage to ask him to the end-of-year dance. Sophia and your other friends hyped you up as you approached his locker after school.

Much to you dismay, he said no. But he did it in such a nice way, you couldn’t hate him for it. If anything, it made you hurt even more that you got rejected so kindly. Ever since then, you never stepped foot near him or his friends, too humiliated to even think of it.

“You’re a terrible liar, y/n,” Sophia stated.

She then grabbed onto your shoulders to stare you straight in the eyes. “Look, I know you swore never to see Pope again, but, honestly, fuck him! He missed out on a kick-ass date. But think- you could kill two birds with one stone! Go to the Boneyard, look hot as fuck, dance on JJ a bit and then vamoose! Pope’s jealous and JJ gets a bite in the ass!”

Your brows furrowed in annoyance. Leave it to Sophia to convince you into her petty ploys. “I don’t know...”

She persisted further. “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this because I knew you’d be super jealous, but my cousin got me front row to Venus Panic in Charlotte at the end of the summer.”

Your eyes jolted out of your head. “No fucking way!”

You loved Venus Panic with a dying passion. They were your favorite band who never ever came to the U.S.

Sophia let out a long breath. “Yes. If you do this, y/n, the ticket,” she paused, “the ticket is yours.”

It was like pulling teeth from her to make that kind of offer. Damn her for being so conniving!

“Alright. For Venus, I’ll do it.”

“Thank the gods!” Sophia leaped up and down in the confined room, hugging you and thanking you a ga-zillion times.

She looked as if she sealed a million dollar deal when you two emerged from the room. You, on the other hand, were ready to fling yourself to the seagulls.

“Operation JJ Maybank must die is a go girls!” she announced before the group started frolicking up and down, earning stares from people looking through the glass.

“Alright, alright,” you said as they settled down, “Now that we have that done, can we please actually surf now?”

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

The night of the next Boneyard party, you and Sophia drove to the condo the girls were staying at. Pulling up to the building, both yours and Sophia’s eyes widened. You knew the complex was on Figure Eight, but you didn’t know it was that luxurious and huge. They even had valet at the front, and you were greeted by doorman on your way in.

Apparently Annalise’s dad was an important rich man in Virginia. He remarried, and was currently honeymooning in some exotic island. Sending his condolences, he let her choose whichever one of his condos she wanted to stay at for the summer with friends. For some unknown reason, she chose the Outer Banks.

“Party’s here!” Sophia sang when Arabella answered the door.

You entered into the spacious unit, in awe. The endless kitchen was lined with white Italian wood while the counters were topped with the fanciest marble you had ever seen. The living room was the size of your house with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the island. And the view was spectacular.

So this was how the other side lived.

Maia and Annalise squealed when they emerged from their rooms and hugged you and Sophia hello. They had on silk robes with their hair up in rollers. The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show had nothing on them.

They handed you two some seltzers from the fridge before Maia dragged you to the gigantic vanity in her room. Eyeshadow palettes, brushes, and compact powders littered the surface. She sat you down and fiddled with the ends of your hair.

“So, y/n, what kind of look do you wanna go for tonight?”

You were taken aback. “I’m not sure. Maybe something natural since we’re gonna be outside?”

Maia scoffed playfully and shook her head. “Y/n, it’s a party! If you’re not glamming you’re not scamming. Actually say no more! I know exactly what we’re gonna do.”

And so, she worked her magic as you watched through the bulb-lined mirror. You asked her about the products she was using while she gave you the rundown of the importance of each item and step. She was very knowledgable and swift with her hand- especially when it came to the winged liner.

You got along with Maia. You learned that she had a successful makeup channel and wanted to start her own brand one day. She also told you about her boyfriend and how he was in Thailand for the entire summer.

After two hours of searching for lost lip glosses, waiting on Annalise to change for the tenth time, and chugging your fifth seltzer, the five of you finally made it to the Boneyard at its peak hour.

Linking arms, you all strutted down the beach, ready for your mission.

The four scattered when you reached the sea of people, leaving you to locate the blonde target. After a few minutes of searching, you couldn’t find a single trace of him or any of his friends.

Heading over to the keg, you poured yourself a drink in hopes it would loosen your raging nerves. It also didn’t help that Maia’s bikini top was hardly covering your nipples. You knew a nip slip was just waiting to happen at some point in the night.

You casually sipped your drink and circled the party again, catching a glimpse of the wavy-haired boy at the beer pong area.

JJ slammed his fists on the table after landing another shot.

“Fuck yes! One last shot and your ass is grass!” he belted to his competitors: two random tourist boys who were chugging at a ridiculously slow pace. JJ then proceeded to high-five his friend, John B, who you also recognize from school.

“Don’t be a coward,” you muttered to yourself before striding to the crowd clamoring around a fold-out table.

From the sides, you attempted a few of the “flirty glances” Arabella taught you but no luck. The boy would much rather bounce a ping-pong ball.

You resorted to crossing your arms and waiting for the game to be over. With no surprise, JJ and John B won as the tourons groaned and withered away to the bonfire.

“That’s right baby! Undefeated!” JJ gloated with his hands smugly flung in the air.

“Alright who’s next?” John B shouted, earning no response from the herd.

Welp... it’s now or never.

“I’ll play,” you volunteered and stuck your hand up. You could feel JJ staring at you quizzically.

“Alright, alright we have a challenger! But who’s your partner?” John B asked. You wanted to slap yourself for not thinking this through properly.

“I’ll do it,” a deep voice spoke behind you. You whirled around to meet eyes with none other than Pope. He stood cooly behind you with a beer in hand.

You originally planned to avoid him at all costs during the party. But that all went down the drain as he set down his drink and started ordering the cups in a pyramid formation.

“You’re going down Heyward!” JJ hollered, taking the first shot. The ball glided into the first cup with ease. John B’s shot followed, but bounced off to the side.

Your partner grabbed the beer and hurled it down instantly, using his wrist to wipe his mouth. You snatched the fallen ball on the ground while Pope nodded for you to go first.

So this might have been the first time you’ve every played beer pong in your life. But, in your defense, you’ve done it a million times on your phone. It couldn’t be that hard.

You tossed the first shot and it wheezed over all the cups. Whoops.

“This is too easy,” JJ jeered, eyeing Pope as he made the next throw. It landed in one of the back cups and John B swallowed the contents down.

“Sorry, I’m just off my game today,” you mumbled to your partner.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You wanna know my trick?” Pope raised as another one of JJ’s balls flew into one of your cups. You raised your brows as he handed you the beer.

“The more drunk you are, the better you play.”

Guzzling down the liquid luck, you fingered another ball and took your aim. Flinging it towards the mass, you gasped when it actually landed into the center cup.

“Oh my God!” you cheered as Pope’s face mimicked yours. He high-fived you with both hands as you bounced up and down in glee.

“That’s what I’m talking about y/n!”

For the rest of the game you and Pope played neck-and-neck with the other two, continuously making shots and chugging down beer. His tactic worked. You were on fire.

The flock around you chanted your name every time you scored. You could see your friends hanging around in the far corner hollering your name and sending you thumbs ups.

It was game point as both teams had one target left. It was their turn. JJ took the stage, chucking the ball skillfully. Much to your demise, it swirled along the rim before plopping in. JJ roared out in victory.

“Hold your horses,” Pope interjected with a finger in the air, “We still have redemption.”

“Let’s see it then,” John B panted, worn out from the tension.

“You got this.” Pope patted you on the back and handed you the ball.

Your eyes bursted. “W-What? No no no, Pope you go.”

“Relax, y/n! I believe in you. Just focus.”

You gulped and turned to the boys taunting you across the table. Saying the quickest Hail Mary in your head, you launched the ball and had to shut your eyes.

A sudden rush of shrieks alarmed you. Peeling your eyes open, you saw both JJ and John B’s jaws plummet to the ground.

It went in.

“Now that’s what the fuck is up!” Pope hurled his fist at this chest. You were frozen in utter disbelief. Maybe the Gods were in your favor.

Pope added two more cups to your side of the table as John B copied his actions. The four of you went at it a few more times before you were one-and-one again. Both John B and JJ missed and the balls rolled back over to you.

Taking the first shot again, you slung the ball, but it flew off the rim. You were chattering on your nails as Pope proceeded to make his attempt.

One swish and the ball landed straight in the hole.

You both jolted up in the air, doing a little victory dance. JJ shushed you- ready to go for his redemption kill. His ball missed the cup by a hair and John B’s slid off the table, deeming you and Pope the winners.

In your exhilarated drunken state, you threw your arms around Pope, and he let out a soft chuckle. You hastily pulled away after you realized what you were doing. Thankfully, the crestfallen losers immediately came over to shake your hands and say “Good game.”

JJ’s hands hung onto yours a moment longer. He studied you with his eyes before treading away towards the bonfire.

As winners, you and Pope stayed a few more rounds before getting beat out. You noticed JJ come back to watch you for a few rounds, eyes fixated on your every move.

After shaking hands with the girls who beat you, you waved a confused Pope goodbye and jogged over towards the drink area for water. In the corner of your eye, you saw JJ hurry up to you with giddiness.

“That was some game you played out there,” he complimented as you swigged down your water.

“Thanks! Guess I just got lucky back there.”

He leaned both arms on the table, raising his brows suggestively. “Might just be your lucky night then.”

Oh brother.

You threw him an uneasy smile and treaded away to the dancing crowd. Of course, he followed you, struggling to keep up with your pace.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’ve never seen you around before.”

You scoffed low enough to where he couldn’t hear. Never seen you? You’ve been in the same classes since second grade.

“I’m y/n.” You slowed down a bit, remembering your sworn duty.

“Well I’m JJ. JJ Maybank.” He flashed you a toothy smile.

You stopped amidst the dancers as a popular, high-beat electronic song came on. You flung you hands around JJ’s neck and pulled him close. “Dance with me, JJ Maybank.”

The two of you rocked back and forth for a while before the music transitioned to a provocative rap song. Both you and the light-haired boy rapped the entire first verse with ease, giggling once the chorus hit.

“So... how come I’ve never seen you at one of these parties?”

You shrugged tossing him a look of disinterest. “Not really my thing.”

He tugged you in so his forehead was on yours. “Then what is your thing then, hm? What’s a cute girl like you up to all summer?”

“I’m a surfing instructor.”

“Is that so? You know, I’m a pretty good surfer myself...” His hands traced down to your swaying hips.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you retorted, running your hands up and down his biceps flirtatiously.

It was probably the alcohol doing all the work, because in that moment, you knew you were being absolutely irresistible to the boy who’s hands were burning to stay in the... respectful areas.

“Maybe one day I can show you,” JJ rasped. You barely heard him through the booming of the speakers, but still locked eyes with him alluringly.

“Mmm, don’t really have time for amateurs.”

“Ouch... feisty aren’t we?” His lips were millimeters from yours.

“Please, you know you like it.” You decided to close the gap.

Boy, were his lips soft. His chiseled hands made way to tangle up in your hair as he expertly kissed you amongst the throng of people. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you could feel how hungry he was.

You stopped after a minute, purposely cutting it short. His eyes were aching for more, but you refused. You wanted to starve him.

“Wanna get out of here? There’s a cool place on the beach I can show you,” he asked, fingers toying with the back string of your bikini.

You shrugged. “Why not.”

Smirking, JJ’s hand snaked around your waist as he led you to the back trees of the Boneyard. You approached a small patch of sand enclosed by a circle of trees, and it all clicked in your head. This was his sex hideout.

You glanced around the spot. The moon beamed straight into it, and the leaves of the trees hung down fancifully. In its own weird way, it was kind of romantic- if you didn’t think about how many times he’s taken people there to fuck.

He tugged you towards the center, wrapping you in his muscular arms.

“You’re the cutest girl I’ve ever seen. I could just eat you up,” he muttered seductively, nipping at the sides of your jawline.

You were beginning to understand it now- his irresistibility. The guy was charming. You let him kiss you for a little bit until you felt him undo your back bikini string.

You quickly jerked away, tying it back into a bow.

“You know what, I think I’m good,” you said abruptly, backing away.

JJ looked as if someone offered a kid ice cream and knocked the cone off the second he was about to dive in for the first taste. “Wait! Where are you going?” he urged.

“Away.”

His face flooded in disbelief as he let out a loud scoff, darting after you as you jogged back to the dancing pack.

“Wait! Y/n come back!” he called out.

“What for? I’m not sleeping with you JJ!” you shouted, making sure everyone around you heard.

When his face went beet-red you knew you work was done.

You sped up the sand, out of sight, to Annalise’s car where your friends were circled. They whooped and cheered at your presence.

“We saw everything!” Maia exclaimed, hauling you in for a bone-tight hug.

“That was so awesome! Y/n, you’re my hero!” Arabella chimed in while you all crammed into the Mercedes.

“Ladies, ladies,” Annalise began before pulling out of the parking lot, “Tonight we celebrate the fall of JJ Maybank!”

The car erupted in drunk glee as everyone swaddled you from their seats.

As you drove back to the condo, Sophia rolled down her window from the backseat and stuck out her head.

“Fuck you JJ Maybank!”

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

note: dw there is even more D R A M A to come lolz

chapter 3

tags: @obxlife @rudyypankow @yeehaw87 @ilymarkchan @jellyfishbeansontoast @tangledinsparkles @toloveortobeinlove @pixelated-pogues @normatural @teamnick @drizzlethatfalls

#outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #jj obx #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx #jj x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #john b obx #john b #john b imagine

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years ago

Text

Slow to Anger (But I Toe the Line)

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Seriously?” Tim gestures to his uniform covered in black plant matter, the goop matted in his hair and dripping in places that no one wants plant goop to drip. “This is what you call fine? If you were really so concerned about Ivy’s escape from Arkham, you would have sent me with backup.”

“I knew you could handle it.”

“No, you knew I was just gullible enough to do the scut work you didn’t want to do.”

(Tim is acting more angry than usual for some reason. The Batfam can't figure out what's wrong with him until it's almost too late.)

“Can you hurry up? I want to wash this stuff off of me.”

“In a minute.” Bruce preps the syringe, preparing for the blood draw. “Hold out your arm for me?” Tim obeys, rolling up his sleeve. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there, you know.” Bruce sticks the needle in, ignoring Tim’s wince as he draws a vial’s worth of blood. He hands Tim a cotton ball to press to the injection site. “I told you, I needed to be at that fundraiser. Trust me—if I could have gotten out of it, I would have.” “You just didn’t want to deal with Ivy.” “You handled yourself fine out there.” “Seriously?” Tim gestures to his uniform covered in black plant matter, the goop matted in his hair and dripping in places that no one wants plant goop to drip. “This is what you call fine? If you were really so concerned about Ivy’s escape from Arkham, you would have sent me with backup.” “I knew you could handle it.” “No, you knew I was just gullible enough to do the scut work you didn’t want to do.”

“What do you want me to say? Do you want an apology? Fine, Tim, I’m sorry that I thought Poison Ivy would be easy for you to handle. I’m sorry I didn’t know that she hadn’t been taking her meta-dampening meds at Arkham. I’m sorry that you got covered in plant gunk.” He hands Tim a towel. “Are you satisfied?”

“Not even close.” “Well, I tried. Now go take a shower. You smell like fertilizer.” Tim balls up his goopy towel and throws it at Bruce. Bruce dodges easily, catching it before the nasty plant gunk can make contact with his skin. “Text me when you get the results.” Tim stomps out of the cave, leaving goopy footprints in his wake. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim’s anger still hasn’t faded by the time morning arrives. Bruce poked his head in Tim’s room last night to inform him that all the tests came up negative, but to keep him updated if any symptoms should arise. Tim threw a pillow at his face and told him to get lost. It appears that Tim is holding onto this grudge with both hands, because he doesn’t even look at Bruce when he comes downstairs for breakfast. He talks to no one as he pours himself a lukewarm cup of coffee, left over from the pot Bruce made an hour earlier. Tim hasn’t woken up this late in months, but Bruce supposes that’s partly his fault. “Morning,” Dick greets Tim, muffled by the orange wedge in his mouth. His lips pull back in an orange smile. Tim says nothing. He’s rifling through one of Alfred’s pristinely organized cupboards, the highest one that Tim can reach without a step-stool. “Who the fuck stole my Pop-Tarts?” “Language,” Bruce chides. He sits at the table with Damian and Cass, reading the morning paper. Apparently there’s a cat show this weekend. Maybe he and Selina can use it as an excuse for date night. “I had a box of limited-edition pumpkin spice Pop-Tarts in the back of this cabinet, and now they’re gone. I know someone took them.” “Did you eat them?” Dick tries. “Right, because I’m an idiot with no short-term memory.” “Tim,” Bruce warns. “Cool it. They’re just Pop-Tarts.” What’s got him so upset? Tim has always been the most level-headed of Bruce’s children. Bruce can count on one hand the number of times he’s witnessed Tim explode without reason. “They’re my Pop-Tarts. Is it so bad that I want one fucking thing to myself in this house?” “Hang on,” Jason says, gnawing his way through a piece of turkey bacon. “Was it a blue box? Had pumpkins and shit on the front?” Tim nods. “Pretty sure I ate those. They were awesome. Thanks for buying ‘em.” Tim slams the cupboard door, making Titus jolt and prick up his ears. “Unbelievable.” “Chill, dude, I’ll buy you another box.” “They were limited edition, asshole.” “And that’s my fault?” That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Tim lunges for Jason, eyes blazing and looking to the world like a one-man strike force. Dick grabs him around the waist before he can do any damage, holding him back from Jay, who looks more amused than anything. “Tim, cut it out. It’s too early in the morning for this.” Tim pushes Dick away with a harshly jabbed elbow, right in his gut. “Get off me.” He snatches his coffee mug from the counter and stalks from the room. Bruce can’t remember the last time he saw Tim this angry. Jason watches him leave. “What’s his problem?” “He had a rough night,” Bruce says. “So that gives him an excuse to be a little bitch?” “Like you weren’t asking for it.” Bruce opens his newspaper again. “And you’re buying him ten more boxes or I’m canceling your credit cards.”

Read the rest on AO3 because I’m too lazy to transfer all the formatting over for another two thousand words.

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ask-the-riders · 4 years ago

Text

Ret Torments Nootmare (feat. fluff with Ret and Fam)

Uhhhhh welp

Yeah. Like the title says, this is essentially Retribution showing up in Nightmare's castle and being a little shit, intentionally pissing him off

It shows a new side of Ret which,, I had a lot of fun exploring

And then an added bonus: some fluff with him and Famine

Nightmare couldn't believe what he was seeing right now.

He'd just come back from a mission and headed to his throne room, only to find one of his many duplicates in his seat.

One of Night's duplicates was currently sitting in his throne, holding himself with confidence and pride, as if he thought that seat actually belonged to him.

Drawing in a deep breath and attempting to remain calm, he folded his arms behind his back as he began to approach the throne, arching a brow bone, "Alright, explain something to me, boy. Last time you were here, I made it clear that I didn't want to see your face in this castle ever again. Did it not occur to you how idiotic this decision is?" Retribution hummed in acknowledgement, arching a brow bone back as if trying to be subtle about mimicking him, "Mmn... Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was actually wondering something, though." Nightmare tilted his head, "Such as?" A smile tugged at Retribution's teeth as he mimicked his original again, also tilting his head, "Aren't commoners supposed to bow when they're standing before a throne?"

Nightmare's socket twitched and one of his tentacles shot forward. Just before the appendage was able to touch him, the rider's body seemed to melt into a puddle of darkness, darting out of the throne and slipping behind it. As he reappeared, his original's tendril slammed into the backrest of the throne, causing a small crack to form. Sneaking a glance at Nightmare from around the side of the throne, Retribution chirped, almost sounding amused, "Missed me, Tar Pit." Nightmare growled in annoyance again and hissed, "Are you ALWAYS such an insolent brat?!"

The rider pretended to think over the question for a brief moment, "No, not always. Just to you. I suppose that makes you special." The goop covered guardian moved closer to the throne, another tendril slithering around the chair. Seeing it capture his cloak first as if planning to drag him backward, he scoffed, merely unclipping the item and shurtcutting away.

Reappearing near the center of the room, he spoke again, "Before it escapes me, how would you feel about indulging in some self-care?" Nightmare narrowed his socket, "That would be disgusting, and I can't believe you'd even suggest something like that." A look of confusion crossed Retribution's face, and soon after, a look of realization settled in its place. He made a face in response, "Oh, what's this?... It looks like my original counterpart has a nasty case of the gutter brain. It'd be a real shame if anybody found out about that."

Nightmare's cheekbones turned the faintest shade of cyan and he scowled, "You wouldn't DARE." His non-goopy duplicate tilted his head and arched a brow bone, offering the other a pleased smirk, "You're me. I think you already know the answer to that." He briefly paused, easily sidestepping as a sharpened tendril came sailing toward him again, "That's not why I'm here, though. I actually wanted to talk with you about some things." Nightmare kept his single cyan eye narrowed in suspicion, "Oh really? Like what?"

Retribution watched his original closely, taking a moment to gauge his body language, "Well, I was hoping you'd explain to me why it's so important to you that you murder Dream. Why do you wish to kill the only person who ever truly cared for you, and who still believes you can change?" Nightmare stared at the rider blankly, "Are you dense or something? I don't care about Dream. I need him dead so I can attain the last golden fruit."

Keeping his gaze fixed on his original, Ret spoke, genuinely interested, "If you were to get your hands on it, what would you do with the golden fruit?" The goop covered guardian sighed deeply, rolling his eye light, "Destroy it, obviously. If I get rid of it, all positivity in the main multiverse will fade away and I would become so much stronger than I already am." Retribution hummed, doing his best to maintain a straight face, "I see. If I had a golden fruit and offered to give it to you, what would you do?" Night's gaze hardened and he balled his hands into fists, "You wouldn't do such a thing. You couldn't. Not since all of the golden fruits from your timeline became corrupted too." Retribution slipped a hand into his satchel, withdrawing a golden fruit and holding it up for his original to see, "Are you sure about that? This looks like a golden fruit to me."

Nightmare was caught off guard, his socket briefly widening in surprise, "What the hell? Where did you get that?! They're supposed to be gone! And how the hell are you able to hold that without corrupting it?!" Completely casual, the rider shrugged his shoulders, fighting the urge to smile, "Oh, I just brought it with me from home, in case I needed a little snack at some point." Night continued to gawk at him, "That doesn't explain how your touch isn't corrupting it, though!"

Retribution sighed, rolling his eye lights, "The answer to that is simple, genius. I learned how to adjust my level of corruption at will, and I built up an immunity to positivity. The fruit is in no way hurting me, and if I saw fit, I could corrupt it at any given moment." The darker guardian began to approach him, "You're bluffing. That isn't possible." The rider kept his attention focused on Nightmare, calmly lifting the fruit and taking a bite from it, ignoring the faint stinging in his mouth as he quietly chewed. Seeing this, Night was once again caught off guard, "Alright, explain to me how in the actual HELL you're doing that. That REALLY shouldn't be possible!"

Swallowing the mouthful of fruit, the rider arched a brow bone, "I already told you, idiot. I built up an immunity to it." Lowering his gaze to the fruit, he gave a low, thoughtful hum, "I don't know that it'd be the same as Dream's golden fruit, but do you think this one would do the trick? In destroying all that remains of positivity in the main multiverse, and all that nonsense." Nightmare remained silent as a look of genuine uncertainty etched itself onto his face.

Retribution reached out to him, offering the darker guardian the fruit, "Here. Take it." Nightmare's uncertainty rapidly shifted into a glare, "Oh, please. Do you really think I'd believe this was anything other than a trick?!" Ret shook his head, "It's not a trick. I'm offering it to you because as a version of yourself, I understand the pain you've endured, and I understand how important this is to you." Nightmare stared at him for a moment, attempting to read him and pick out any of the telltale signs of deceit.

When he found none, he cautiously began to reach out, intent on accepting the fruit from his duplicate. Just mere seconds before the goop covered guardian could take the golden fruit, Retribution's magic released it's hold on his aura. Allowing his corrupting touch to work magic of it's own, the golden fruit became black, and just for good measure, Ret forced more of his corruption into it, completely unphased as it began to rot. Nightmare's eye widened in surprise and he drew his hand back, before his surprise transformed into rage and he roared, "You IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE JUST DONE?!"

Calmly dropping the rotten fruit on the castle floor and ignoring the disgusting splat sound it made, the rider arched a brow bone, "What have I done, hm? Kept the fruit away from a maniac like you? Saved the main multiverse from any unnecessary chaos? Please tell me what I did, Nightmare." The guardian growled, reaching out to grip a handful of Ret's shirt, "You little bastard! I should kill you for that!"

Acting more on impulse than logic, Retribution's hands quickly found his Morningstar, looping the chain around Nightmare's arm and beginning to squeeze, "Then do it. KILL ME, DAMNIT. I'M BEGGING YOU TO DO IT." Nightmare hissed, his eye dark with absolute hatred as a tendril surged forward, plunging itself through his duplicate's chest. For a moment, time seemed to slow; The tendril curled, crushing more of Ret's ribcage as it went, and Ret stared at his original in shock.

And then the rider smiled, mischief flickering in his eyes. Nightmare blinked in confusion, staring as the other's body began to shift. Rather than melting into shadows again, his body softened, and feathers began to slowly float to the ground. Withdrawing his tentacle and allowing his duplicate to fall, his confusion turning into disbelief as he watched the rider vanish, replaced by a feather pillow. The Morningstar's chain that had been wrapped around his arm became nothing more than someone's belt, and Night was at a loss.

What in the hell had just happened???

On the far side of the room that was behind the goop covered guardian, the rider phased into the shadows, his body easily blending in. His magic gathered up another shadow, quickly shaping it into something humanoid, and as he released it, it soared toward Nightmare, nearly toppling him over. The shadow being began its own barrage of attacks on the guardian and Retribution took the opportunity to sink further into his hiding place.

Once all that surrounded him was darkness, he let out a deep sigh, his body finally beginning to relax. A set of much larger arms wrapped around him from behind, and yet he wasn't alarmed, not even as he was tugged back against someone. Tipping his head back and looking up, he raised a hand, gently cupping the other's face.

Another pair of sockets opened, one sapphire eye light meeting Retribution's cyan ones, the light from it bright enough to illuminate the former prince's face a small bit. Turning to face his taller partner, Retribution wrapped his arms around him, his voice soft, "Thank you, Famine... I couldn't have pulled this off without you." In response, Famine offered him a slight smile, "No problem, Firefly. 'M just glad you're alright and it went the way we wanted."

Wearing a smile that seemed uncharacteristically warm and gentle, Retribution lightly tugged on Famine's shirt. Knowing what his partner wanted, Famine's cheekbones dusted the softest shade of faded denim blue and he sighed, his expression softening. He began to lean down, very gently pressing his teeth to Retribution's. As Ret melted into it and returned the kiss, his own cheeks became a light cyan.

The darkness around them opened up just as they began to pull away from the kiss, and Famine looked around, taking in the surroundings, "My room, huh?" Retribution hummed in confirmation, tilting his head, "Mhm. Is that alright?" Famine nodded, an arm still wrapped around his smaller boyfriend and holding him flush against himself, "Yeah, of course. I just figured that we'd end up goin' back ta your room, is all." The former prince laid his head on the other's chest, completely at ease, "If you'd prefer my room, we can always go there. I know using that particular ability really drains you, so I thought it'd be good to get you into bed so you can rest."

Famine's entire disposition seemed to soften again and he leaned down, affectionately nuzzling the top of the other skeleton's head and murmuring against his skull, "Nah, this is fine, Moonbeam... You're really too good ta me, y'know that?" Retribution's cheekbones dusted a soft shade of cyan as he looked up at his taller partner. Meeting the other's gaze and holding it, Famine delicately touched his face, his voice still low as he continued, "You're definitely too good for me, too... That's for sure."

Retribution heard his lover's words but he knew the truth; Famine was too good to him. He knew what Ret had set out to do, and after they'd discussed it, Retribution had agreed to bring him along. He'd been hidden within the safety of the former prince's shadows, and it was there that Ret had placed a barrier of sorts, making it next to impossible to detect Famine's presence.

Retribution had asked his partner to create a simple illusion that would provide him the chance to escape once things had escalated, but he'd gone far beyond what the shorter rider had been expecting. Rather than a simple illusion, Famine had managed to fuse his magic and his intent, and the instant Nightmare's temper flared, he'd sent his intent out in pulses. His intent clouded the guardian's mind as soon as his guard had momentarily gone down, and as a result, he'd genuinely believed he was attacking Retribution.

The instant Ret had stepped into the shadows and joined Famine, he'd felt traces of his magic, noting how it seemed heavier than normal. His ability to cast hallucinations always resulted in heavier feeling magic, but this time... Something was different. It was as if the taller rider had expended more magic. Factoring in the substitution of himself for physical objects, Retribution could only assume he was correct.

The former prince's attention was drawn back to the present moment as he felt Famine shiver, and he blinked in surprise, taking notice of the blue tinted sweat that had beaded on his face. A drop of black saliva... Or at least, what he assumed was saliva, rolled down Famine's chin from the corner of his mouth, and Ret let out a deep sigh, beginning to gently guide his lover toward his bed, his voice soft, "Famine... You used more magic than normal, didn't you?"

The taller rider almost looked guilty, offering him a sheepish grin, "Y-Yeah, I did. It wasn't a whole lot more than normal though, I swear." Helping Famine into bed, Retribution rolled his eye lights and did his best to seem annoyed, "You're utterly impenitent, you know that?" Famine laid down on his side and made a sound in acknowledgement, earning a scoff from the former prince. Ret allowed his gaze to wander away from his lover for a brief moment, his cheekbones dusting the faintest shade of cyan as he crossed his arms over his chest, "If you keep being so careless, there's a good chance that you could push yourself too hard and get hurt. We both know how I feel about even just the simple notion of you getting hurt, and I-"

As Famine reached out and tugged Retribution into bed with him, Ret let out a surprised yelp. He felt himself nearly be crushed against the other's chest, and his cyan blush grew brighter as he growled lowly in agitation. Famine nuzzled the top of his skull, beginning to purr faintly as the shorter of the two delicately touched his face. As much as he would've liked to be a little annoyed with Famine's carelessness, he found his agitation rapidly fading away as he silently listened to his purring.

Allowing his semi transparent tentacles to manifest, Retribution cuddled as close to his lover as possible. Each of the tendrils curled loosely around Famine, holding him close to the former prince. As Famine's purring grew slightly louder, Ret sighed softly, unable to help the tiny smile that tugged at his teeth. The purring momentarily paused as Famine yawned, and the shorter skeleton pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw, murmuring, "Rest now, Honey Badger... I'll still be here at your side when you wake." The taller rider made a sound in reluctant agreement, his sockets drifting shut. Ret began gently stroking his cheek with his thumb, his smile turning affectionate as Famine leaned into his touch, clearly enjoying it.

To most, he was a deranged menace at best, and a homicidal maniac at worst. To the former prince, however, he was nothing more than an oddly endearing gentle giant.

#writing #retribution.exe #nightmare sans #riders of the apocalypse #four horsemen of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au #famine.exe

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pilot-boi · 4 years ago

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New Residents: Chapter 1

Okay fine, maybe running off on a space adventure with no money and jobs wasn’t the best idea in the world. They needed more help, the kind that could actually help out.

Now all Ren had to do to achieve that was corral his friend. A friend who had the best intentions in the galaxy, but the attention span of a golden retriever.

They could barely support themselves enough to keep fuel in the ship and food on the table. And it didn’t help anything that Jaune kept trying to bring home strays.

Man’s Best Friend

Traveling the galaxy unsupervised was all well and good. Unless you got distracted by everything that moved.

AO3 LINK

“We are just here to get food, and that is it,” Ren told Jaune. “No distractions this time. We don’t have enough money for that.”

“I didn’t get that distracted,” Jaune argued.

Ren gave him a stern look.

“I said I was sorry! They were very persistent.”

“Sorry doesn’t buy fuel, Jaune. Or food. We don’t have that much money left, and we need to get supplies.”

“I’ll be careful this time. I promise.”

“Good,” Ren grabbed their packs, leaving their ship. “Let’s go.”

The planet that they were on was mostly markets. Ships came and went, buying and selling goods constantly. There were some shops that stayed, but most were only around for a day or two at a time. It was a merchants dream.

Buyers from all around the galaxy, a vibrant array of items to sell and buy, and a reputation that could improve a merchant’s sales immensely. Fortunately, despite the ever-changing layout of shops, it was always easy to find whatever was needed, and sometimes, what wasn’t.

Jaune and Ren made their way into the depths of the crowds. Merchants shouted their various wares from stalls lining the streets. A few kids pushed through the legs of the adults, chasing after a ball. Scents from food stalls wafted over the crowds.

Jaune’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he swore he could smell dinosaur chicken nuggets standing out among the other scents. He looked up at Ren, who was scanning the stalls around them for one selling fuel.

“I’m hungry,” he whined, putting on his best sad face.

“We’re buying food.”

“No, I’m hungry right now.”

“We��ll have food we can make on the ship.”

“You sound like my mother,” Jaune grumbled, folding his arms and pouting.

“At least one of us does,” Ren countered. “We can’t afford to buy from the stalls here. They’re all going to be overpriced, and you know it.”

They passed by a stall selling juicy racks of meat with roasted vegetables. Jaune’s stomach rumbled loud enough to hear over the crowds.

“Please,” Jaune begged. “I’m gonna starve, Ren.”

“You’ll live,” he handed a list to Jaune. “Now go see if you can find a stall that sells this fuel. I’ll handle food, since I don’t trust you to not spend all our money on vendor food.”

Jaune huffed and snatched the list out of Ren’s hand. “Aren’t you going to give me any money to buy said fuel with?”

“No, because I don’t trust you.”

Jaune rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, stalking out into the crowd. It was impossible to walk without bumping into someone. The crowds were tightly packed, and it seemed that every tall species had decided that today was the day to shop. Jaune couldn’t see a damn thing.

He pushed past a pair of bickering Velms, not bothering to apologize, and emerged in front of a food stall selling fresh fruits. One of the people who had just bought some of the fruit took a bite, the juice dribbling down their chin.

“Shut up,” he muttered to his growling stomach. Jaune had to strongly resist the urge to just pick one fruit from the basket of an unsuspecting customer. He couldn’t get in trouble here, especially not when he was separated from Ren.

Ren wouldn’t know. It would be fine. Right?

No, it would be wrong to steal. Jaune didn’t want to steal.

Suddenly, the customer he had been eying pushed past him, jostling the basket hooked on their arm. A single pear-shaped fruit bounced out, and Jaune caught it deftly in his hand. The alien appeared to be completely unaware of their loss, and disappeared into the crowd.

Jaune looked around, checking to see if anyone noticed him holding the sort-of-not-really-stolen-fruit. He then took a bite of the delicious fruit and kept walking, a grin plastered on his face.

Ha! Take that Ren. He’d gotten food without spending money or stealing.

He was just about to take the last bite of the fruit when he noticed something staring at him from one of the alleyways. Curious, Jaune took a few steps towards it, keeping his body low.

The creature backed up into the alleyway, keeping their distance. They were afraid of him.

“It’s okay,” Jaune said softly. “Here.” He held the rest of his fruit out in front of him.

It slowly moved forwards, stepping cautiously out of the shadows. It looked like a dog, but made of a green, goopy substance. The goo was dirty, like they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

Jaune smiled at the creature, and it cautiously moved towards him, taking the fruit out of his hand and leaving behind some green slobber.

“Aren’t you just the cutest?” He moved to sit down. The goopy dog scuttled backwards and Jaune froze. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. See?” He held up his hands, slowly lowering himself down. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m nice. Nice Jaune.”

The creature hesitated, and then approached again. It licked one of Jaune’s hands with its gooey tongue, licking off the remaining juice from the fruit. It felt almost soft, and was hardly stickier than the fruit had been.

“See? Nice,” Jaune smiled at the dog. Slowly, he lifted his other hand and began to pick off bits of litter that had gotten stuck in the poor animal. He moved slowly, making sure that the dog knew he was trying to help. Sudden movements still seemed to scare her.

Suddenly, Jaune’s communicator began to blink and beep softly. The dog seemed intrigued by the flashing blue light. She moved closer, almost touching Jaune. He stayed as still as he could, letting the dog stare at the dancing lights.

Slowly, Jaune moved his other hand to press the answer button. Ren’s voice came through suddenly, slightly muffled by the crowd apparently around him.

“Jaune, where are you? Have you found fuel yet?” Ren sounded worried, as usual.

“No, not yet,” Jaune replied standing up slowly. “I got sidetracked.” He could hear Ren’s frustration from across the communicator.

“By what, Jaune?”

“I found a dog? I think. It looks like a dog, anyways. Like if a dog were made of green goop. She’s really friendly.”

“We’re not getting a dog, Jaune,” Ren said sternly. “We can hardly afford to feed ourselves.”

Jaune sighed. He looked down at the dog, searching for a collar. There was none. “Can I at least try to find the owners? I can’t just leave her here.”

Ren sighed, “Fine. Where are you?”

---

They had been going around to stalls for what felt like ages. The twin suns were beginning to set, and floating lanterns began to light up. They had everything they needed to leave, but Jaune was dead set on finding the owner, or owners, of the dog, which he had named Petey, much to Ren’s chagrin.

Jaune refused to be embarrassed when Ren brought up that he’d named an actual living creature after his favourite cereal. And also shut up Ren, Petey could be a girl’s name, shut up.

“Why are you so determined to find this thing’s owner?” Ren asked as they walked away from a fish-selling stand. “It’s not really your business.”

Jaune looked over at him. “It’s… it’s just a thing my dad taught me.”

Ren faltered. Jaune didn’t talk much about his dad anymore. His dad had died when they were in high school… it had taken a lot out of him.

“One time my dad took me to one of the few lakes on Ventos Beta,” Jaune began, “His home planet was almost entirely water, so he always liked it near the lake. We were walking along the shore, and there was this Balces dying on the dry land. That wasn’t unusual.”

“They constantly swam too close to shore and got left in the tide pools once the water receded. But my dad…” Jaune shook his head, smiling fondly. “He just picked it up and threw it back out into the lake. Everytime we saw one, he picked it up and threw it back.”

“Wasn’t that kind of pointless?” Ren asked. “Those things are stupid. They’d just keep coming back. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Jaune said. “And I asked my dad that. He just tossed another one back and said, ‘it mattered to that one.’ I guess it kind of stuck with me. There could be hundreds of stray pets on this planet, and I’ll never help all of them, but I can help this one.”

Ren hadn’t ever really gotten to know Jaune’s dad. He knew that he was a quiet, kind man who always came to school when Jaune got in trouble. He never yelled at Jaune for getting into fights. Never got angry or lost his temper. He just tried to help him be better.

He had been a good dad.

Finally, a shopkeeper waved them over. He had two sets of arms, one set waving, the other set clasped tightly around the handles on a basket of fruit. He smiled as the trio approached, waving at them causing the two green and yellow lines that ran down his arms to flash in the light.

“I believe you’re looking for that Dulcosi’s owner?” the shopkeeper asked, gently setting the basket of fruit down behind him.

“Yeah, do you know where we could find them?” Jaune asked, excited at finally finding a lead.

“Sure don’t,” the alien replied. “They left here ages ago. The poor thing-” He gestured to Petey. “-has been here ever since. No one wants the responsibility of taking care of her full time, but some of us food vendors will toss her something to eat when we can.”

Jaune knelt down next to the dog and rubbed gently behind her ears, still looking up at the shopkeeper. “She was abandoned? That’s awful.”

He felt sick. Who would abandon their puppy like that? He’d only known Petey for a little while but she was already the sweetest girl he had ever known.

“Sure was,” the shop owner said, shaking his head. He pulled a fruit out of the basket he’d set down and gave it to Petey. “They’re good pets. Loyal. Just need a family.”

Jaune looked up at Ren, putting on his best pleading face. This wasn’t just about his empty stomach anymore. This was for Petey.

Ren heaved a sigh, rubbing his forehead. Jaune wasn’t going to leave without this dog.

“There’s a pet supply shop just a couple streets down,” the shopkeeper said, winking knowingly. “Tell him Luxverd sent you, and he should give you a discount.”

Ren’s face was buried in his hands. He seemed to think that if he didn’t see Jaune then he would disappear. When he uncovered his face, however, Jaune was still there, holding Petey in his arms now.

The combination of Jaune’s pleading face, along with the dog happily panting at him with her tongue sticking out and wagging her tail was too much.

“Fine,” Ren groaned. “Where’s this shop?” He pulled out his map and let Luxverd point out where the shop would be. Not too far away. Ren shouldered his pack, forging out into the crowd. “Come on, Jaune.”

Jaune and the dog followed along behind, shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and Petey’s tag wagging furiously.

---

The shop was brightly lit, toys and pictures of various pets plastered on posters in the windows. The shopkeeper was waving goodbye to a happy looking alien who was carrying a kitten-esque creature in their arms.

The shop owner looked to be the same species as Luxverd, except instead of green and yellow lines, he had two dark blue lines running down his cheeks. He turned his smile to Jaune and Ren as they approached.

“How can I help you?” he asked, extending one of his arms to Ren. “My name is Caelrune.”

“Ren,” he shook his hand. “We are… um…”

Jaune ignored the shopkeeper, darting to the toy shelf with Petey.

“I recognize that Dulcosi,” Caelrune said. “I suppose Luxverd sent you?”

Ren nodded, looking behind the shopkeeper to watch Jaune. He had set the dog down, and was showing her different toys. Every time Petey showed any interest in one, he added it to the growing pile in his arms.

“I should-” Ren started. Caelrune held up one of his arms, stopping him.

“Make sure your friend doesn’t buy my entire stock, yes.”

Ren nodded gratefully and walked past Caelrune and into the shop. Jaune was looking at bags of food now, the toys all in one basket. The dog was sniffing the different bags.

“Which one is it, girl?” He asked. “What do you want to eat?”

Petey leaned in to sniff a bright pink bag. Once she determined that she liked it, she butted her head against it, turning to pant at Jaune. He beamed and picked up the bag in his arms, almost toppling over from the weight.

“We’re not buying all of these toys,” Ren said, taking the bag of food from Jaune, who looked relieved. “We can’t afford all of them. We can barely afford to take care of ourselves!”

“We can manage,” Jaune said. “We always do.”

“At least put a few back,” Ren said, half-pleading. “She doesn’t need thirty different toys.”

Jaune frowned. He picked a few toys out of the basket, but didn’t like that decision so he put them back and picked a few different ones. He couldn’t decide which ones to put back. Petey deserved them all. Finally, Ren grabbed a random few and put them back on the shelf.

“This should be good,” he said, holding his arm out to stop Jaune from grabbing the toys again.

“Excellent,” Caelrune smiled at them and began calculating the cost.

---

Ren stared sadly at the small handful of currency they had left, while Jaune bounced happily alongside, playing tug-of-war with Petey. He sighed. He couldn’t stay mad at Jaune. Not when he was so happy with having a dog.

Still… they needed money. Ren knew it wasn’t going to be easy when he had decided to join Jaune on this adventure. Nothing had ever been easy with Jaune.

They were going to have to find somewhere to earn some spare currency or this adventure was going to be cut short.

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #mine #my writing #space rwby #new residents #chapter 1

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maxilsmaster · 4 years ago

Photo

found an ot3 meme thing and decided to do it.

allow me to explain under the cut. be forewarned, many headcanons follow.

THE SHIP: Errinkmare.

THE LACK OF DRAWINGS: I’m using a mousepad instead of an actual mouse.

THE SHITTIER THAN NORMAL WRITING: Mousepad, no text thing on Chrome Canvas.

THE NICKNAMES: Ink calls Error Glitchy and Nightmare Nighty. Error calls Ink Squid and Nightmare Octopus. Nightmare calls Ink Inky and Error Spider.

MISADVENTURES: If one starts trouble, the other two are bound to follow, and they all get into trouble a lot.

HOW IT HAPPENS: Slow burn. Ink hardly recognizes it, Error tries to deny it. Nightmare acknowledges that he likes them, but doesn’t really feel like acting on it.

HANDLING CONFLICT: Error and Nightmare start a bunch of arguments and are both stubborn assholes about it. Ink doesn’t start that many arguments, and tends to forgive quickly.

RELATIONSHIP ATTITUDE: Error likes to keep things casual, and he’s pretty reserved. Ink tends to be pretty casual, and most of his reservedness comes from his lack of soul. Nightmare doesn’t give a shit, he’s gonna shower his dumbass boyfriends with as much love and affection as he can in his own way, preferably away from people.

THE SMALL Xs AND THE BIG Xs: i changed brush size midway. that’s all.

BUDGETS: Ink and Error do not know how to budget. Nightmare does.

MAKES DECISIONS: Ink is terrible at decisions. Error and Nightmare are not.

PLANS DATES: Nightmare would rather stay at home. Error would also rather stay at home. Ink would rather go out on the best dates his boyfriends have ever been on.

COOKS: Error is the only one who can remotely cook. Anything Ink and Nightmare cook will probably end in smoke alarms going off and someone getting badly burnt.

CLEANS: Ink doesn’t give a fuck about cleanliness. Nightmare and Error very much do.

FIRST TO CONFESS: Ink is unsure he actually even likes them. Error still refuses to acknowledge his feelings. Nightmare is like “hey, we all like each other, so why are we still beating around the bush?”

FIRST TO APOLOGIZE: Explained earlier.

BEST CAREGIVER: Ink would be clueless. Error would also be clueless. Nightmare knows how to treat various common illnesses.

MOST OF THE SPEAKING: Nightmare and Error are hella introverted. Ink is a bit on the introverted side, but falls under ambiverted.

SENSITIVE TO CHANGES: Ink is bad at noticing things. Error is good at noticing things. Nightmare is excellent at noticing things.

ONE WHO PROPOSES: Ink, for sure. Error and Nightmare wouldn’t know how.

WOULD DIE PROTECTING: They’d all die protecting each other.

HOGS BLANKET: Error and Nightmare are blanket hogs.

TICKLISH: Error loathes touch. Nightmare is only ticklish in one spot. Ink is very ticklish, but only upper body. He’s immune to foot tickles.

GOOD KISSER: Come on. Error has what, five tongues?

IRRESPONSIBLE ONE: All of them. All of them are the irresponsible one.

BIG SPOON/LITTLE SPOON: Self-explanatory.

LENDS CLOTHES/BORROWS CLOTHES: Entirely theoretical, as Ink and Error basically wear one outfit and can make their own, while Nightmare is covered in goop and mostly any outfit he wears would also be covered in goop.

DOESN’T USE PET NAMES/LOVES PET NAMES: Error doesn’t feel the need to use pet names, nor does Nightmare. Ink likes using pet names.

INTROVERTED/EXTROVERTED: All of them are on the introverted side, but Ink is much closer to ambiverted. Error is very introverted, while Nightmare is a goopy ball of social anxiety.

SCREAMS ABOUT BUGS/SQUASHES BUGS: None of them will scream, but Ink will be the first to squash.

DRIVES THE CAR/CAN’T DRIVE: Ink is good enough to have a license, but not good enough to be professional. Nightmare has no depth perception and is completely blind in his right eye. Error is... well. Don’t let Error drive.

WILL POISON YOU/MASTER CHEF: Error won’t necessarily poison you unintentionally, but he can’t cook very much. Nightmare and Ink are equally horrid at cooking.

OVERPROTECTIVE/CHILL: Nightmare is the overprotective one. Error can be protective at times, but doesn’t care too much. Ink is chill.

HAS MORE EXPERIENCE/HAS NO EXPERIENCE: Error knows basically nothing, except what he does from Undernovela. Ink has absolutely zero experience. Nightmare has no idea how the fuck to relationship.

SLOW BUILD UP/POUNCES: I think I explained this earlier.

COMPASSION/TOUGH LOVE: Ink is more on the compassion side, while Error and Nightmare deal in tough love.

DIRECT/INDIRECT: Ink is like “what is love baby don’t hurt me don’t hurt me no more.” Error is like “okay so um what the hell do i say.” Nightmare, I’ve explained.

CUDDLE AT HOME/GO ON ADVENTURE: Nightmare and Error would rather stay home. Ink is like, “ADVENTURE! YEAH!”

EMOTIONAL/DETACHED: Despite how he may act, Nightmare is in constant need of validation. Ink acts detached because he’s not exactly confident about relationships, and Error is, well, Error.

CONFIDENT IN PUBLIC/EMBARRASSED IN PUBLIC: Error is the one who doesn’t give a crap about what others think. Ink also doesn’t care, but once again, doesn’t exactly know how to relationship. Nightmare just hates people and wants to go home before he fucks something up.

VERBAL AFFECTION/PHYSICAL AFFECTION: Error is not one for physical contact, as is canon. He much prefers giving verbal affection. Ink is in the middle. Nightmare prefers cuddling.

TAKES INITIATIVE/DOESN’T TAKE INITIATIVE: Self-explanatory.

EASILY GETS JEALOUS/DOESN’T GET JEALOUS: Error doesn’t get jealous very often. Ink does get jealous, but shows it by giving his boyfriends more attention. Nightmare gets jealous very easily.

NEEDS SPACE/NEEDS ATTENTION: Error needs his space. Ink and Nightmare are willing to respect that. Sometimes he may join in on the attention, but that’s pretty rare. However, like Nightmare, Ink needs validation, but to a slightly lesser extent.

link to the original: https://riessene.tumblr.com/post/190497871560/there-are-many-ship-dynamic-memes-out-there-but

#errinkmare #meme #ot3

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haltandcatchfiretothemax · 5 years ago

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In which Cameron, Donna, Joanie and Haley make a new holiday tradition

Father’s Day is one of those rare days where Cameron genuinely doesn’t want to get out of bed, even after she moves into Donna’s house, even after they get married. On that first Father’s Day after their wedding, Donna hangs out in their bedroom until 9ish, and then gets up, throws on some sweats, and after planting a smooch on Cameron’s forehead, says, “You have another hour, and then brunch, and then Bos is expecting us. Okay?” Mopily, Cameron replies, “Yes, boss.”

Joanie is home for what’s become her annual late-spring visit, and Haley is home from school, and the four of them have been bracing for Father’s day all week. They’re all happy to be together, but they’re unusually subdued. Even Joanie is quieter than usual, they all feel Gordon’s absence, still, and the strangeness of how it brought them together, and then pushed them forward, also together. They’d been talking around this for the past few weeks, telling stories about Gordon, remembering things from Dallas, and then from when they all moved out to California, laughing about things that had happened when they all lived together, but not quite able to joke about what Gordon might think or say about them, if he could see them like this.

Cameron drags herself downstairs at ten, following the smell of coffee and the sound of the radio and Joanie’s cackling and Haley’s giggling. She finds them in the dining room, where she stops in her tracks, perplexed by what she sees: they’re setting the table with Donna’s ‘company’ plates, flatware, stemware, and linens, and they’ve decorated Cameron’s chair, the one to the right of the head of the table, with balloons and a (clearly) homemade light blue sash that has gold glitter on it. There’s a stack of wrapped packages in front of her plate. Unable to stop herself, Cameron gawks at them, and asks, “Uh, what is all of this?”

Donna suppresses a smirk, and Haley and Joanie look at each other, and then before Joanie can answer, Haley shrugs, “Well, we did all of this for mom on mother’s day.”

Cameron looks and still is confused, so Joanie tries to clarify, “So we thought that today we could finally celebrate you!” She runs around to Cameron’s side of the table, picks the sash up off of the chair, and presents it to Cameron, “Here — ‘World’s Best Stepmom’!” Cameron takes the sash, and has to look at it closely in to confirm that it does indeed say ‘world’s best stepmom’ in goopy, messy, but thankfully dry glitter glue.

Unsure of what to do, Cameron looks over at Donna, who nods brightly, encouragingly, which they both know is no real help to Cameron. “Come on, sit down!” Joanie says, nudging her toward her chair. “There are gifts!” She starts a chant of “Op! en! GIFTS!” and when Haley joins in, Cameron sighs anxiously, sits, and says, “Okay, OKAY, I’m sitting.” Joanie drops a paper crown on Cameron’s head, and Haley reaches for the gift at the top of the stack, holds it out toward Cameron and says, “Here, start with this one.”

Warily, Cameron takes it from her, and tears the paper off what turns out to be a leather-bound photo album. She half expects for it to be empty, but she opens it anyway, and audibly gasps when she sees an old photo of her father, standing tall on their old doorstep, holding baby Cameron, Cameron’s mother standing next to him, both of them looking exhausted but smiling proudly. There are more of her baby pictures and then school and Hallowe’en and Christmas play pictures taken with and by her parents, and even one of her dad and five year old Cameron on his motorcycle, about to take off for some destination Cameron can’t possibly remember.

Further on, there are pictures of Joanie and Haley, with Cameron, Donna, or both somewhere in the frame, a lot of them are from the Mutiny house, and Cameron doesn’t remember who took them, or when, exactly. Toward the end there are more recent photos, from trips out to Cameron’s trailer, and from the girls’ graduation ceremonies, from Joanie’s travels and Haley and Donna’s more localized ~girls’ night out~ shenanigans. Cameron isn’t in a lot of those photos, but it feels like they were taken for her, so that she could see what Donna, Joanie, and Haley were up to even when she couldn’t be with them. Finally, there are photos of the four of them from Cameron and Donna’s wedding, and then in the very back, there are plenty of empty pages, ready for more photos of them.

Quietly, Cameron asks, “Wait, where did you get the pictures of my parents?”

Donna grins, “I called your mother,” and then bristles, “…Len had to do most of the actual work of finding and figuring out how to copy the pictures, and sending them to us.”

“Oh,” Cameron says, “Okay. Well.” Managing to not burst into tears, she says, “Thank you. It’s amazing.”

Haley re-starts the ‘Op! en! Gifts!’ chant, for which Cameron is grateful. She tears the wrapping paper off of a ‘world’s best stepmom!’ mug, a brand new football, and a copy of a small book on gardening, called We Made a Garden. Thoroughly and fully embarrassed by all of the attention, Cameron is overwhelmed with relief when Donna clears the presents away, and she and the girls bring out the food: homemade breakfast tacos, chili, cornbread, and churros (and, of course, coffee, endless amounts of coffee). Cameron’s love of breakfast tacos eclipses most other things, and her self-consciousness ebbs away as they eat together, and she listens to their lively chatter.

After they finish eating, and Cameron pointedly helps with clean up, she goes into the bedroom, sits down tentatively on the bed, and she calls home. When Len picks up, she says, “Hi, it’s me,” and he says, “Oh okay, let me get your mom,” and she says, “No, no, just, in a minute — I just wanted to say thank you. For all of the pictures. Donna said you and mom helped, with the photo album.” Then she says, “And also, for everything else. Like in general. Thank you.”

Glumly, Len says, “That’s okay, Catherine. Know it’s been hard for you, I wouldn’t wish what you and your mom went through on anyone, much less my family.” Cameron nods quietly on her end, grateful, again, to be understood without having to do much explaining or discussing of her feelings.

Len gets her mother, who of course gets in a passive aggressive comment about how they don’t know when they’ll see Cameron again. When Donna comes to check on her twenty minutes later, Cameron has that wide-eyed ‘mayday!’ look on her face, and Donna jumps into action. She hops up onto the bed, and calls out, “Cameron? Can you come help me with this, please?!” Her mother says, “Is that Donna? What does she need?” Cameron says, “Welp, gotta go mom, talk soon BYE!” and hangs up as quickly as possible.

Cameron and Donna giggle childishly over it for a minute, and then Donna asks, “So, on a scale of one to ‘someone please take my life,�� how uncomfortable were you at brunch?”

Cameron frowns. “A solid seven, maybe? Yeah, a seven.” When Donna doesn’t say anything, Cameron says, “It just felt like it wasn’t supposed to be about me. I mean you didn’t have to do all of that today, of all days.”

“Oh, that wasn’t me!” Donna smiles brightly at her. “That was all them, they wanted to do this today.” When Cameron frowns harder, Donna says, “Don’t think of it as pulling focus from Gordon, think of it as expanding the holiday to include someone that they can celebrate right now, in the present.” Then she said, “They wanna spoil someone, today. It may as well be you.”

They head over to Bos and Diane’s later that afternoon, and everyone is excited to see them, and to get out of the house that day. They bring the football with them, and Joanie ropes Cameron into ‘tossing the old pigskin around!’ while Donna and Diane grill their steaks and peppers, only to find out that Cameron can’t really throw or catch a football. After watching for a few minutes, Bos sets down his sweet tea and harrumphs out of his lawn chair and gruffly demonstrates how to properly grip the football. He has fun heckling Cameron about her form (“Didn’t I just say to keep your eye on the ball?” “Oh come on now, what kind of girly throw was that? We both know you got more muscle than that, Slim!”), and Haley takes photos that she uses both for her own photo album and to send to Joe and Simon, who are still living in New York, and are also in foster parent training. It’s slightly mortifying, and a little annoying, but it’s also very funny, and Cameron can’t decide whether to start swearing or laughing. By the time they sit down to eat she’s exhausted, hungry, and humbled. She doesn’t feel quite so guilty for ‘stealing’ Gordon’s holiday. If anything, she has a deepened appreciation for why Gordon always seemed so peeved at family functions.

Cameron is ready to go to bed much earlier than usual that night, she’s already in her pajamas and tucked in under the covers when Donna comes in from their bathroom, rubbing lotion methodically into her hands. Unprompted, she grins, “I still can’t get over that picture of you on the motorcycle. I mean, I’d heard the stories, but seeing photographic evidence?”

“Yep,” Cameron nods. “It really happened. That was my dad.”

Donna climbs into their bed, under the covers, and asks, “So, how’d we do today? Did we distract you from all you feelings about your dad a little? Did we aggravate you sufficiently?”

“Honestly? Yes,” Cameron nods. “Thank you, for all of your efforts.”

Donna curls up next to her, putting an arm around her waist, and hugs her closely, and says, “Anything for the world’s best stepmom.”

#this took me a long time to finish but i'm ok with that #also...joanie totally makes 'daddy' and 'zaddy' jokes about cameron #and cameron is like '...i need you to not'#fic #fan fiction #happy thursday bbys!#cameron howe #donna clark #donna emerson #haley clark #joanie clark #john bosworth #and one more time: <3 to everyone who can't celebrate their dad/dad figures on father's day for whatever reason

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sweetcatmintea · 5 years ago

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Lemon and Ginger and All That

@hannahs-creations very kindly provided a random four word prompt to make into a drabble. Thanks for the prompt! Sorry it took a hot minute to write <u<;;

I hope you enjoy this little scene ^u^ Feedback is appreciated!

Prompt: vitality, manage, fluster and gleefully

Words: 1768

Characters: Marcos, Whitney, Freddy (Briefly), and Mella

Chaotic didn’t cover the state of the 6pm Café. Freddy’s promotion idea went over so well last fortnight, people were practically lining up to see what they’d do to the menu this time. The apple and elder-flower brew did not disappoint. Perfectly refreshing in the warming days of early spring, with a gentle aroma that transported you to the countryside, apple picking with your gran. Light, crumbly, pastries and tiny finger sandwiches sold almost as quickly as they were prepared. Every time a happy customer left, two more would arrive. That may be a little dramatic. It certainly felt like facing the hydra of the food industry at least. Marcos and Freddy were run off their feet greeting customers, taking orders, brewing tea, selling dry blends, answering questions, transporting food, and trying to squeeze in spot cleans. Uncle Antonio hopped between the register and the kitchen, saving Leroy from the flood of demands.

What terrible timing for Whitney to have to skip out. Although she complained about it, she lived for the busy days like today. She loved to get lost in the hustle, while still managing to find a sense of order and co-ordinating the boys. Marcos had never seen anyone more determined not to take a sick day. When the first thing Whitney did that morning was bolt to the bathroom to re-evaluate dinner, it was clear there was no avoiding it. Regardless of how it went down, the result was the same. Whitney was stuck at home while the boys played the service edition of the floor is lava. (Or would that be the customers?)

Marcos’ mind was a blur of orders and customers, but he didn’t let himself lose track of time. As soon as the hour ticked over, he tagged out. Of course, he checked that Freddy and Uncle Antonio could manage without him first. Not wasting a second more of his lunch break, he slipped into the backroom, tore off his uniform, replacing it with a change of clothes he’d prepared earlier, and was gone.

The walk to their house was made significantly faster by running. Marcos was at the painted off-white door in record time. The plan to catch his breath while he fiddled with his pockets looking for his key met a hitch when he couldn’t locate it. Briefly panicking that he’d left it at the café, Marcos tried to calculate how long it would take to run back to get it, would that take too long? It didn’t fall out while he was running did it?? He’d have to go and find it before someone else did. Should he just risk waking Whitney and asking her to let him in? Ah but she won’t get better if she’s no- wait a minute. There it is. False alarm. Fishing the key out of the depths of its fabric prison, Marcos let himself in as quietly as possible. If he was careful, he should be able to avoid the creaky floorboards.

“I cab ‘ear ‘ou.”

Never mind. He followed Whitney’s raspy croak to the living room, still mindful to tread lightly. She was huddled on the couch, cocooned with blankets and half draped over the arm of the chair. Mella, taking the role of mother hen, sprawled over Whitney’s tracksuit clad legs, incubating her just in case folding herself into cotton origami wasn’t enough. Fever was obvious, painted over Whitney’s sweaty face, interrupted occasionally by loose strands of hair. She hadn’t even bothered to tie it back. Even in illness, she was an over-achiever.

“Were you asleep?” He tired to keep his voice soft despite its gravelly texture. Judging by the way the radio was on, but turned down to its lowest possible volume, she probably had a headache. He wondered briefly if she was resenting her rabbit hearing at the moment.

Whitney shook her head, waving his worries off. “I was ju- uh- aacho!” Another balled up tissue in the over-stuffed bin. “I was jus’ dyin’g apparendly. No, I was listenig do the mid-day stories. Whab are ‘ou doin’g ‘ere?” Mella whined and wiggled closer to Whitney’s flushed face. She was supposed to be resting!

Marcos shrugged. “I got you some tea. Give me a second, I’ll make it for you. It’s called, uh, ‘Vitalitea’ and it’s got lemon and ginger and all that. Should hopefully make you feel better.” It couldn’t make her any worse at least. Red eyes and streaming nose, it was almost painful to see her so far from her bubbly self.

Whitney had always been good at reading people. Just because she was unwell didn’t mean she couldn’t see the crease setting into Marcos’ forehead. He was always so busy worrying about others. The demand he not pity her fell away to the realisation of what he’d said.

“You cabe back jusd ‘o bake tea?”

“No. I’ll get you some lunch too.” He wandered off to the kitchen to get started, entirely missing the touched shock he left her in. According to his calculations, he was still on track even after stalling to get into the house. The majority of making food was just waiting for the tea to brew. It took next to no time to make a sandwich or boil water. While the tea was brewing, he grabbed a brush and a hair tie, returning to the sick bunny.

Seeing her face a tiny bit more flushed made his stomach twist. Was it really okay for her to stay here alone?

“Can you sit up? I’ll put your hair up since I’m here.”

Whitney sighed dramatically but wiggled her way to a sitting(ish) position, much to Mella’s disapproval. “Leab me here to die. I’b not lon’g for thid worlb.”

“Nah, I think we’ll save ya Cottontail. You know Freddy and me’ll be lost without ya at the café.” He chuckled, combing the brush through her long, long, hair. She tried not to think about how his breath tickled her ear, sending tingles down her spine.

“I tolb ‘ou nod do call be that.” She huffed. Her mock anger easy to see through. It she’d really wanted him to stop, he would have done so immediately. “You’re righbt tho. You do neeb me. Who else can stob Fred’dy frob gleefully bestering beople on dates?”

“He’s not even here and you’re picking on ‘im?”

“I’b allobed to. It’s by twind given righbt.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Marcos’ hands worked quickly, twisting the strands into a roughly uniform braid. Whitney may have preferred a bun, but that just wasn’t in his skill set yet. As he worked, his own auburn curls wiggled loose. The ponytail must’ve come undone on his way over. He probably should just cut the shaggy mane, but he liked the feeling of it brushing his skin.

Whitney released her arm from the blanket burrito to playfully tug a strand. “You’re kinba a bess. Whab did ‘ou do, rub the whole bay?”

“Yup.”

His steady gaze caught her off guard. “Waib, really?” Whitney’s pink cheeks shifted much closer to a shade of red, causing Marcos’ brow to furrow. It didn’t help that she only seemed to heat up more when he pressed his hand to her forehead. She must’ve been really unwell, even her usually pale rabbit ears were tinted rose.

“Hold on. I think your tea should be ready.” He vanished back into the kitchen, retying his hair as he went.

The butterflies in Whitney’s brain were certainly just sickness making her dizzy. Nothing else. Mella stared at her. Judgementally. It wasn’t her fault her dumb heart was fluttering. Her pop rock pulse was obviously not her buzzing with giddiness. Of course she didn’t have a crush on Marcos. It didn’t matter how thoughtful he was, or how he made her feel special and appreciated with no ulterior motive. His gentle presence was just a part of him being Marcos. Falling for that would just be… well, it would be… Okay. She couldn’t lie to herself. Frog toes. It wasn’t the plague she’d managed to contract that made her face glow when he touched her. His concerned expression flashed across her mind. The tiny tilt of his scruffy eyebrows, the amber that almost glowed against the dark lines that always seemed to line his eyes, the way he looked at her. Oh dear, she melted into a goopy mess. Stars Above, she had Feelings for the scraggly hare. She had to compose herself. Pondering whether he felt something for her too would have to wait until he was gone. Working herself into a fluster was less than ideal. Upon the realisation, Mella smiled at her, in the way dogs do. If Whitney didn’t know better, she’d think Mella could read her mind. Why was she being so cocky? As if she figured it out first! Whitney’s mental rambling was interrupted by Marcos bringing in her lunch.

“Here. I put honey in the tea. It’s s’posed to be good for sore throats? Mum used to do that for me, honey and milk I mean. Should help you too.” His ears twitched self-consciously. Sure it was common knowledge that honey was a good soother, but he still felt the need to explain himself. Maybe because Whitney almost always preferred not to sweeten her teas and he hadn’t forgotten that. Whitney smiled, still too pink for his liking, thanked him and took a sip, evaporating his worries.

“There’s some medicine if you need it, and a bottle of water for later, y’know, so you don’t have to get up again… I’ve gotta head now or I’ll be late back. You gonna be okay?”

“I’b a big girl, I’ll be okay.” She took another sip. “Than’gs fo’ this. I abbreciate ib.”

“Not a problem. Just focus on betting better.”

“Oh byeah, before you go, there’s somb faze wibes in by roob. Take theb with you to geb rib ob the sweat. You brobably smbell.” To make certain she wasn’t being overly sincere, she poked her tongue at him.

“’course I do. I’m healthy so I can still breathe through my nose.” Marcos grabbed the wipes and darted out of the door before he had to face her faux fury.

It took a sprint, but he made it back to the café with just enough time to clean up and get re-dressed. He was tired as anything and had forgotten about his own lunch in the process of it all, but still found a spring in his step for the rest of the day. It was nice to think he might’ve made her feel a little better.

----------

Taglist

@inkovert and @snobbysnekboi

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crazedlunatic · 5 years ago

Text

Drunk Dialing

“L… Listen, Kurt.”

Kurt, who was mostly asleep since it was two in the morning and he had a Chemistry test the next morning, stared at his phone like he had no idea what it was. “Blaine?”

“I may or may not be drunk or concussed… and honestly, I probably shouldn’t have called you… but the fortune cookie is telling me to steal the toilet and I… how do you steal a toilet?”

“Wait. Concussed?”

“Uh yeah. Wes threw a soccer ball at my… uh… what gets concussed?”

“Your head?”

“Yeah!” Blaine said and Kurt could just see the dopey, adorable big grin that was probably on his face. “Yeah the soccer bowl and toilet ball… wait…. I can’t move the toilet. Do you think it’s ‘cause I’m tiny? David called me Tiny Timmy but my name isn’t even Timmy… It’s Blaine and my middle name is Wyatt. Why is my new name Tiny Timmy?”

“Blaine, where are you?”

“Err… in a bathroom? That’s why there’s a toilet.” Blaine hiccupped and then mumbled a, “Gross. That tasted weird.”

Kurt rubbed his face.

The last time Blaine had been drunk around Kurt, he’d basically hibernated after attempting to serenade him.

This was… different.

“Hey, so I’m uhm… reading a book. It’s not a cool book… No. It’s not a school book. It is a cool book.” Blaine said. “Do you want to come and, uhm… read it with me? Cause I like to read for fun and you’re fun so we could… be fun together?”

“Blaine… I’m an hour and a half away.”

“Okay.”

Kurt closed his eyes because how was Blaine so freaking adorable? Even when he sounded pitiful?

“I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

“What, Blaine?”

“I meant the chicken nuggets.”

“Blaine… are you talking to me?”

“No. I’m talking to the chicken nuggets… or the fries? How do you eat chicken nuggets? It’s like eating chicken babies and they’re cute and fluffy… oh my God. What did I just say?”

“That chicks are cute and fluffy.”

“I didn’t say I loved you, right?”

Kurt’s eyes widened and he could have sworn his heart flipped in his chest four times. “Uh… no.”

“Good because that would have been embarrassing. Can you come cuddle me now? David’s irritated with me, Wes is making out with some girl, and Thaddy’s being all creepy.” Blaine whined. “I really wanna cuddle because of elephants.”

“Blaine.”

“That’s me!”

Kurt covered his face and shook his head.

Was he amused? Yes.

Was he annoyed that his boyfriend of four months had just proclaimed his love for him? Yes. Mostly because Blaine wouldn’t even remember.

“Kurt… Hey, Kurt, are you still there?”

“Yes, Blaine. What?” Kurt asked.

“My dream is to find someone who will love me when I draw bacteriophages for me… What’s a bacteriophage? Do you think it’s fluffy or goopy? Or loopy? D for all the above? Shit, is this a test?”

“I think you might need some sleep, babe.”

“Did we have sex yet?”

“What? No.” Kurt sputtered, blushing.

Because he’d thought about it and hands had been granted access under his shirt and over the jeans and Blaine had run his hand up Kurt’s thigh multiple times—which cause some serious problems, honestly. Every time they’d gone just a little farther although Kurt knew it was killing Blaine.

Still, he was a perfect gentleman and would never rush Kurt. He frequently said he wanted Kurt to feel comfortable so he could feel comfortable.

Which was really sweet, really.

But Blaine was always sweet.

“Hey, can you have a bucket ready for me when I get home?”

“… you live at Dalton. I’m in Lima.” Kurt said slowly.

“I shouldn’t drive there. You’re in Ethiopia right? How long will it take to walk? Hey, can you just meet me in Blockbuster’s parking lot?”

“There hasn’t been a Blockbuster in Ohio for seven years.”

“Where are my movies coming from?!”

“… Amazon and Pay Per View? I don’t know.”

Blaine suddenly whined, “No, don’t take it. It’s my love Kurt!”

“Kurt?” He heard David ask.

“Good morning.” Kurt yawned.

“How bad was that?”

“Uh… can you tell me what a bacteriophage is?”

“Oh God. Did he say anything embarrassing?”

“Oh yeah.” Kurt nodded although David couldn’t see it.

“Serves him right.” David said. “Sorry. He snuck away. He and Wes do this all the time. It’s exhausting being the mother hen sometimes.”

“Good luck with that I guess.” Kurt bit his lip and then added, “Can you let me know when he’s asleep?”

“No worries there, Kurtsie. He’s conked out on the bathroom floor. You’re still coming to my house for grilling out tomorrow, right?

“Trust me. I am not giving up an opportunity to let him know he stupid he acts when he’s drunk again.”

“At least he didn’t make out with any girls this time, right?” David laughed.

“Good night, David.” Kurt laughed as well.

“Good night.”

Kurt laid back down, putting his phone screen on and looking at the adorable picture of he and Blaine from two weeks ago when Kurt had ridden down to Lexington, KY with him to see UK’s campus.

They sure were cute.

…

“So… uh…” Blaine said the next day when Kurt arrived at David’s house.

Kurt smiled brightly.

“Did I say anything too embarrassing?” Blaine looked worried.

“No.” Kurt said, his tone very serious.

Inwardly he was thinking that it probably surpassed embarrassment but he knew Blaine was always a gentleman and he really didn’t want to embarrass him more than he’d already embarrassed himself.

“Thank God.” Blaine let out a relieved sigh. “Do you want to come out back?”

“Sure.” Kurt smiled and held out his hand. “I missed you, Blaine.”

“I missed you too, Kurt.” Blaine smiled and then leaned in, kissing Kurt gently. “Let’s go before Wes takes the porch swing.”

“I love porch swings.” Kurt gasped. “Hey, what is a bacteriophage?”

Blaine looked at him and groaned. “Oh God. I did say everything I thought I did, didn’t I?”

Kurt smiled again, grabbing Blaine’s hand since their kiss had distracted him. “By the way... me too. But this doesn’t count. Deal?”

“Deal... because it needs to be more special than that.” Blaine looked relieved.

“You’re a cute drunk, you know? It’s too bad you didn’t serenade me last night too.”

Blaine shook his head and led Kurt outside.

“Me too, though.” Kurt whispered.

Blaine looked him in the eyes and smiled.

#wbuct drabble #wbuct prompt

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emmelfish · 6 years ago

Photo

So when I took that Which Sims 2 Family Are You quiz I legitimately got the Goths. Vintage. But now I feel this pressure to have my moronic gameplay match their illustrious reputation. It’s okay though – I think we can all agree that the one thing that covers all bases and absolves me of any sins here is Mortimer Goth’s Accidental Default outerwear.

IT’S BLOODY PERFECT.

Mort’s also got a great car (🎵 yeah what’s wrong with it today, I used to have one too maybe you’ll come and have a look) which he’s using to take Dina out on a date to a fancyplace. (Melissa Fancey, live up to your name and have some respect for Londoste for crying out loud, it should be a place where sims automagically spin into their formalwear upon entry.)

Yo Brenda! Nice to see you again! This is quite a different gig to Oresha Family Dining, how on earth do you keep up with the competing personalities of the restaurants you’re hosting at?

Brenda:

Or whatever the Sim equivalent of cocaine is.

Mortimer: Good evening Brenda. The coziest, most romantic table you have?

Brenda: Of course Mr Goth. Shall I take your coats?

Mortimer: NEVER!

Either they keep the temperatures in Londoste super low or Morts and Digs are hella attached to their outerwear. And who wouldn’t be? They both look fly as balls.

Brenda: Voila! Right next to the main entrance so everybody walking in bumps right into the back of Dina’s chair. Great view of Melissa Fancey’s flame pants.

Mortimer: Excellent, I think Dina will enjoy an audience for what I have in mind.

Kristen, did you just... follow these two here? Are you stalking them? Still can’t find your way back to Strangetown?

Kristen: Are you kidding? I love this place, it’s the same as my last name, give or take an N, D, and an O.

Dina: So! Champers?

Get used to making that face Mort, she’s a Fortune sim. Of course she’s going to order the most expensive fizz on the menu if someone else is paying.

DINA IS PRECIOUS AND MUST BE PROTECTED. She wants a Baked Alaska for her dinner! A Baked Alaska! As a meal! I want to hug her.

Melissa: Fanceypants, Fanceypants –

YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING, TOWNIE

Alien server: So tonight our specials are tartlets of wild mushrooms with black truffles, or our signature dish of green peas in several different textures with poached egg. Our lobster thermidor is served with a side of ceviche, and cod roe foam.

Dina: *wants Baked Alaska*

Mortimer: You look familiar, you wouldn’t happen to be one of PT9′s brood would you?

While these cuties toast, please enjoy the Deep V walking by that is Ajay Loner’s chest. I’m always at a loss as to how to dress that guy. He has a LTW to reach the top of the Dance career in my game, so I can only imagine he’d want to show off his bod in the most unfashionable way possible.

Guys, that food came pretty quickly. I’d worry about Londoste’s cooking techniques if I were you.

Mortimer: Enjoying your Baked Alaska, sweetheart?

Dina: Just taking a water break, then you’ll really see me go to town on this bad boy.

And she wasn’t joking.

Mortimer: Here darling, you really ought to have some savory food as well tonight.

I find it adorable and hilarious that feeding Dina some of his food built more Cuisine enthusiasm for Mort.

Now, just look how smooth this cad is:

Mortimer: *holds Dina’s hand* I just want you to know...

Mortimer: ... that you look very sweet in your newsboy cap. I hear they’re making a comeback.

Dina: They sure are!

I’m not going to make him sing the ‘I’ve Got Something In My Front Pocket’ song like Darren did but Mort’s almost bringing it on himself with this pose.

Hahahahaha it’s only from this angle that I see Dina’s already destroyed half her Baked Alaska. Oh Digs, I don’t think that’s earrings or a charm bracelet in there... is this the moment you’ve been waiting for?

Mortimer: Please let her like it, she has the most expensive taste of any sim I’ve ever met...

Kristen: You look a lot like my roommate Chloe. You might know her, she’s really annoying... and hot... and super annoying. Hey, are you doing anything after this?

Dina: Oh oh oh! Cushion-cut black diamond, three carats easy, platinum band? Have you been reading my diary??

Mortimer: So I take it you like it?

Alien server looks like she may be considering Kristen’s offer of a date in the background there.

DAMMIT I missed the throwing the box behind the head again

Dina: Is it okay if I call Nina and tell her to dust off the giant wedding binder?

Mortimer: ...You have a giant wedding binder?

While these two discuss their impending nuptials, let’s take a look at some of the other diners Londoste has attracted.

Goopy GilsCarbo can’t believe his luck that he’s at a bar next to Kim Cordial...

Probably a good thing Crumplebottom is on the end there preventing him from making any dumb moves. Not that she needs to be, Kim could turn him into a roach if she wanted of course.

I’m gonna come out and say it. I’ve held it in too long. I LOVE TRISHA TRAVELLER’S FACE. She has a glorious, wonderful face, and her eyes are a marvel. However, she produces (spoiler alert) some, shall we say... interesting-looking children. I had her and Trent procreate a son and during his toddlerhood he looked like one of those little naked Troll dolls people used to collect with the gems in their belly and the brightly colored hair. Or, if we’re talking ’90s toys, a Boglin. You’ll see him soon of course.

Nice to see PT9 is maintaining the tradition of turning up at every single restaurant I play.

#JustFortuneSimThings – treat yo self to lobster thermidor when you’re dining solo, like Ajay ‘Not Just A Clever Name’ Loner.

We’ve already got a bad witch here to bring rain and roaches to a community lot in the form of Kim, so when I saw all kinds of drama outside I was glad to see it was a Grand High Vampire causing it instead. Is that the famous 18th face template I’m seeing there?

Dina: Um Mort Mort, there’s a guy over there who I’m pretty sure is a spy but looks like he’s really bad at pretending not to be a spy. Shall we call someone?

Mortimer: No my ray of sunshine, let’s dance instead!

Kimberley: Hahaha, enjoy your DRIVE, losers! This is how all the cool kids get around!

Dina: *is mad about burglary for the 8,475th time*

Oh my! I totally forgot I slipped into the Beakers’ a while back, let Circe get pregnant and throw up every three seconds, and then pretty much let her pregnancy go on forever. I really hope it’s twins so that Susie and Skip Jr have two rivals in the hellspawn stakes.

PT9, I don’t know who that is you’re lusting over, but it’s not Jenny, therefore stop.

This technically isn’t possible without getting posey, but it really looks like Dina’s admiring her new ring there. Homeward bound for these two lovebirds! How ironic that poverty-stricken Brandi and Darren paid their bill in full, while Mortina here just waltzed out without dropping a penny. How the other half live.

Will it be wedding bells next time we look in on this lot? Quite possibly! And of course, it wouldn’t be a Goth wedding without heaps of drama.

#Dina Caliente #Mortimer Goth #Melissa Fancey #Ajay Loner #Trisha Traveller #PT9 Smith #Kimberley Cordial #Goopy GilsCarbo #Mrs Crumplebottom #Circe Beaker #Londoste #Downtown #Sims 2 #Sims 2 Gameplay #emmelfishuberhood

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banditchika · 7 years ago

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maki seina has the worst meet-cute of the year

a short drabble based on this

“Wait, wait, hold up--please!” Seina gasps, hurtling down the street with her bags banging against her aching back. This heatwave is killing her; every breath she takes feels damp and hot, as if she were inhaling through a wet towel, and her shirt’s soaked through with sweat. The bus belches out a cloud of black exhaust, and Seina coughs as she runs into it, the heat of the smoke searing at her shins.

She leaps into the bus, tripping up the steps with muttered curses. The bus driver raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Seina says, grinning sheepishly. She deposits a few grimy coins into the till and slides past clumps of passengers to find her seat. It’s packed in the bus; there isn’t a seat in sight, and in her sweaty, stinky state, Seina doesn’t feel like squeezing in-between people to hang onto the handlebars. Seina… isn’t sure she can even reach the handlebars, actually!

The bus lurches forward, and Seina spies a gap that looks big enough to cram her stuff into. It’s like a gift from heaven, and Seina is delighted--as long as her things are safe, she doesn’t care where she stands!

Seina staggers past another passenger and hurriedly wedges herself into the space, depositing her bags behind her. She slumps against the side of the bus--the metal is cool against her heated skin, but the sensation just makes the sweat drenching her hair and clothes feel even more gross. Seina’s gonna file a complaint with Mother Nature. She’s gonna fight Mother Nature.

Still, Seina is hot and sticky, so she’ll take it. The new construction site she’s helping out at is pretty far from her apartment, which usually isn’t not a problem, but oh God, this heat wave. It’s murder. Brutal. Seina doesn’t think she’s sweat so much in her entire life, and she’s been doing heavy labor since she was big enough to carry a plank of wood.

At least it’s there’s some AC in the bus, although having so many people packed into it kinda makes the vehicle feel stuffy regardless. Seina sighs, shoving her clumped up bangs out of her face. Man, she just wants a shower...

Someone touches her shoulder. Seina jerks and squares up on instinct, hands balled into fists as she whirls around.

“Oh, excuse me…” The hand that touched Seina is attached to a freckled arm, which is in turn connected to a sweet-faced girl with the softest, kindest eyes Seina has ever seen. Her hair is a pale brown, like stained wood, and tied up into a pretty braid that loops around her head like a crown. The world seems to hold its breath, time freezing for one perfect second as Seina takes the stranger in. This person might just be The Most Beautiful Girl in the World--no, strike that maybe, she’s definitely The Most Beautiful Girl in the World!.

Seina’s kind of in awe. Her hands go slack and drop to her sides, and despite the AC, she might be sweating even more now.

Damn! Of all the days to meet someone like this! Seina’s a disgusting, messy sweat troll wrapped up in worn, stained overalls and The Most Beautiful Girl in the World is pristine in a white sundress and the sunlight’s catching in her hair and Seina can see motes of dust in the sunbeams, which of course gather around her like glitter surrounding a fairy tail princess and---

Uggghhhh. Uuuuuuguuuuuuuuh.

Seina is… having a moment.

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World stares back at her, a worried crinkle between her brows. Seina sucks in a loud, desperate breath, and mutters something that might be a ‘yes?’ in one language or another.

“It’s very hot out today, isn’t it?” The Most Beautiful Girl in the World offers. “You don't look very well, and I was wondering if you needed to sit down...?”

“I--! Uh, no, nope! I’m fine!” Seina swipes her hair from her face, grinning as widely as she can. Oh, shit--probably a bad move. She might look super creepy right now.

She tries to save herself. “I’ve been, uh, drinking lots of water, and besides! I only look scrawny, but I’m actually really tough!” Seina flexes, cupping the round ball of her bicep with her other hand.

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World blinks slowly, gaze drifting from Seina’s face to her arm, and then back again.

Seina’s smile feels strained. Why did she do that.

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World, proving herself to also be the Kindest Girl in the World, saves Seina from melting into a puddle of awkward goo. She fishes around in her bag, and Seina takes a break from her embarrassment to admire the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way the sunlight glances through the bus’s windows make it look like the girl is sparkling.

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World finds what she's looking for. “Here,” she says, holding out a folded handkerchief with an encouraging smile. “At least take this. You must be feeling a little grungy, right?”

Seina stares dumbly at the little square cloth. It's got a little purple flower embroidered on the corner. Super cute. If Seina had seen it in the mall, she'd totally buy it.

But she's not at a mall. No, the Most Beautiful Girl in the World is holding out this handkerchief for her, a really gross sweat gremlin, who's been staring for an inappropriately long time, and Seina’s mind kicks back into gear at that realization.

“N-No, I couldn't possibly--” Seina fumbles at the breast of her overalls, trying to dry her clammy hands on the denim. She finds her own crumpled handkerchief shoved in the very corners of her pocket. “I, I’ve got my own, it's nice of you to offer, but I shouldn't--”

Seina pulls out the handkerchief, gray with dust and grime and dried sweat, and offers it up to the Most Beautiful Girl in the World with a desperate smile. She doesn't seem very impressed. If anything, she looks even more worried.

Seina ends up taking the handkerchief just to wipe that look off of the girl’s face. She manages to mumble a ‘thank you’ and drops her gaze to the floor, praying that the Most Beautiful Girl in the World won’t remember her when she leaves the bus. Seina’s cheeks burn like she used a welding torch without a mask. She spends the rest of the ride imagining those gentle eyes hot on her neck, then scolding herself for thinking that the Most Beautiful Girl in the World would bother to look at stinky Seina with anything more than pity--especially after an introduction like that! It’s almost a relief when the bus creaks to a halt at Seina’s stop. She makes a beeline for the door and barely even cares who she hits with her bag on the way out; Seina will always regret making a fool of herself in front of the Most Beautiful Girl in the World, but at least she can’t make it worse when she’s in the confines of her own home.

The heat hits her like a wall and Seina staggers at the curb, holding up a hand against the sun’s merciless glare. Her bag swings and clocks her right in the cheek. Traitor! “Umm…” a gentle, hesitant voice says. A very familiar voice. Seina turns very slowly and finds that she hasn’t left the Most Beautiful Girl in the World behind after all. The girl smiles. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yep, totally fine! I’m tough.” Seina instinctively raises her arm, but remembers halfway through the motion how well her last attempt at flexing went. She lowers it sheepishly.

“Well then, I’m glad.” The Most Beautiful Girl in the World dips her head, and Seina returns in kind before scurrying away. Oh jeez, she hadn’t known they’d get off at the same stop! She would have prepared her heart, and what scraps of dignity she has left, if she had!

But she shouldn’t be so surprised. Seina’s apartment complex sits right in the middle of a college town and all the amenities that come with it. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World might be making a trip to the shopping plaza just a block away, or visiting a friend in one of the brick apartments lining the streets, or any number of things. College towns are hive of activity, but that’s one of the things that drew Seina to this neighborhood in the first place. There’s always something to do and plenty of construction and buildings rising up from the ground. Lots of work to be found for an enterprising girl, and lots of play to be had for a tired worker.

Seina presses the button at the traffic light. Her complex beckons from across the street, a spot of white against the brick of the apartments around it. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World perches on the curb. They exchange an awkward smile. The girl is sweating too, but on her it’s downright attractive. Seina, on the other hand, is pretty sure that she looks like she just stepped out of a shower.

The traffic light chirps and they cross the street as one. Seina’s getting a little anxious now. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World is going to make a turn any time now, she’s sure. Or she’ll keep going past the gate of Seina’s complex, and Seina will probably never see her again except in dreams, and though that’s a sad thought at least she won’t make a fool of herself anymore! Seina has to cling to that thought, or she’ll melt into a goopy puddle of embarrassment and nerves right then and there.

Seina turns. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World Turns. Seina pulls out her keys. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World sticks her hand into her purse.

They reach for the gate at the same time, and a tiny little part of Seina combusts when the realization clicks.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

Seina can’t think of anything to say as The Most Beautiful Girl in the World pulls away, though she’s pretty sure that every cell--no, every atom of her is screaming at the loss. Seina watches the girl’s mouth work, before it settles into a sweet, sweet smile. A tiny miracle.

“I didn’t know you were one of my neighbors.” Neighbors. Neighbors! The Most Beautiful Girl in the World bows as Seina tries to wrap her head around that. “My name is Aihara Miki. It’s nice to meet you at last!”

#kindred spirits on the roof #ksotr #maki seina #aihara miki #mikiseina #peents writes #okay ill b real here this is a WIP that's like... almost 2 years old now #i think?? i decided to finish it after rereading a few chapters of ksotr n ive lost my touch on their dynamic n seina's voice BUT #they're cute. they're cute n the writing for this was good so i HAD to finish it!! i had to!!

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matchaball · 7 years ago

Text

inking indigo | 6 |

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6: Lupines, for the truth in imagination

AN: It’s been a very long while, and I’m so terribly sorry about that! Life happened, as it does. To those of you who stuck around so very patiently and continue to enjoy this story, thank you, thank you, thank you :’)

(I also recommend re-reading chapter 5, as I’ve rewritten a bit of it to fit better with the story!)

( Fanfiction.net ) ( AO3 )

It takes Marinette a few weeks to find the time to visit her parents' place for the weekend. She has sleep to catch up on, a dozen clients to tattoo, a myriad of teases and questions from Alya to answer (or dodge), and an uneasy curiosity growing in the pit of her stomach to poke at.

Her overactive imagination feeds her curiosity without reserve as her thoughts inevitably turn back to Adrien, soaked in sunlight and covered in flowers. For how soft he seems, she doesn't know why his touch is so sharp upon her nerves. Why his presence lingers in her skin long after, a buzzing that sits close to her bones.

It's a little familiar, that sensation. Growing up immersed in gymnastics and track makes fatigue a familiar friend; pain, even more so, though it was never cuts or bruises or blisters that bothered her. Sometimes, an ache would build, then knot in an elusive hiding place on her body. Marinette spent hours absentmindedly prodding her muscles and joints, seeking bruises she couldn't see but only feel.

They were never where she expected them to be. It'd be the spot beneath her wrist bone. The spot on her side, right along a rib. The spot on her shin, off center. She was always covered in them, phantom black under the flushed red of her skin.

Adrien's impact leaves a similar mark on her, somehow. Visiting him sporadically at the flower shop in the past few weeks helps prod different spots in her, but a recent influx of clients wanting new tattoos keeps their meetings brief and their friendship confined to texts. It's not the same, but the distance helps her think.

She'd find the spot, wherever the curiosity has planted itself within her.

"Something the matter, Mari-berry?" Tom's easygoing voice breaks through her thoughts effortlessly. The childhood nickname transforms her to a kid of six, small pudgy hands mushing fondant like clay, instead of a young woman with strong, capable hands currently slamming bread dough relentlessly into submission on the kitchen table.

"A lot on my mind, papa," Marinette admits, grimacing as she unsticks her fingers from the goopy pile of dough. "It's just been a busy month."

Tom levels a considering gaze at his daughter, before taking in the number of pastries crowded on every available surface of the kitchen. Three intricately decorated pies rest on the small round table like plates set out for dinner. Cupcakes frosted to look like roses bloom across the plains of the countertops. Even little turtles made of matcha bread with chocolate crackled shells peek out over the top of the microwave and the fridge.

Marinette only ever baked so much when she was stressed or thoroughly preoccupied with a problem. Her hands could never stay still for long.

Tom asked, "Anything you want to share with your old pa?"

"You're not old," Marinette counters immediately, the words jumping out from age-old habit. The trick works though, and Tom's answering chuckle prompts a smile to rise on her face. She sprinkles more flour onto the kitchen table, picks up the slab of dough, and slams it down again. As she folds the dough over and lifts it up to smack down, she adds, "It's nothing, I think. Won't Louis and Camille need you downstairs?"

"My assistants can manage ten minutes without me, especially when you look like you're beating the air out of your dough instead of adding it. What has that bread ever done to you?"

"Nothing," Marinette mutters. "Absolutely nothing."

The frustration in her voice is much more telling than her words. Sensing that he was getting close, Tom guesses, "If it's not the bread, is it about your tattoos?" As Marinette's head shoots up to stare at him, eyes wide like she's been caught in headlights, he laughs, "I might not've noticed when you first got your ears pierced, but I can sure see the new ink on your shoulder."

Marinette's hand lifts automatically to cover the white anemones capping her shoulder. Her fingers press down on the deep blue centers, feeling for that bruise.

"I feel all- jittery," Marinette admits, searching for the right words. "Like... like I've got growing pains again."

"Maybe you'll finally be taller than me," Tom chortles, merely laughing away the blob of bread dough that Marinette smears onto his cheek. "Growing pains eh? Maybe your body is getting used to having new tattoos?"

"I've never heard of that happening before." Marinette's frown focuses on her pile of dough as she throws it down in thought. "Did you ever get pains?"

"Not that I can recall," Tom says. He hums and strokes his mustache as he thinks, planting his elbow solidly on the table to bare the pillar of his forearm.

No one has tattoo sleeves quite like her papa. Marinette's childhood is stitched onto his skin in outlines of dragonflies, astronaut dogs, twirling dancers, dinosaurs, and masked heroes. His tattoos came to life in a completely unique way. Under the patient colouring of her markers and wandering narration of her imagination, they'd become so vibrant that they seemed to move. They never actually did, but Tom would bear her artistic masterpieces with such pride and humour that it never mattered. He enjoyed entertaining curious customers with the stories she made up.

The drawings sit on his skin now, still and empty. Marinette always wondered how his tattoos would react if his soulmate ever did touch them. Would they colour themselves in with his soul, like she once did for him with her markers?

She wonders if they'd ever find out, but the curiosity is faint and fleeting. Tom loved her colourings as much as any effect he'd get from a true soulmate. He called her artistic efforts perfect, and perfect his tattoos have always been to her ever since.

"Your first tattoo never gave you any trouble?" Marinette asks.

The tattoo sleeves came after she was born, but the laurel leaves inked across his collarbones were Tom's first. These are solid black, stark and strong against his skin- a tattoo he'd gotten on a whim, but grew into as he realized his ambitions as a successful baker and pastry chef.

"Nope," Tom chuckles, tapping his collarbone. "I remember this one. I wanted to be outside with my friends instead of sitting in that chair waiting to be stabbed over and over again by a tiny little needle."

Marinette bursts out laughing, lifting fingers covered in flour and bread dough to poke at his arm over and over in a mocking imitation.

"It's not that bad!"

"It took forever," Tom sighs dramatically, playing up the memory. "Master Fu was slower than a turtle. So no, I never got pains, but I sure was scared of growing old in that chair."

"If you'd gotten old, Master Fu would've been a fossil," Marinette laughs. She slaps the ball of dough down on the table, applying the proper amount of force this time.

Tom nods in approval. "It would've matched his tattoos at the very least."

He watches Marinette knead the dough, hands ever in motion, before motioning for her to move over. As she relinquishes her task with a puzzled expression, Tom takes over, expertly folding the dough over and continuing the process.

Before Marinette can protest the loss of her bread, Tom says, "Anyway, if it's tattoo problems you're having, maybe try talking to your mom." Correctly interpreting her stubborn silence, he comments, "You can't avoid the problem forever."

"I'm not avoiding," Marinette protests. "I'm… I'm thinking."

"About?"

A frown furrows Marinette's brow as she looks up at him; in the blue of her eyes, he can see a dozen thoughts soaring by, her mind somewhere far away where he can't reach.

"About why something hurts," she says slowly. Then, quietly, like a thought she meant to keep to herself but escaped in her exhale, "Why do I hurt?"

It's jarring and not just a bit upsetting that the normally cheerful and confident shine to Marinette's bright eyes are shadowed by an uncertainty and just a hint of fear that Tom doesn't understand. It makes her look paradoxically both much younger and older- and for a frightening moment, Tom doesn't recognize the young woman in front of him.

Who is his little girl growing up to become?

"If what hurts?" Sabine asks, her voice floating ahead of her steps as she comes down the stairs from Marinette's old bedroom. The question had been at the tip of Tom's tongue too.

A ripples of emotion pass through Marinette's face as she tries to define her issue, but in the end, she simply points to her new tattoos. The pleading look Marinette gives Sabine is one Tom hasn't seen since Marinette was a little girl, forever asking her parents for answers to the million and one questions she had burning in her precocious mind.

"I see," Sabine says gently. Tom's glad at least one of them apparently does. He can't make heads or tails of what Marinette's trying to say. "Who is it?"

Marinette reddens. "A new friend." She reddens even more, the freckles staining her nose like sunspots, as Sabine smiles knowingly.

There was a leap of understanding taken that saw Sabine to the other side where Marinette was waiting, but Tom is still stuck across the divide. He glances between his two girls before decisively collecting the bread dough into his hands.

"I'll finish this downstairs." He motions with glob in his hands as Sabine and Marinette look over to him. Confusion creases into the corners of Marinette's puzzled frown but it's Sabine's single nod that encourages him to leave rather than stay. "I can't help with your pain, but I can definitely help you with your pain."

Laughter lights the room as Sabine chuckles and Marinette groans good-naturedly at his pun. Tom leaves on that note, carrying Marinette's lighthearted smile with him rather than the fear that had turned her into a stranger. His faith in Sabine's ability to help her though, is absolute. He knew it the moment she walked in the room and only needed to ask a single question.

Just like Sabine, to get right to the heart of the matter.

"So, a new friend," Sabine comments as she fills the kettle with water for tea. She delicately maneuvers around the dozens of baked goods Marinette's crammed onto every available surface. "It wouldn't happen to be someone from the Catmint Print now, would it?"

Marinette looks more resigned than surprised at her mother's intuition. "Alya told you, didn't she."

"I don't need Alya to tell me there's someone special when you've always come back from that store with a smile on your face and more flowers than you paid for. But not just a smile," Sabine observes, reaching over and cupping Marinette's cheek gently. "You're uneasy about something."

Sabine's hand falls away as Marinette moves to take a seat by the counter. Marinette's fingers find the peonies tattooed on her wrist, smoothing over them thoughtfully.

"Why do we need tattoos?" Marinette eventually asks.

The kettle whistles into the air, giving Sabine a moment to think about her answer as she pours two mugs of tea.

"It's to let the soul breathe," she says slowly as she sets a mug down in front of Marinette. "A tattoo is like opening a window."

"A window works both ways," Marinette points out as she wraps her hands around the ceramic. "You can reach out and someone could reach in."

"Yes," Sabine concedes. "That's how we find our soulmates. In that way, tattoos are also an invitation."

"For a human connection," Marinette clarifies.

"Yes."

Quiet falls over them as Marinette turns a thought over in her mind.

"So what does it mean," she finally says, "if someone doesn't have any tattoos?"

"Oh, that's simple," Sabine smiles as Marinette takes a sip from her mug. "They haven't got a soul then."

"Wha-!" Marinette chokes, nearly spitting her tea out. She groans as Sabine starts laughing.

"My darling, you think too much here-" Sabine knocks on Marinette's head "-and not enough here." She taps Marinette's heart and smiles fondly.

"You and papa," Marinette finally laughs, shaking her head. "I'm gonna get you back good for that someday."

"Someday," Sabine chuckles indulgently. "But someone who doesn't have a tattoo? Like a child?"

"No, my age," Marinette corrects. The cup twirls in her hands as she thinks.

"Hmm." Sabine taps her chin in thought. "I've only heard of very rare cases like that. Like I said, tattoos let your soul breathe- and I mean that literally. It balances out the yin and yang within the body and self. We take the dark within us- the yin- and give it light and colour- the yang."

"The souls are dark?" Marinette asks as she sits up straight and leans forward with vivid curiosity. "This sounds a little like magic."

"Maybe," Sabine laughs. "It's what I learned from Master Fu, and he from his teacher, and what has been passed down from tattoo artist to tattoo artist throughout generations. This is why what we do is so important, this balancing, even if other people may not realize it. It's a necessity, but it's also a gift. Whether or not it's magic, it's ultimately about the yin and yang within ourselves. And with each other. We are social creatures after all. Our most powerful relationships transform us."

"It's why our tattoos can move?"

"Precisely," Sabine smiles. "What can the dark do, but give the light a place to shine? And what gives shape to the light, but the dark? When you find that balance, that's when you make a home of yourself."

Even when coached as a lesson, Sabine's words fall as soft and familiar as a storybook tale. Marinette's childhood was saturated by the stories Sabine used to tell her. Some were myths, some were made up, some were read from books, some explained her tattoos, but they were all masterfully and artfully told by Sabine. If imagination had a voice, young Marinette always imagined it as her mother's.

The graceful lines of Sabine's hands lead up to her arms, bared by her t-shirt. If Tom's tattoos were Marinette's childhood colouring book, Sabine's were her picture books. Circles the size of large coins march a straight line from Sabine's wrist to shoulder, each encapsulating an exquisitely rendered scene from Wenzhou, China.

Marinette remembers visiting Wenzhou once when she was little, but her own memories are merely faint echoes of crowded streets, long ferry rides, and relatives plying her with more food than she could consume in several lifetimes. But even if her own recollections are hazy, each of Sabine's tattoos are as vivid and dimensional as miniature dioramas; looking at each scene really does feel like peering through a window into another world. Marinette can almost hear the overlapping cries of vendors yelling across the market of bright, delicately inked fruits and vegetables on her mother's arm, or smell the warm salt of the impossibly blue waters of Nanji Island as they lap against the rocky cliffs. The tattoos of the lush green mountains of Wuyanling appear soft as a watercolour dream, but Marinette knows them to be truly like that thanks to Sabine's stories, her memories.

The tattoos are of a different time and place of the same woman who makes Marinette crêpes when she's sick, who exchanges quick volleys of jokes and well wishes with the easy fluency of one born and raised in Paris, and who strolls along the Seine and tucked away back alleyways alike, utterly at home. And despite the life built upon the tattoo shop then the bakery, Sabine's tattoos are an everlasting reminder of her heritage, keeping her memories close and fresh as the day they were collected, no matter how long ago.

Marinette understands then, what her mother means when the soul needs to breathe through their tattoos. All that history, all that life in her soul should have the chance to shine through somehow, somewhere.

A frown crinkles Marinette's brow as she remembers her original problem. "So, if you've got no tattoos…"

"If there's no outlet," Sabine muses, "I suppose there's no telling what could happen."

A chill runs a light finger down Marinette's spine. Lightning, she remembers. A sudden possibility alights in her mind, one she's never considered.

"Could- could a soul make its own window?" Marinette suggests slowly. "Like… break out?"

Now Sabine frowns, worry clouding her expression. "I don't know. I've never had an experience with something or someone like that. Master Fu might be able to help you more." She watches Marinette twirl her cup faster and faster, tea rising over the lip and breaking upon its edge. She stops the frantic motion with a gentle hand. "You should keep an eye on your friend and make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else around him."

"I felt him. It," Marinette blurts out. She releases her mug and juts her wrist out, pointing at the peonies sprawled over her skin. "Here. I felt- something, like, something coming through me and trying to find a way out."

"Is that why you got these too?" Sabine asks, her hand rising as if to touch the silver and blue anemones peeking out from the apron straps on Marinette's shoulder. Her fingers stop just shy of contact. "To provide another outlet? To help him?"

Profound shock eclipses every other emotion in Marinette's expression.

"I…" she starts, but trails off as her thoughts scatter. She finds them again as she remembers her fingers sunk in cool earth, of enveloping sunbeams and accidental static electricity, of the difference between perfection and happiness.

Her emotions have been a mix, a constant surprise around Adrien, but her actions have always been clear- even if they didn't immediately seem so to her at first.

"Yes," Marinette says simply. The realization, the admittance tastes strange in her mouth. She doesn't know what to make of it. "Whenever we touch, it's like…"

A sharp bang of the front door opening strikes between their conversation, making them both jump. Marinette's tea finally succeeds in sloshing over the edge and splashing down over the countertop as she starts.

"Like that," Marinette whispers.

The faint approach of footfalls is overshadowed by Sabine's hum as a look of intense thought creases her face.

"That's not how a soulmate is supposed to feel right?" Marinette rushes into the pause. "But that's also not how a normal person should feel either."

"No," Sabine answers thoughtfully. "It's not. And he didn't touch your tattoos?"

Marinette shakes her head. "He didn't have to."

"But you felt him." Sabine frowns. "So how did he get in like that then?"

"You speak friend!" The earlier interruption pokes his head in, the wide smile on his face undimmed by the shadow of his baseball cap. "And enter!"

A stunned silence greets Nino as Marinette and Sabine start, unprepared for his sudden appearance.

"Uhh." Nino's eyes widen sheepishly as he takes in the spilled tea, Marinette's preoccupied expression, and the thought creased deeply into the lines on Sabine's face. "Bad time?"

"Nonsense." Sabine recovers smoothly, rising up from her chair and coming forward to peck his cheeks in greeting. She bows around a familiar basket hanging from his arm. "You know you're always welcome here."

"Thanks," Nino grins, stooping down to kiss her cheeks back. "By the way, Tom asked me to ask you if you could come down and help him decorate the special order? I'm assuming he means the thousand and one tarts that's invaded the back kitchen."

"Oh dear. I better go," Sabine sighs, setting her cup down in the sink and wiping her hands. She levels a measuring look at Marinette, still clearly turning over the problem in her mind. "We'll talk later, ok?"

"Yeah," Marinette answers distractedly, her gaze locked on the basket swinging innocently from Nino's arm. "You should save papa before he stays up all night decorating them to perfection."

"He does like to get things just right," Sabine laughs. "Make yourself at home, Nino."

"Thanks," Nino grins as he sets the basket down on a patch of bare counter space. As Sabine heads down, he turns to Marinette and adds, "You definitely get the perfectionism from your dad."

Marinette narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Thanks?"

Nino merely raises an eyebrow and looks meaningfully at the rose frosted cupcakes, the matcha and chocolate turtles, and the large pies overcrowding the kitchen.

The thought of telling him that the quantity of baked goods is a result from overthinking rather than perfectionism dances at the tip of Marinette's tongue, but she lets go a good-natured laugh in defeat instead.

"Anyway… 'speak friend, and enter'?" Marinette asks, an eyebrow quirked as Nino slides into a seat next to her at the counter.

"Adrien and I binged through all of Lord of the Rings this weekend," Nino explains. He reaches up to rub tired eyes, knocking his glasses askew in the process. "The extended versions, too. I totally forgot so many details in the movies. Did you remember that orcs are born from that gross goopy mud? Although, speaking of…"

He snags a used mixing bowl and collects a chunk of cookie dough with the swipe of his finger. He looks at Marinette and pauses, a finger in his mouth and an uncomfortably knowing twinkle in his eye. "Are you wearing Adrien's apron?"

"Don't insult my baking like that," Marinette evades, trying to laugh the jibe about orc goop off instead of answering his sharp observation. "Especially if you've just come here to mooch."

"I would never," Nino deadpans, bringing hand over his heart in mock hurt. As if he didn't spend most of his childhood and adolescence gleefully chowing down every treat Sabine and Tom always left for him, Alya, and Marinette to consume after school. He quirks a smile. "You're definitely wearing Adrien's apron. It's got the flowershop logo on it."

Marinette's cheeks heat up and she hastily stands and bustles to the sink, grabbing a dirty mixing bowl to scrub clean.

"I just haven't had the chance to return it to him," she defends, not meeting Nino's eyes. His gaze is always the one that catches her unaware, at times she never expects so can never prepare for. "And it's the only clean apron I've got at the moment."

"Uh huh." The dryness of Nino's tone isn't one she can fight against. Sometimes, Marinette thinks he knows her weak spots better than even Alya. He softens and relents. "Though speaking of, Adrien asked me to bring this back to you."

He nudges the basket on the countertop with his elbow, uttering a soft "Oh shi-" as he accidentally knocks a turtle off the edge. He catches it just by the tip of his fingers as he lunges for it, saving it from a crumbly demise upon the floor.

Marinette pauses, bowl and sponge dripping from her hands, before setting them both down in the sink and wiping her hands dry on her apron. A small sound of surprise escapes her as she draws the basket towards her, finding it heavier than she expected.

NIno comes up, turtle in hand, and watches expectantly.

The lid folds back under Marinette's hands, and a soft sea of blue and purple lupines greets her. She plucks a single stem up, watching as the tall spike waves up with the weight of the numerous blooms spiraling around the long stalk. The blooms at the tip remain closed still, still green and growing, graduating into full bloom towards the lower end of the stem. Marinette's fingers hover over the fully opened flowers at the bottom, just shy of touching a violet rich and vibrant enough to taste.

She lowers the flower to place on the countertop and changes her mind halfway, tucking it instead into the pocket of her apron. When she closes the lid of the basket, her hands are shaking. The mashup of her emotions churn in her mind, whirling faster and faster and faster until-

"He bugs me," Marinette blurts out.

Nino freezes mid-bite, the turtle pastry dangling precariously from his fingertips. He looks, wide-eyed, at Marinette. "Uhh…"

"No no no, ugh, that came out wrong." Frustrated, Marinette runs her hands through her short hair until it stands on end. "I like Adrien. A lot! Like, maybe indecently sometimes. Wait, maybe that's too much info..."

"I'm getting mixed messages here."

"Arghhhh!" Marinette groans. She topples forward until her forehead clunks down on the countertop. "Shouldn't this, whatever this is, be easy for me to figure out? Or like, simple at least? He's a great guy and a great friend."

Slowly, as if not to startle her, Nino says, "I mean, I've known Adrien long enough to tell you that he's got issues like any other person." He takes off one of the turtle's legs in a large bite. As he chews, he continues, "But all things considered, he's really chill."

"He is!" Marinette rolls her head so her cheek rests on the counter as she looks up to Nino. "That's why I don't get why I'm so jumbled around him?"

"You like him?" Nino suggests bluntly, taking off the turtle's head next. He snorts as Marinette puffs her cheeks and petulantly blows flour off from the countertop up at him. "You've never been very subtle or smooth when you've liked someone, Mari. You're usually barely coherent."

"Thanks Nino. I knew I could count on you to lift my spirits and help me out. Where would I be without you," Marinette deadpans.

"I could channel Alya instead and use your cell to phone Adrien so you could ask him out. Right now."

"Oh god please, no," Marinette laughs. "You're the worst."

"Maybe I'd be doing you a favour," Nino shrugs. He finishes the rest of the turtle with a decisive chomp and reaches for another. "You think too much in your head sometimes. You should just go with the flow."

"You know I don't do improv well. I'm a planner."

"You're an overthinker. Still a perfectionist either way," he teases. After a moment's thought, he starts laughing. "Yeah… you really don't do improv well."

"That was one time," Marinette protests loudly as she guesses what's on his mind, "and we were both like, thirteen! Asking you out through a phone call was Alya's idea."

"Was rambling on about homework for fifteen minutes in the beginning her idea too?" Nino raises a brow, a shit-eating grin on his face. "I loved the part where you called me a 'cool dude'."

"I was nervous!" Marinette throws her hands up. "I panicked!"

"My favourite bit," Nino chuckles, "was when you phoned back right after hanging up because you forgot to actually ask me out the first time around."

"No wonder you said no."

"Hey, I panicked too! Alya gave me such a hard time about it…"

"Yeah, she really ripped through you afterwards," Marinette laughs, remembering. "That's ok, our timing was never really right. We always kept missing one another. And then you and Alya found out about each other…"

"Hey," Nino interrupts, voice gone soft. "Alya might be my soulmate, but that doesn't make what I felt about you any less real or any less… well, less. I always felt really lucky, that you liked me too." A faint smile steals over his face as Marinette leans over and pecks his cheek. As she draws away, she feels the what-if strung between them, hanging for a weighted second. It slips away when he continues, "I know Adrien would feel like the luckiest guy too, if he knew how you felt about him."

"I don't even know how I really feel about him," Marinette points out, sighing as she leans down on the counter with crosses arms. The lupine presses against her hip as she rests against the counter, suddenly making her self-conscious of who's apron she was conspicuously wearing.

"Don't you?" Nino looks pointedly at said apron. "C'mon now."

Marinette chews her bottom lip in thought and resists the childish urge to pluck out a lupine and jab it into Nino's face, more to evade the whole conversation than anything else. If only it was as simple as merely liking Adrien.

"Alright," she says. "Maybe I do. You've known him for a while, don't you find him easy to like? And I don't mean because he's a famous and ridiculously good looking actor or model or something. There's something… else to him."

A thoughtful look steals over Nino's expression as he helps himself to another shortbread turtle. He plays with it between his fingers as he slowly pieces his thoughts aloud. "You know how some people are really attractive, but the more you talk to them, the less attractive they seem to get? Like there's just no substance underneath. Maybe they're rude, or bigoted, or whatever. And then there's sort of the opposite. There're people who only get better the more you get to know them, like their personality shines through and their face becomes something... else. Something more." He looks at Marinette and says, easily, "Adrien's probably one of the most beautiful people I know."

"... dang Nino," Marinette breathes. "Are you sure you guys aren't soulmates?"

"Nah," he chuckles. "Well, at least not for me. We checked. Can't say for him though since he hasn't got any tattoos. Although…"

The way Nino's brow suddenly furrows as a question enters his expressive eyes has Marinette leaning forward and prompting him with, "What?"

"Well, you know my tattoos. And you know what happens when Alya touches them."

"Mmhmm," Marinette hums. His first tattoos had been just two simple thin lines running parallel down his back, years ago when they all got their first tattoos. Since then, he's come to her for an expansion, turning two strings into a geometric symphony across his back and down his arms in sweeping curvilinear lines that run the entire expanse of his back like a music staff given wings. They reach down to his forearms, looping over and over until they converge and end in a single point on his wrists.

She'd teased him on how he turned his compositions into math like a nerd, but even though she suffered multiple hand cramps and fierce headaches from the intense concentration of maintaining so many clean lines, she thinks his tattoos may be one that she's proudest to have done.

"The strings vibrate. I've seen it."

"Yeah." Nino runs a hand over his head, as if bracing himself, then taps the visible ink on his arm. "But that's only half of it. I hear it, in my head, the different notes and sounds that Alya can bring out when she touches my tattoos. I guess like synesthesia. But the thing is, I sometimes hear- I think I hear echoes when I'm around certain people, like you or Adrien. But it's nothing definitive, it's just… a resonance. And that frequency can sometimes change, like it's being tuned. Like when I first met Adrien, nothing. Now I get… it's weird, it's like a dissonance somehow, but it's still something. It's like my tattoos are telling me, there's a maybe."

Marinette frowns. "A maybe? Soulmates are a sure thing Nino. Either you know, or you don't."

"All I'm saying is, maybe things can change," he argues. "I like to think it can, anyway."

"Like away, but soulmates are fact. They're predetermined. That's not something that just changes."

"Who says they can't?"

"Like, everyone."

"Well I volunteer as tribute then, to be the first to prove you all wrong," Nino chuckles. "I know what I hear. What I feel. Even now, sitting here next to you, there's- something." His fingers ghost over the lines on his forearms, as if playing them like an instrument.

"Maybe you're reacting to something else," Marinette frowns.

"Feel free to check me yourself, and see where we stand," he offers with an easy grin. "I promise, no matter what my tattoos do, nothing will change unless you want it to."

She's fairly certain she knows the answer already, and the temptation to actually know makes her fingers itch. Still, she shakes her head and emphatically replies, "No."

Nino shrugs, easy-going, but doesn't quite let her off the hook this time. "I know you don't like anyone touching your tattoos but… why again?"

"I don't want to know," Marinette frowns. "I don't want something that's supposedly predestined to be confirmed. I want to do things and choose people my own way."

"I get that," Nino comments thoughtfully as he helps himself to a cupcake. Instead of immediately biting into the delicate flowers iced on top, he carefully traces a petal with a gentle finger. "But I don't think that's entirely it."

"What do you mean?" A strange, sinking sensation twists in her stomach, the sort of gut feeling that tells her she won't like what she's going to hear.

"I think," Nino says, looking up and squarely into her eyes, "that you don't like being vulnerable."

The words come at Marinette like a blow. She takes the punch, even as it bruises her pride with its truth, and rallies back, "Who likes being exposed? So many people get hurt that way."

"Yeah- like you," Nino points out.

His simple observation hurts, like pressing a bruise she never realized she had. She's spent so long thinking of others, of drawing boundaries so she wouldn't hurt them, that concern for her own well-being hides so cleverly and carefully behind those walls. She doesn't like to admit that selfishness has a part in feeding the roots of her actions.

"And what," Marinette frowns. "You're M. Invincible now, are you?"

"Oh hell," Nino laughs, of all things. "Mari, I'm always scared. My imagination has enough running around in there to make me anxious all the time. I'm always vulnerable."

"That sounds terrible," Marinette retorts. "I'd hate feeling like I couldn't do something about that."

"So your way of 'doing something about it' is to keep everything a secret? That doesn't make you invincible either. What makes you think that someone like Adrien's not feeling the exact same way?"

"Annoyed?"

"Scared."

The lupine in Marinette's apron pocket bows into her hand as she reaches for it. Her hand involuntarily closes into a fist as she grips its stem. When she brings it up to light, she can feel the purple petals staining her palms like phantom bruises. Adrien's marigold apron suddenly feels strange on her body, like wearing a skin that's not quite her own. But in some ways, it's similar, familiar in a way she's always known. They both know how to hide behind their jobs, the duty of it.

It's a defensive position, at best. But the game Adrien plays these days is very different, open among the flowers and under the sun. And maybe that's all happiness really is: something heady, encompassing, and ultimately ephemeral. Even sunshine can't last forever.

Her hand unfurls, revealing fewer stains among her fingers than she expects. The lupine falls to cover her entire hand, its tip pointing away like a compass. She doesn't need much imagination to wonder where- or who- it'll take her to.

"I guess the risks wouldn't really be worth it," Marinette murmurs, the weight of Adrien's kindness balanced in her palm, "if you didn't have something to lose."

AN2: It’s been nearly a year!! Dishonour on me, my cow, etc etc etc. Two big things happened: I graduated, and I got a job!!! It’s been crazy fun and intense and exciting, but incredibly time-consuming and energy-draining. At the end of most days, I cook lunch, walk my dog, then fall right into bed.

Regardless, a million, million, million apologies for how long this chapter took! This story was always lowkey slow cooking in my mind no matter how busy I got, and tbh, I think a long simmer was what I needed for this story to go through. For both plot and personal reasons. I do realize that the long chapters and long wait between chapters makes this slow burn painfully slow, but I hope you’re enjoying the ride nonetheless :’) The unbelievably sweet, supportive, patient, and encouraging comments kept this story alive for me, and continues to do so when I’m sitting in front of a blank page thinking, I can’t do this. But I can, and I will, because this story is still wonderfully fun for me to write, and because it’s such a joy to find it makes other people happy- even now, after so long :’)

(Now here’s hoping I can get chapter 7 out before Christmas!)

Tom’s tattoos. Sabine’s tattoos. Nino’s tattoos.

And also an enormous thank you to-

♥ @jesuisunjardin (for this lovely adrinette sketch) ♥ @kwamikwami (for this gorgeous moodboard) ♥ @larvesta (for this INCREDIBLE comic of chapter 3!) ♥ @chiumonster (for this perfect adrinette moment in the flowershop) ♥ @lunecake (for a fabulous cosplay, and two wonderful drawings) ♥ @12hues (for making me cry. TWICE.) ♥ @qookyquiche (for this darling adrinette drawing) ♥ @maaarble (for this beautiful Marinette moment in chapter 3) ♥ @goonlalagoon (for a great rendition of Luck be A Lady and the Catmint Print)

#mlfanfiction #miraculous ladybug #adrinette #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #fanfiction #inking indigo #to those who thought this story was abandoned: SURPRISE #i'm still alive and kicking here :')#(and i hope some of you are too! it's been so long i wouldn't be surprised if this story was just #singing to an empty opera house at this point)#but here it is! do take a look if you're interested :)#happy reading!#matcha writes

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bloodandcream · 7 years ago

Text

Title: The kids these days are calling it polyamory

Pairing: MegxCasxKevin

Rating: General

Wordcount: 2,119

Notes: written for @theactualpiemaker and @spnpolybingo, square ‘Meet the Family’

The box fan in the window droned noisily over the occasional burst of traffic in the street outside, the low level hum of Cas’ aquarium by the bookshelves a white noise Meg had learned to block out. It was an uneventful but rare Saturday off work, too hot in late June and Meg almost wished she was at work where there was at least air conditioning.

Sitting cross legged on one side of the couch, Cas had both his feet on her thigh and a book propped on his bare belly. He was usually always naked or in boxers around the apartment, whether it was summer or winter. Across the coffee table scattered with empty glasses and the overspilling mail basket, Kevin sat staring blankly at a cook book. His half finished grocery list sat next to his elbow while he quietly continued his break down in fits and starts.

Meg was getting used to how much Kevin freaked out on a regular basis. She continued calmly painting Cas’ nails a shimmery midnight blue.

“I mean, do you guys even want to meet my mother? It’s a little early for that, anyway. Right?” Kevin asked.

Meg shrugged, “I could take it or leave it.”

Cas set his book on his belly and turned his head. “I’d love to meet your mother.”

“But I don’t know how to explain this to her. I told her I was moving in with my boyfriend a month ago and she won’t stop asking me to bring him over for dinner but I didn’t tell her that my boyfriend had a girlfriend who’s kind of my girlfriend and I don’t know how to explain any of this.”

“Kevin,” Cas said firmly, “take a deep breath.”

Nodding, Kevin breathed quietly for a minute. Meg capped the nail polish and shook it. It was getting a little old and goopy.

“I mean, it’s not like I want to hide you, you know?”

Leaning back against the couch arm, Meg told him, “I’m not really the kind of girl you take home to parents. You can hide me all you want.”

Cas nudged his foot into her stomach reproachingly.

Meg swatted his shin, “Hey, watch those toes.”

“From what you’ve told me of your mother,” Cas said, “She sounds very nice.”

“I mean, if I keep my GPA up at school and visit her at least once a week, but, she wants to know everything. I can’t lie to her.”

“Just not telling her things, isn’t really lying,” Meg suggested, starting on the second coat.

“Oh, she would know.” Kevin insisted.

“Then tell her that you have a boyfriend and a girlfriend,” Cas said. “It’s not that complicated.”

Meg rolled her eyes, thought about how many years Cas and her had been together in some way. Her benchmark for a relationship was sex, which they never had, but Cas defined it in some other weird, emotional way. She supposed that the off-again-on-again D/s thing they had occasionally - between Cas’ attempts at dating other people which usually crashed and burned - that that was some kind of something beyond friendship.

Adding Kevin into the mix - a boyfriend of Cas’ that didn’t leave after finding out about the whole no sex thing or the hey this is my friend Meg who ties me up and whips me on the weekends - after he had moved in with the two of them when the last semester ended, instead of going back to his mom’s for the summer, and they were all… something more than roommates. Plus, he and Meg were banging now. Come to think of it, Meg hadn’t had sex or scened with anyone outside of Kevin and Cas since the start of summer.

Meg concentrated on painting Cas’ nails. “It’s pretty complicated.”

Kevin groaned and dropped his head against the book.

Every single day for the past week, Meg had had to listen to Kevin worrying about the dinner his mom had insisted on that Saturday. Over breakfast, it was the ‘Should I tell her about the bdsm thing, that’s not something you tell your mom right?’. And coming home from work it was ‘Meg please don’t talk about sex at dinner’.

Cas didn’t get scolded.

The box fan in the bedroom window whirred steadily, blowing hot air from outside across the three of them sprawled in bed. The laptop was open on the foot of the bed, Orange is the New Black playing episodes back to back on Netflix as they ate ice cream. Meg felt like she was ice cream, melting in the goddam heat.

Cas sat in the middle, propped up against a mound of pillows with the ice cream in his lap. Mint chocolate chip, one of Meg’s favorites.

Over the music of the intro, Kevin asked, “Is it too much to put on her?”

“What do you mean?” Cas humored him.

“I mean, I came out as bi my freshman year, then trans my sophomore year, now it’s hey mom I’m in a polyamorous relationship.”

“She’s taken everything else well so far, hasn’t she?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. But I mean. Is that even something you come out as. Polyamorous? That’s not like a … an orientation or anything. How do you come out as polyamorous?”

“It’s a lifestyle choice,” Cas said, “but it can be difficult to explain. Given that it’s not the default setting of a relationship, in a sense one can ‘come out’ as polyamorous.”

When he used air-quotes, Cas spattered chocolate chip ice cream on Meg. She picked it off her boobs and ate it.

“Hey, the next episode is starting,” she warned them.

“Oh my god it’s almost Saturday. Why did I tell her we could come this Saturday? I need more time.”

Meg reached across Cas to slap Kevin on the thigh. “Kev, your mom is going to love Cas. Everyone loves Cas. I’ll bring dessert, I’ll make my gluten free devil’s cake. She’ll have to like me. Everyone likes a person that can make cake.”

Cas hummed his agreement. “Do you really think that your mother will have a problem with it?”

“I don’t know, I mean she’s my mom. All she does is work and clean and worry about me.”

Meg told him, “You might be surprised what your mother gets up to when you’re not around.”

“Oh god, please don’t make me think about that.”

Laughing, Meg scraped the soft stuff off the sides of the carton. “Hey, did you tell her Cas has Celiac’s?”

“Yeah. She’s probably spent the last week researching it and what to cook.”

“Everything will be fine,” Cas reassured.

Meg leaned against the doorframe to their bedroom, watching Kevin pacing between the closet and dresser.

“What do I wear? Jeans or slacks?”

“If you don’t put something on, we’re going to be late.” Meg told him.

Grabbing a pair of jeans, Kevin pulled them up and looped a brown leather belt through the waist. Wearing a tan binder, he put a white tank over it and got a white button down out of the closet.

On the bed, Cas was already dressed in a perfectly respectable button down and black pleated skirt, hairy legs on display. The cat sat on Cas’ belly, nudging against his hand, purring, shedding all over his nice outfit.

Fuck that, Meg was wearing jean shorts and a spaghetti strap, it was too goddam hot for anything else.

Holding up two ties, one a striped green and one solid green, Kevin stopped in the middle of the room and gaped at Meg.

“You are not wearing that.”

“Yeah, I am.” Meg rolled her eyes.

“Meg you can’t meet my mom looking like that! No cleavage. Please.”

His big brown eyes looked utterly panicked.

“It’s summer, and I’m hot.”

“My mom’s house has A/C.”

“Hey, I am who I am, your mom can take it or leave it.”

Kevin groaned, scowled at her, and went back to agonizing over ties. Cas stood and went to the closet, came out with the one fancy blouse that Meg had for work interviews.

“Please put this on.”

Standing in front of her, Cas held the shirt up to Meg.

“I made dessert, I don’t have to get dressed up,” Meg protested.

“Put the shirt on.”

Cas glared at her. He could be an implacable, stone son of a bitch when he wanted to be. Meg was not going to make it out of the house dressed as she was.

Kevin sounded like he might be hyperventilating on the other side of the room.

Huffing, Meg grabbed the shirt roughly and pulled it on.

“Fine.”

Kevin did not shut up the whole way to his mom’s house, rehashing every doubt and everything that could go wrong while Meg steered through sedately winding suburb roads. The houses here were nice, well-kept, big but not mansion sized. All the lawns were neatly trimmed and there were people out jogging on the sidewalks.

Fucking jogging. In summer.

“Pull in here,” Kevin gestured at a driveway.

Bright hydrangea bushes framed the doorway to a tidy house, backyard fenced in, not a weed in sight.

“Your house is lovely,” Cas commented.

Neighborhoods like this kind of gave Meg the creeps. She grabbed the cake dish from the footwell after pocketing the keys and followed the others up the walkway.

Kevin took the lead, knocking on the door. His mom was even shorter than him when she answered, swooping forward to give him a crushing hug before stepping back to appraise Meg and Cas.

“Hello, welcome, I’m Linda Tran.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Tran,” Cas said, stepping next to Kevin to shake her hand.

Meg lingered in the back as they were ushered into a wide entrance hall, staircase sweeping up to the right, photos of Kevin all over the walls.

“It’s nice to meet you too. You must be Castiel. And this is…”

“Hey,” Meg waved, “I’m Meg.”

Ms. Tran blinked at her, nodded politely.

Kevin shuffled awkwardly, “So, this is Cas, my boyfriend, and Meg, my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Ms. Tran exclaimed. “Are you swingers then?”

Kevin made a noise like a wounded animal. Cas was busy studying a bowl that had some kind of woven balls or something in it on a side table.

“Yeah, the kids these days are calling it polyamory.” Meg told her. “Why, were you a swinger in the seventies?”

Kevin’s face was bright red.

Ms. Tran moved them along the hallway back to wide kitchen with big windows, full of sunlight and gleaming counters.

“In the sixties actually. I know, I look a lot younger than I am.”

The three of them were practically pushed onto stools while Ms. Tran fussed and served them drinks - wine, Meg could not believe that she actually had a small wine fridge set into the cupboards. She moved around the kitchen swiftly and purposefully, taking out containers of prepped food and measuring spices into little glass bowls that she lined up beside the stove.

“Kevin told me you have a gluten allergy?” Ms. Tran asked.

“That’s right,” Cas answered.

“Well, I’m making a rice and vegetable dish, but there is gluten in the kitchen and I understand that cross contamination can be an issue, so I won’t be offended if you don’t eat.”

Kevin, for his part, sat quietly looking shocked that bringing home a boyfriend and a girlfriend seemed to be a non-issue, taking backseat to Cas’ dietary needs.

“Thank you, that’s very considerate.” Cas smiled, looking around the kitchen curiously.

“The cake I brought is gluten free,” Meg said.

“Really? What kind of flour do you use?”

“It’s a mix of a few, actually. There’s sorghum flour, tapioca flour, potato starch.”

“You know,” Ms. Tran talked over her shoulder as she cooked, “I was surprised by some of the things I read, about the effect that gluten can have. I was thinking about trying a gluten free diet myself.”

“It can make a difference,” Cas said, “whether you’re severely allergic or not. I have a lot of books you could borrow, if you like.”

“I would love that.”

Pulling a pan bigger than her head off the stove, Ms. Tran dished out something like a stirfry.

“Really, Kevin, you should have brought your partners over sooner. You know I’ll expect them here for dinner every week.”

“Mom.”

“That would be so great, Ms. Tran.” Meg told her.

Family dinners were usually awkward, but Ms. Tran was pretty cool and more than anything Meg was enjoying the intense wave of embarrassment coming off of Kevin. She did take an immense pleasure in other people’s discomfort, after all.

Plus, hey, free food.

#theactualpiemaker #megxkevinxcas #this fic is a mess #trans kevin #ace cas #aro meg #polyamory #genderfluid cas #alternate universe #roommates

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