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sxlver-sweet · 3 years ago

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Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩

–🎴

I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE

i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk

also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.

faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.

tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.

wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.

leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.

mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk

knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma

werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.

half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.

dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?

executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.

knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.

jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.

pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest

apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.

ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.

adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed

sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle

spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning

doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had

knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing

steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged

steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room

cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing

masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date

masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.

samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.

potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)

gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room

servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.

necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive

vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is

half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.

farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.

jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.

achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀

soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”

victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.

barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter

archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.

ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU

potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.

town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.

shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.

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elen-aranel · 3 years ago

Text

Starlight Études - Trio

You glance over to him, making eye contact, and you smile, almost forgetting where you are for a moment. (< Minuet • Impromptu - Nocturne >)

Pairing: Spock x F!Reader (no Y/N), set in @starfleetstgmgr’s Star and Dove AU Warnings: First contact. Patience WC: 4.2k (chapter) Rating: Teen A/N: Things between you and Spock are going well... but slowly.

Trio — the middle section of a minuet. Originally scored for three instruments.

You look at yourself in the mirror, admiring your freshly synthesised dress uniform. You smooth your white and grey jacket, feeling tall; the dress boots are a little higher than your usual uniform ones, but the extra height gives you a little more confidence. Maybe that’s what the designers intended.

Needing a dress uniform is something else that hadn’t occurred to you when you thought about first contacts, and you allow yourself a moment to finger the titanium delta shield buttons on your cuffs. Just a moment, though. You still feel some calm lingering from your meditation last night, but you feel your anticipation increasing.

“Looking good,” Adriana says, stepping out the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “I think the first time I put one of those on will be when we graduate.” She moves to stand by you, then reaches out and adjusts the way your collar falls. “Now it’s perfect.” She sniffs. “I like your rose scent. Is that new too?”

“It’s just for big days.” You smile at her reflection. “I’d better get going. It’s already mid-morning, planetside. I can’t be late.”

“I wish I were going too, now. Much more fun than the scans I’m down for today.” She steps away to get dressed. “See you at dinner?”

You finish admiring yourself and walk to the door. “Yes, see you then.”

“Everyone ready?” Ambassador Pike asks, to murmurs of assent as you troop onto the transporter pad. You take your place in front of Spock; you can’t help but take a second to admire him in his dress uniform too. Lieutenant Cronje, the blonde one who didn’t believe in your fighting skills until she had a taste, is the last member of the party. She gives you a look as she steps onto the platform and you can tell she’s still salty about it.

The captain and ambassador are last to step up, sharing a look between them as they do. They both have cases, as do you: gifts for the Lenovrans.

“Energize,” Captain Pike says, and the gold light sparkles round you.

Your first impression of the room you materialise in is brightness. Light and excitement. Anticipation. You hear murmured conversation, quieting. There’s a dome high above your head, with bright windows high up, the source of the light. Four thin columns support the ceiling, and there are large doors on either side of the room, one with light shining through frosted glass. As you take a breath you’re immediately assaulted by a strong scent which makes you think of orange blossom, but fresh like mint, with woody and herbal notes too. Around the columns are white metal stands with flower arrangements – spherical water filled vases topped with blue, pink, and red orb-like flowers.

There are quite a few Lenovrans milling around, looking at you with curiosity, and excitement. There are variations in their mauve skin, blue hair, and facial markings, but not to the degree which you see in humans. You wonder if there is less variation overall, or whether they’re mainly from a specific area. They wear light-coloured loose tops and trousers, especially yellows, oranges, and pinks. It’s quite a contrast to the black you saw Tuvie wearing yesterday. Their fabric is plain like fine linen, but a lot of them are wearing scarves which seem oddly shiny. You would really like to get a closer look.

You would be happy to keep watching for a while, actually; maybe go and examine the flowers, but that’s not what you’re here for. A group of Lenovrans detach themselves from the crowed, headed by a female wearing a cream colour.

“Ambassador Pike, Captain Pike, officers. Welcome to Lenovra.” She bows. “I am Maynie Minister. Blessings upon our meeting.” She smiles, satisfied; you can tell she’s pleased with herself for getting the form of address right.

The ambassador bows. “Blessings upon our meeting, Maynie Minister. It is our honour to join you today.”

“Our honour and pleasure,” the captain adds, bowing in turn.

“It is our honour to host you. To be the among first Lenovrans to meet you in person.” She takes a breath. “Preparations are ready. We will go outside to meet the Triarchy. The formal meeting will be broadcast across the planet so all our people can join us taking our first steps into the galactic community. If you’ll come with me?”

You take a moment to see how Spock and Lieutenant Cronje are reacting to things as you follow Maynie Minister. Spock’s eyes are alight with curiosity, doubtlessly cataloguing some of the same things that you’re seeing, though maybe different things too. You look forward to comparing notes later. The Lieutenant looks calm, almost indifferent. You can see, though, that she’s holding a communicator loosely in her left hand, almost casually. Ready to call for a beam-out if anything goes wrong, you suppose.

You continue to examine your hosts as you all head toward the door, and belatedly you recognise Tuvie Engineer and Lowra Technician among them. They look very different to yesterday: their dark clothes are gone, Tuvie wearing lemon yellow and one of those scarves, with an even more elaborate braid if possible. Lowra wears light salmon pink, dark blue hair slicked back. He looks nervous, but she has a wondering look on her face, like this is a dream she might wake up from at any moment.

The door opens, then, and you catch a glimpse of a crowd. Someone gasps slightly; you’re not sure who, but suddenly you feel like you’re transported back to the end of year concert at your high school. The auditorium was packed, and some of the students were nervous, but you had practiced for hours, you knew your piece inside and out, almost backwards, and nerves melted away to anticipation, and excitement to share your music with the crowd. This is the same, you think. You’ve been in front of crowds before. You’re prepared. You can enjoy this.

You tighten your hands on the case you hold as you move closer to the door. Outside you see a wide marble pavement, giving way to steps down on your right. The crowd are at the bottom of the steps, and you can’t see how far back they go but you think there must be thousands of people there. They’re wearing all colours, light and dark, and they’re watching something up in the open area. There is a guard at either end of each step, dressed in grey, and you feel for them a little, since they’re the only people who can’t see what’s going on.

You look back up at the pavement. From the other end a group of Lenovrans is marching forward in a neat formation. They look military – a marching band, you realise as they get closer, although they’re not playing yet. They all seem to be carrying variations of pipes in a dark blue iridescent metal. Once again you would really like a closer look; the pipes are an inverted Y shape, and each seem to have an intricately carved wide panel attached. You wonder what the purpose of it is.

When they get to the centre of the stage they turn neatly through ninety degrees, and one piper steps forward toward the crowd. She adjusts something on one pipe that you can’t see, and a chord starts, even before she starts to blow. The tune she plays is haunting to start, like a folk melody, and you’re reminded a little of a lone bagpiper, if a bagpipe sounded like a flute. Then she adjusts the chord and the rest of the band joins in, this time with a more upbeat march. The sound is full and rich, sonorous. It moves into a fanfare, and the band march forward and down onto the steps.

Three Lenovrans advance to the centre from the far side of the stage area as the fanfare plays, followed by some more guards. They’re all wearing bright white; the same loose tops and trousers that everyone else is wearing, but with half-length white capes too. The Triarchy. They acknowledge the crowd, then step up to a platform further back. There are three seats in the middle, fancy but not to the extent of a throne, and there are a few smaller chairs to one side. The Triarchs each take a seat, and as the fanfare finishes one of them starts to speak.

“Today is a momentous day in the history of Lenovra. We recently took our first steps into interstellar space. And yesterday, the Lenovra Warp Project received a message from the Starship Enterprise of the United Federation of Planets, who had detected our warp trails.

“We are honoured to meet these travellers from the stars here today, from the planets Earth and Vulcan.”

The band starts playing the fanfare again, and Maynie gestures you to follow her. The ambassador, the captain and you go first, followed by Spock and Lieutenant Cronje. You glance at the crowd, and see them staring back. Most seem shocked to actually see you, but you make eye-contact with an older man with greying blue hair who smiles widely at you. You smile back.

The fanfare ends as you reach the platform. You notice small drones flying above the crowd; they must be cameras and directional microphones, so everyone can see and hear what’s happening. You step up, and the ambassador steps forward. The crowd is utterly silent.

“Ennin Triarch, Ambel Triarch, Burie Triarch, Greetings.” Ambassador Pike bows low, and you and the rest of the team bow with her. “I am Ambassador Leah Pike, of the USS Enterprise, Representative of the United Federation of Planets.” She smiles. “Blessings upon our meeting.”

Some tension breaks at her words, as though the crowd were waiting for her to say the familiar greeting for everything to feel real, and suddenly they are cheering. It almost feels like a party. Gradually they subside.

Triarch Ambel, who you recognise from images Kayray sent yesterday now he is closer, replies. “Welcome to Lenovra. We are honoured to welcome the first aliens to our planet; the first of many, we hope. We look forward to learning more about the worlds beyond our system, to forging links, and taking our place among the galactic community.”

The captain steps forward. “I’ve been a Starfleet captain for over ten years now. And I can safely say that nothing represents the ideals of our Federation more than moments like these: peaceful contact with new civilizations that will eventually become friends. As a token of our new relationship, we would like to present you with gifts, representing the Federation, and our cultures. First, our cadet.”

That’s your cue.

You step up to the triarchs, and open your case. You hold it up, showing the plaque inside to them and the crowds, making sure not to rush.

“May I present you with this map, showing Earth, the seat of government of the United Federation of Planets, relative to you here on Lenovra. It bears a representation of our ship the Enterprise, and her motto: To boldly go where no one has gone before. We thank you for your welcome, and hope one day to welcome you to Earth.”

The ambassador and captain present their gifts next. Yours was the formal one, but theirs are personal to them: the ambassador offers a painted wooden sculpture of a loon, a bird native to where she grew up in Minnesota that was handmade by a craftsman in the next town over, and the captain presents a beautiful Navajo pot, similar to the ones he has in his ready room.

Finally, Maynie Minister presents the ambassador with a gift that she calls a story orb. It is a smooth, featureless brushed metal sphere, but she presses a button and it comes apart into eight segments. Each segment is a little diorama, and she presses another button and tiny clockwork figures come to life. You realise that one of the segments depicts the government building you’re standing in front of.

“This represents the story of our people. We are proud to have you here as we begin our next chapter,” she says, and the crowd cheer again.

You wonder what your personal gift will be in the future when you’re a chief diplomatic officer, as you’re conducted to seats for the next phase of the event. Something music related, you think.

The ceremony lasts another hour, although you don’t have anything left to do beyond sit still and enjoy it. The head of the Warp Facility reads a prepared speech, a little haltingly; you think he would rather be back in his lab, watching the ceremony on screen. Tuvie Engineer is presented to the crowd as the first Lenovran to ever talk to an alien. She seems to grow in confidence as she answers a few questions, and you’re happy for her.

There is a short pageant, in music and dance, depicting how the three continents of Lenovra came to be joined under one Triarchy. You’re fascinated by the music, played by the band again, and impressed that they pulled all of this together so quickly. But soon it’s over, and you’re ushered out of public view. The crowd cheer as you depart.

The Triarchy’s reception room is light like room is like the room you beamed into, but larger and more ornate. The walls are carved with abstract patterns, highlighted in glittering silver, and there’s an even larger dome here. One or two band members are playing in the background. But you can’t get lost in admiring the place: you’re introduced to politician after politician. You have your photo taken with person after person. After a while they begin to blur into each other, your smile feeling a little forced.

“Cadet.” Spock takes your arm. “Would you join me for a drink?”

“Of course. Excuse me,” you say to the Lenovrans clustered around you. They seem a little cowed by Spock, and you wonder if he’s being intimidating on purpose.

“Ambassador Pike thought you needed rescuing,” he says with a raised eyebrow, as he pushes you to the edge of the room where a drinks table is set up, along with some plates of nibbles. Suddenly you realise you’re famished. “I have scanned everything. It is safe for us to eat,” he adds, passing you a plate.

You look at the buffet at a bit of a loss. Of course you don’t recognise any of the food and you don’t know what to expect from any of it.

“Excuse me? Lieutenant Spock? Cadet? Would you like some help?”

“Tuvie Engineer,” you turn, and smile. “Blessings upon our meeting,” you say, bowing.

“I feel like Tuvie Celebrity today.” She giggles. “But I thought, you’ve never had our food, have you? I can try to tell you what things are like? Or at least my favourites.”

“That would be so kind.”

Tuvie helps you pick out food. You take a few different things, some savoury, some sweet, and she helps Spock avoid food with meat in.

“Come with me,” she says, when you both have food and drinks. “Lowra’s brother showed us a quiet spot.”

She leads you further into the room, behind where there are ornate chairs for the Triarchs, although they’re not sitting in them. You nod to the ambassador as you pass, in thanks for your rescue.

There are fewer people at this end of the room, and she weaves in between a couple of flower arrangements into an alcove. There’s a bench, and you, Spock and Tuvie sit. You’re relieved to be out the public eye a bit, and you suspect she and Spock are too.

You enjoy your food, though some of the flavours are a somewhat overwhelming. You think about that, and the strong scent of the flowers and you wonder whether the narrowness of Lenovran noses make them less sensitive. You aren’t going to ask though. Happily your drink is just water.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions? About your names, and titles?” Tuvie asks after you’ve finished eating. “I don’t understand why you tell people both your chosen names and your given names. After a choosing ceremony, it is inappropriate for anyone to use a given name. And… is Pike a very common given name? Since the captain and ambassador both share it?”

“In human culture we don’t normally choose our names. Our first names are given, and our last names denote our family. Usually the only time they’re chosen is when we marry. Sometimes one partner will choose to take the surname of the other, as Ambassador Pike did when she married the captain. And sometimes people combine their surnames or pick something new.”

“I do not use my family name,” Spock adds, “because it is too difficult for most other races to pronounce, and it is… displeasing… to hear attempts at it. Most of my people, when dealing with outsiders, do not share their family names. There are many different naming conventions in the Federation.”

“I see,” she says, with the air of someone filing away information for future consideration. “And your titles… I understand what a captain does, and an ambassador… but cadet? How do you cadet? What does it mean? What does lieutenant mean?”

You smile at her curiosity. It’s so genuine – she wants to learn, not just be seen with aliens. “Cadet is a special name for student in some organisations. So I guess ‘cadeting’ is studying? Were you Tuvie Student at some point?”

“Well, I was”—she looks round, and lowers her voice so that only you and Spock can hear—”Hanie Daughter, Hanie Schoolchild, Hanie Student, and then I had my choosing and then I was Tuvie Student. I was Tuvie Traveller for a year and then I started working at the Warp Project and became Tuvie Engineer.”

“I did a bit of travelling before I became a cadet.” You love seeing things that cultures have in common. “I don’t know the meaning of Lieutenant, though. Spock?”

“Lieutenant literally means ‘placeholder’. Originally those of my rank would have been in command if their superiors were absent. But now the name is retained, even though the function is not.”

“Wow really? Huh.” You’re as surprised as Tuvie at that.

You chat for a while longer. Lowra appears, eyes widening slightly at seeing you with Tuvie, but he plays it cool, and when you express an interest in the musical instruments you heard he really comes to life.

“They’re sun pipes. The chordal drones are generated by the sun interacting with the metal. It’s like a natural solar cell. My—my brother, he’s really good. He’s in the band, actually. Jemba Piper. I could introduce you?”

Jemba is starstruck, meeting you and Spock, but he moves into a beam of light to play. He explains that the metal used in the instruments was originally discovered in ’singing stones’ on a particular mountain, and shows you his pipe and how he plays it. It’s quieter indoors since the light is less intense, but the instrument, now you can see the blue metal up close, the way it shines with pink and gold highlights, and the sound he produces, are beautiful.

“These are amazing.” Ambassador Pike takes a second bite of her cupcake, a blissful expression on her face. When you returned from the planet and she told you that the Enterprise had a First Contact Cupcakes tradition. You thought she would enjoy the Pumpkin Chai cupcakes that your first-year roommate Juliette’s mother had baked for you both, so you ran to find the program and uploaded it to the synthesiser.

“Yes, they are pretty good. Is that black pepper in the frosting? I never would have thought that could work. Are they your recipe?” Number One asks.

“They’re my program, Commander.”

She narrows her eyes a little. “I don’t remember you mentioning them when I asked for synthesiser programs when you came aboard...”

“I... have rather a lot of programs, ma’am. I’ve been uploading them as and when I use them.” You cradle your teacup in your hands, hoping she won’t pursue the matter. You still find her intimidating.

“Her hangover cure is doing the rounds of the science department, Commander. Apparently the cadet is the person to ask if you need something in particular.” Lieutenant Lim from exobiology puts in on the way to the captain’s lightning table where the cakes are set up.

“The cadet here is a collector,” Ambassador Pike says, wiping her fingers on a napkin.

“Did you find anything to collect on the planet? I think I saw you with some fabric?” Captain Pike favours you with a small crooked smile.

“Tuvie Engineer gave me her scarf, just because I said I’d never seen anything like it. It’s so pretty.”

“That was generous,” the ambassador says, tone surprised.

“I couldn’t believe it when she just gave it to me. But she said she’d been given clothes to wear, so she didn’t feel like it was hers anyway. I tried to tell her she didn’t need to but she didn’t let me argue.” You take a small sip of your tea, thinking back to the other things you’d seen.

“I just wished I could have borrowed one of those sun pipes to bring back here to scan back on the ship. Spock and I got a close look at one; it was beautifully crafted, and I think the alloy it’s made from is probably unique to Lenovra. They might be interested in trading it, actually.”

“I think the cadet is right; I’ve never encountered a material like that before.” Spock stands next to you with the drink he just got from the synthesiser. “And the pipes were exquisite.” You glance over to him, making eye contact, and you smile, almost forgetting where you are for a moment.

“Why didn’t you ask to borrow one, then?” Number One says. “It seems from everything you’ve said and what I’ve seen, they’re very open to us.”

“I—” You pause, trying to work out how to articulate your thoughts. “It wouldn’t be appropriate. You can’t ask that of a musician you don’t know, unless you’re some sort of expert in their instrument? It wouldn’t be fair. That could be a piper’s whole livelihood. And even if not... people get attached to their instruments. If something happens...” you shrug. “I don’t really mind though. It’s not like there’s much sunlight up here.”

Remnants of their synthesised mezze litter the table – a few olives, half a pita bread, pieces of feta, halloumi, scrapings of hummus and tzatiki, one last dolma and a couple of lamb kebabs… Today was too busy for cooking, but not for family time. Conversation has ebbed, too, from discussions of Lenovra, and what they had enjoyed down there, to peaceful quiet.

Normally around this time Leah would be thinking about dessert, but this evening, with the cupcakes earlier, she is full. She takes a sip of wine, noting that even Spock, normally ramrod straight, is relaxed back on the sofa.

The perfect state to check up on him.

“I can’t help but notice that the things you found most satisfying about Lenovra... all involved the cadet,” she says, and she feels Chris stiffen slightly beside her. “How’s it going with her?”

“It is going well. I enjoy her company, and I believe she enjoys mine. But I am... taking things slow.”

“Oh she enjoys your company. Her smile, when she looks at you!” Leah shakes her head, and sits a little straighter. “But why slow?”

“I have been in relationships before,” Spock says, dark eyes solemn. “But I have found that some humans are less interested in me, and more in what I represent. It has been a painful lesson to learn.”

“I wish I had taken dating slower.” Chris says, and Leah turns toward him. “Madeleine Chen and I—” he grimaces slightly at Spock’s raised brow. “Yes, Captain Chen of the Intrepid—though she was a commander when I knew her. We should have taken things slower. I think it would have saved us both a lot of heartache if we had.”

Leah tilts her head to one side. “But you and I didn't exactly take things slow, love. It's different every time.”

“Eighteen years isn’t slow?” Chris winks at her and she swats him, playful. “But it’s our experiences that set the tone.” He turns serious again. “I could tell immediately that things between us were different than they were between me and Madeleine, but I had that baseline to work from. If not, I— …who knows. Maybe I’d have done things differently.” He squeezes her shoulder. “We would still have ended up here, though. I know that.”

“Taking it slow means that when things happen… they’ll be special. You don’t need to rush. But my cadet… she’s with you for the right reasons.”

***

Here's the Pumpkin Chai Cupcakes Recipe. It's really yummy, perfect for this time of year <3

< Minuet • Impromptu - Nocturne >

#spock x reader #spock #star trek discovery #fanfiction #star trek fanfiction #matter of time #writings of the girl from outer space #starlight études

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed.

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock!

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths.

It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then.

Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird.

They were starting to scare me, really.

“There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?”

“Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

“You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?”

The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if we have no victim,”

“But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

“Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy.

Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it.

———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down.

Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed.

Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy.

I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site.

I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it.

Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground.

Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him.

Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb.

My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated.

He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg.

The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me.

I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers.

The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’.

Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty.

I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell.

With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone.

I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster.

Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

“Get out of there, Seam brat!”

I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door.

A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason.

Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face.

A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!”

The boy scurried by with his head down.

My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction.

I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck.

When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!”

Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us.

“No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while.

When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways.

All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg.

While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me.

After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow.

“Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

“You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

“I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless.

——————-

One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise.

A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare.

I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

“Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was.

From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin.

“I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly.

“Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy.

“My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

“Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion.

Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes.

I felt smug and satisfied.

I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk.

“Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe.

“It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

I nodded.

“So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

“Same.”

He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,”

Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!”

I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game.

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it.

He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them.

Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama.

My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability.

He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd.

Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly?

Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me.

I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

“Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh.

Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed.

“Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world.

I nodded.

Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,”

Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.”

“Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

“For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

“Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?”

Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body.

“Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage.

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

The other girls hummed their yeses.

“Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!”

There were gasps all around.

It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

“What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody.

I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree.

‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with.

“Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

A big “Oh!” Swept the room.

Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all.

Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them.

Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on.

“That’s awful!” Said a girl.

“I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

“I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

“Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

“Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one.

I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker.

Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?”

My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

“Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

“Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

“It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

“Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises.

I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate.

Still…

“No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning.

“Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

“Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly.

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals.

The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me.

Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily.

Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain.

It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too.

We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.

It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup.

Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me.

I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone.

“There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me.

“I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate.

Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address.

After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe.

Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

“What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears.

Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit.

First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself?

“Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest.

“What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered.

“He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.”

I turned 16 that spring.

I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back.

I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

“Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass.

“And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

“That’ll take weeks!”

“Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!”

“Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

“What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

“Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

“I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes.

Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody.

I gasped. That had never happened before.

“How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically.

“Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly.

“What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there.

Whatever happened, was bad.

“Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced.

“No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot.

Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad.

“Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,”

“We’ll see.”

The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by.

“Look!” Gale shouted.

A shaky “D12” appeared under my message.

A relieved gasp left my mouth.

“District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2”

We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him!

I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

The answer came back faster. “S H”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned, “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

“Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such.

“Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

“He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

“Mmm… asking has been working so far,”

“Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,”

“You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

“Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

“There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,”

“You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

“YES NE”

“North East! I told you it’ll work!”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

“K”

With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district.

“Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!”

There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy.

“Anybody here?” I called again.

A weak cough answered in the distance.

I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone.

“Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me.

“Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks.

I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

“Well, don’t step on me!”

I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain.

I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue.

“Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

“I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way.

“How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

“Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again.

I was momentarily frightened.

“Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,”

His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?”

I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

“Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree.

“And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice.

He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional.

“Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

“Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly.

I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,”

He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…”

“Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

“I’m so tired, Katniss,”

“I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

“I can’t go back to my house though—“

“You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely.

I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming,

“Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated.

And that was that!

——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline.

“My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

“Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer.

“My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

“That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

“After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away.

“What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

“The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple.

I caressed his arm to sooth him.

He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

“How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius.

Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?”

“Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head.

“Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers.

Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?”

“I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

“Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

“The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

The officers stared at me, flabbergasted.

Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me.

Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers.

“Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook.

“Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!”

“No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

“It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,”

Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

“‘kay.”

“Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly.

Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned.

I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

“Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which.

“So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string.

I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods.

“Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

“Like the sunset,” he finished for me.

Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already.

He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,”

He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”

My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,”

“Thank you for finding me,”

“Thank you for leading me to you,”

We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

“Katniss…”

“Mmm,”

“We are soulmates.”

I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff.

“If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

“It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips.

My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course.

“Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed.

After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief.

I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had.

“I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

“I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

“Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up.

“I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie.

“Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed.

“Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?”

I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness.

The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement.

Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons.

Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants.

Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help.

The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure.

The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope.

It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves.

“I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once.

After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18.

Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips.

On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control.

My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul.

After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

“You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

“Real.”

He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?”

“Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

“Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

#alliswell21 #lovely-tothe-bone #prompt 154 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

Text

Driving with the Akatsuki

Itachi

Driving with this guy is ... nerve-wracking, to say the very least. It’s not as though he’s a reckless automobile operator; he observes all the laws of traffic, the radio is at a reasonable volume ((he’s the type to listen to podcasts rather than music)), he follows the speed limits, he actually slows down at a yellow light — but it’s the near-misses that are daunting. The just barely stopping in time before hitting the old lady crossing the street. The running up on the curb while parking. And then there was that incident with the tree — Itachi legally has to wear glasses when driving, but his passengers often wonder whether the glasses actually HELP him. Even with them on, he squints A LOT. And only someone with nerves of absolute steel, like Kisame or Kakuzu, will be in a car with him at night. However he is with driving, one thing he’s not blind in, is his car’s cleanliness. Will make passengers wipe feet before getting in, and after everyone is gone he’ll carefully scour the seats to remove even the faintest trace of lint or gum wrappers or any disturbance at all. Can be a bit of a “mom” driver; a holdover from his teenage years of constantly having to chauffeur around his younger brother and his brother’s rambunctious friends.

Kakuzu

Anyone getting into a vehicle with Kakuzu is in for a surprise. 91 years old? Surely he drives slow and steady, like a typical little old man, right? WRONG. Kakuzu is a goddamn speed-demon. He barrels down streets, he flies through intersections. Not many know this about him, but he was very much into drag-racing as a (much) young(er) man, and his current proclivity for quickness is a holdover from those days. Luck always seems to be on his side, as he’s gotten caught/received speeding tickets far less than he deserves. To make matters scarier, Kakuzu’s radio system has been broken for two years (and of course he’s too cheap to get it fixed), and the back left window doesn’t roll up to the top; so the only sound his passengers will hear is the wind rushing past the glass and Kakuzu’s deep, sinister chuckles as he sees other drivers (and pedestrians) scramble to get out of his way. Also, unless you’re a CLOSE-close friend, don’t expect a ride from him unless you have gas money.

Deidara

In all honesty, the blonde prefers to be the passenger rather than the driver, even in his own car. He gets his best inspirations for future art pieces when he’s traveling around, and it’s hard to pick up a sketch book when you need to be paying attention to the road. When he does have to be behind the wheel himself, he’s a fairly average driver. His passengers are always at risk of a case of auditory whiplash, as Deidara’s (loudly played) music tastes switch from one extreme to the other; and the guy isn’t exactly shy about singing along to his favorites. He’s also one of those eat-on-the-go guys, and his backseat will almost always be buried under a myriad of candy wrappers, empty plastic soda bottles and discarded burger wrappers. In the summer he prefers the wild and free feeling of having all the windows down, rather than turning the AC on, and he’ll have to remember to firmly tie up his long hair and keep it from blowing in his eyes or else everyone in the car will be taking an unscheduled trip into the nearest tree.

Zetsu

His car always has that calm, natural, “special plant” scent to it. The kind of smell that causes a panic when Zetsu sees a police officer anywhere in the area. A very relaxed driver; seat almost all the way back, one hand barely on the steering wheel. Obeys the speed limit but can put the pedal to the metal when in a hurry. Likes to listen to mostly reggae or jazz, and taps his fingers on he dashboard along to the beat. Water-bottle hoarder; has at least 1000 plastic water bottles, in varying staging of fullness, all over the front and back seats. The type to keep driving around the block until the song ends. Also the type to have really deep conversations with his passengers, and drive them out to really far away and scenic locations.

Hidan

If you have somewhere important to go, and need a ride, it’s best not to ask Hidan. He is the sort who always insists he knows a shortcut or a quicker route to every destination ... and ends up hopelessly lost. Can’t read a map to save his life and for some reason won’t trust a car’s gps system to guide him ((has some pretty crazy conspiracy theories about the voice behind the system)). Easily distracted by any and everything (both inside and outside of car), which makes being his passenger a bit daunting. Like Kakuzu, is a very fast driver, but infinitely more cautious as he has a LOT of tickets wracked up and isn’t looking to add more.

Really loves Led Zeppelin and Johnny Cash; has a visor full of those CD’s and will play those rather than listen to the radio. Also has a butt-load of swear word laden and inappropriate humor bumper stickers.

Pein

Who needs a car when motorcycles exist? This guy has a classic hog that he keeps in mint condition, that he rides around wherever he goes. Every year he’ll try and convince his close friends to ditch their boring cars for something more sublime, only to be met sure emphatic No’s each time. Is very protective over his baby and will go ballistic over even the tiniest nick or scrape. Drives at a normal speed when by himself, but will drive just a bit faster when carting around a friend (especially if it’s a female friend). Doesn’t really like to wear a helmet himself but will insist on any passengers putting one on. Prefers the quiet of the open road but if in a musical mood it’s always 80’s hair bands; a lot of Def Leppard, Quiet Riot, Van Halen. Can do a variety of tricks on his bike but doesn’t do them often as he doesn’t like to “mess up” his baby any more than necessary.

Sasori

Absolutely 100% HATES driving. Has massive anxiety anytime he has to get behind the wheel, almost to the point where he’d need to take a sedative just to relax. Drives slower than the slowest driver you can think of. Yellow light? Slow down. Green light? Still slow down. Will drive himself to and from work, but any other time would prefer being a passenger in someone else’s car ((in which case he becomes the worst backseat driver in history)), or simply taking the bus. Doesn’t like giving rides to others but if he must, it’ll be a very tense, silent drive (forget about him turning on the radio and ‘breaking his concentration’), and he’ll freak out if a passenger takes their seatbelt off before the car comes to a complete stop. Also has a hyper-awareness to anything that might possibly be wrong with his car; if that check engine light comes on you can bet he’ll be at the mechanic in a heartbeat. Also the type who feels “uncomfortable” if gas tank is below 3/4 full.

Konan

The type who’s always heading somewhere/running errands, and will ask if you need a ride. Very neat and organized car, and always suspiciously shiny (as if she visits the carwash every other day). Seems to know absolutely everybody; is always waving at or honking to people in other cars. Keeps the radio volume down when she has passengers, but when alone she loves to sing at the top of her lungs to 90’s boy bands (her rendition of I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys is American-Idol worthy). Is always prepared for anything, especially in the winter; in her trunk is a shovel, an extra blanket, water bottles and protein bars, even emergency flares. May be pretty and delicate but definitely knows her way around a car; can change a tire or check the oil with the best of them.

Kisame

Has very long legs, so needs a car or truck that provides him ample room to stretch. A very relaxed and mellow driver, always puts whoever’s with him immediately at ease. Doesn’t use air fresheners in his car but inside always smells like whatever his cologne is, which is always yummy. Gets a lot of fast-food but always keeps the bags and wrappers stored neatly in a little garbage bag that he empties out daily. Will let his passengers do pretty much anything in his car EXCEPT smoke; he can’t stand the smell of tobacco. Isn’t really a Point A to Point B driver; will always think of other places to stop or visit en-route to his destination. Big fan of Musical music; his all-time favorite cd is the soundtrack to Grease. Also (when by himself) is a car-emoter; Kisame doesn’t let most people see anything but his cheerful side. Bring alone in his car is the only time he’ll cry, or scream, or express anger regarding events or people.

Obito

The type of driver who very often spaces out and “forgets” that he’s driving. Prefers traveling more with animals than with people; most likely to take his dog on a weeklong broad trip. Has been a smoker since his teenage years but is trying to quit, so in his car is the only place he “allows” himself a cigarette (but only when he’s completely alone). Almost started a fire once when he threw a still-lit cigarette out the window, but it flew into the backseat instead. Drives fairly slow unless he’s in a hurry for something (but even then his foot doesn’t press the gas pedal THAT much harder). His musical tastes depend on his mood but whatever he ends up listening to is always car-shakingly loud. Seems to have a new (and interesting) trinket hanging from his rear-view mirror every week. The kind who drives around for several days with his gas tank close to/touching on E because ”he knows his car, it’s fine”.

#the akatsuki #driving #vroom vroom #deidara #sasori #obito uchiha #itachi uchiha #zetsu #pein #konan #kakuzu #kisame #hidan

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obsidiancreates · 3 years ago

Text

The Wrong Realization (But A Welcome One)

4,012 words long

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Jonah wakes up with a headache like he’s got a hangover. He groans, putting his arm over his eyes as the dim light of his bedroom tries to burn out his retinas. Even with all of his thickest curtains closed and fastened together, the sunlight is still too harsh. Must be the way it’s reflecting off the snow.

He falls out of bed more so than gets out of bed, and lays on the floor for a moment. He reaches up to his nightstand and manages to pull down his phone, which bonks him on the temple on it’s way down. That gets him to wake up, with a shout and a dash of fight-or-flight response.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t even feel very rested! Granted, he did stay up most of the night listening to a new podcast he discovered... fascinating stuff, wonderful deep-dives into mythologies and legends from all over the world. Something a little lighter to relax to than his usual political commentary go-tos.

He stands up, and scrolls through his playlist until he finds a good morning podcast. He heads into the bathroom, ready to grapple with his hair to get it nice and presentable-

He looks into the mirror and freezes up. His hair is perfect. Exactly how he always strives to get it to look, and always falls just one stray strand short of. But now? Not a flyaway in sight.

“I could have sworn I took a shower,” he mumbles to himself. Maybe he just forgot to use shampoo? No, he would never. Maybe too much conditioner, then. But he’s always so careful not to overuse...

“I guess it saves time,” he says aloud. “No looking a gift horse in the mouth.” He picks up his toothbrush and gets to scrubbing, but pauses when he feels something stringy in his mouth.

He spits out the toothpaste foam, expecting a hair.

Instead, it’s a scraping of plastic from his toothbrush, and several bristles.

He stares for a moment, and then opens his mouth. Does he have something completely alarming stuck in his teeth? Did he somehow eat something metal?

... No, not as far as he can see. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Absolutely nothing. Completely fine.

On an unrelated note, the two little cuts in his lower lip that are perfectly aligned with his canines are starting to sting from the mint, so he hurries up and finishes brushing his teeth.

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The sun blinds him as he drives to work, and he has to manage mostly by listening to the traffic around him (which is absurdly loud today, he can hear it with his windows rolled up).

And the sunlight is harsh on his skin, too. Does he need to invest in better sunscreen? Maybe he should revisit that article he read about SPF effectiveness and how to choose the best one...

He gets into the parking lot and parks his car. He opens the door, and promptly slams it shut again with a yelp. His hands didn’t just feel burnt, it did burn!

Definitely needs to up his SPF! And research sudden sunlight sensitivity... his hand is bright pink.

He sits in the car for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. And then there’s a knock on his window. He startles, but relaxes when he sees it’s just Glenn. He rolls his window down just a bit. “Um, hi. Good-good morning, I mean.”

“Heyyyy, Jonah,” Glenn says with a smile. “So, um, I noticed you’re stuck in your car?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, no, I just um. Well you see I-I, um-”

“Need a hand?” Glenn’s smile is a bit strained, for some reason. “Because of the sun?”

“... Well I mean if-if you’re offering then it would be... rude to say no...”

Glenn opens up an umbrella, making Jonah shout in surprise. “Where did that-”

“Come on in under the shade!”

Jonah hesitates a moment, put off by Glenn’s... odd, energy. But he can’t stay in his car forever, so he gets out and walks in with Glenn under the safety of the umbrella.

“Thanks,” he says when they get inside. “I just um, I need to update my sunscreen, you know? And I just didn’t want to risk... my skin...”

“No, no, I completely get it,” Glenn assures. “The warm, life-giving rays of the sun can be very harsh sometimes!”

“... Y-yeah. Yeah.”

“Hey, um, Jerusha and I got you a gift, actually. She was so upset by the whole attack thing yesterday-”

“Oh, you guys didn't have to get me something-”

“Well, we wanted to, so um, here!”

Glenn hands Jonah a very, very wide-brimmed hat. There’s a little bat needle-pointed onto the sides.

“Oh! Wow! Um, it’s... so big!”

“Maybe it’ll help until you update your sunscreen?” Glenn sounds hopeful. Too hopeful for Jonah to turn down. And... it would be functional, at least...

“Yes! Yes, I think this’ll be great for that, um, thank you! Thank you both, send Jerusha my-my thanks. For this. I can um, see she put some effort into customizing it! Just-just out of curiosity... why a bat?”

“Oh, well um, because of your situation.”

“... Situation, I don’t-”

“You know. The reason you burned?”

“... I still don’t understand-”

“HEYYYY, GUYS!” Amy butts in quite enthusiastically. “How’s it going this morning?”

“Oh, good!” Glenn says with a smile and a nod. “I was just giving Jonah this hat Jerusha made for him, because of his whole condition about being a vam-”

“OH HEY, Glenn, I actually really need your help with something!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come over here, with me, to... softlines!”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk with you later, Jonah!”

“Okay! Buh-”

Amy drags Glenn away, leaving Jonah with his hand up in an unfinished wave.

“... Bye. I-I was saying... bye.”

Jonah looks at the hat, and heads off to the breakroom.

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“So does Jonah have them?” Cheyenne is saying when Jonah enters the room.

“I mean, he looked like he did when he was chasing that lady-”

“Do I have what?”

Mateo and Cheyenne startle. “Oh, Jonah! We didn’t see you there! You were like... really, quiet,” Cheyenne says with a slightly strained smile.

“Yeah. So... sneaky.” Mateo looks similarly stressed.

“Well I, I did just get new ultra-soft shoes, very comfortable but I’m not sure about the long-term arch support... but um, what do I have?”

“Um... standards, for your fashion. Sometimes you have them, sometimes you don’t... usually only when you’re chasing, after... someone to flirt with.”

“Oh. ... You-you thought I was trying to flirt with that woman, last night?”

Cheyenne shrugs. “You did literally chase her into the parking lot.”

“I-I guess I did. But I wasn’t attracted to her I mean, I wasn’t attracted to any customers yesterday, even though there were a few good looking ones, that made me laugh... but-but I’m not- I mean, I wasn’t flirting with anyone-”

Jonah babbles on for a good five minutes before Glenn finally comes in and starts the meeting.

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Jonah sighs and rubs his eyes as he mops up a puddle of... it’s either slushie vomit or watered-down blood (though he’s leaning towards slushie vomit, something in him just says it definitely isn’t blood).

He leans against the mop and closes his eyes for a moment. So tired... he felt okay this morning, but as the day creeps on he feels less and less awake...

“Excuse me?”

Jonah startles, yelping and dropping the mop. The customer jumps back as the mop drops.

“I am so sorry!” Jonah exclaims. “I um, I-I think I feel asleep, um, how can I-”

Jonah pauses, at a loss for words.

The customer, a man around Jonah’s age, looks concerned. “You alright, man?”

“Huh?” Jonah’s face feels hot (the first bit of warmth he’s felt in two days). “Oh, um, I-I just, that was very unprofessional of me.”

The customer shrugs. “It’s a Cloud 9, professional isn’t really expected.”

Jonah chuckles. He clears his throat. “So, um, how can-can I help you?”

“I was looking for the recycled paper towels?”

“Oh, yeah, um... let me help you find those. They’re only half recycled, though.”

“I know. But you do what you can on a budget, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Jonah laughs. He can’t stop looking at the guy’s face... why does he feel all jittery?

“Um, here we are. The closest Cloud 9 gets to activism.” Jonah sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. His mouth feels dry. Why is his mouth so dry? He licks his lips quickly while the customer isn’t looking.

“Better than I’ve been doing lately. Haven’t done a protest in months.”

“What kind of protests do you go to?” Why did he say that? He’s going to embarrass himself, oh no-

“Mostly wage labor ones, workers rights kind of things. Trying to get a union going at my job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, I know unions don’t have a great reputation in a lot of places but-”

“No! I mean uh, I love unions! I-I’ve been wanting one here since I started working! Just uh, don’t tell my boss that, hah.”

The customer smiles at Jonah, and Jonah wonders if the floor actually fell out from under him or if that’s all in his head.

“Well, thanks for helping me find this. Maybe we can talk about helping each other’s unions efforts if I see you again.”

“Yeah!” Jonah flashes a bright smile. “Sure! Sounds-sounds great! Um was really nice to meet you!”

The customer smiles again and walks away, and Jonah needs to lean against the isle.

He lets out a heavy breath, wondering what the hell is going on and what he is feeling. He looks down the isle to see if anyone is watching him.

Mateo, Cheyenne, Marcus, and Dina are all staring.

Jonah quickly walks away, shame burning his cheeks. So they noticed something, too.

“-looked like he was about to eat him alive-”

He’s too busy being completely embarrassed by hearing them whisper that to wonder how he just heard it from three isles away.

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Jonah wakes up with a start as a cart rolls right over his leg. He shouts in pain and surprise, and then sighs at himself.

He peels the glue trap off of his face with a grimace. Cleaning the rat traps is a terrible time for his sudden and new case of what seems to be narcolepsy to strike. He sits up and rolls up his pant leg, expecting something nasty to greet him based on the crack he heard.

... Nothing. He frowns, and touches his leg. It doesn’t even sting.

“How did-”

“Jonah?”

Jonah looks up at Amy’s voice. She’s standing over him with a clipboard. “Oh, um... hi.”

“Hey. ... Why are you on the floor?”

“I was uh, cleaning the rat traps. And I... maybe fell asleep.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“... Yes...”

“Okay then. ... So um, I just... wanted to check in, for a minute. How’s it been going with customers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean, have there been any... notable interactions, maybe, to throw an idea out there,” Amy says in her ‘I’m-hiding-the-real-reason-for-asking-this’ voice.

Jonah’s cheeks burn, and he’s sure he’s blushing. “They told you about that?”

“I... might’ve heard some gossip.”

“It-it was nothing, Amy. Really.”

“Are you sure? They said you keep looking at his neck-”

"Well I mean, he had a nice neck I-I guess but I was more looking at his face-”

“And that you licked your lips at him?”

“That-! My mouth was dry, and-and you know I hate chapped lips!”

“... And the hovering over him?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say hovering, more like just watching and... admiring... but that-that’s normal! I’ve been doing that since high school! A good ally normalizes these things, and-and when straight men, yeah, can admire other men in a-a completely! Normal way! Then it um, it helps... break down! The stereotypes!”

Amy looks... perplexed. She shakes her head. “Wait, what are we-”

“I mean, everyone does it, too! Like-like you! I’m sure you’ve looked at-at other woman, and admired their appearance, without feeling feelings for them, right?”

“Well, I guess, but- wait, Jonah, did you-”

“I mean we all wonder in college, right? But I don’t like, I mean there’s nothing wrong with liking both I just- I don’t, I wondered but I never-”

“Okay, um, this isn’t what I came over here to talk to you about-”

“Maybe there was a moment or two where I thought it might’ve been a thing but I-I never acted and if I did like both I would have acted on that, I think-”

“Okay! Um, you’re working through something right now, that is, not what I thought you were working through, so um, I’ll just check up on you later...”

Amy backs away as Jonah keeps recounting half-baked thoughts and unfinished sentences about his time in college and his roommates one friend who maybe had the best hair Jonah’s ever seen but their friendly hair-war was not flirting he swears...

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Jonah doesn’t chew the carrot, just rolls it in his teeth as he stares at the wall, lost in thought.

“... Not hungry for you lunch?” Sandra asks tentatively.

Jonah shakes his head, only half-hearing her.

“... Are you hungry for something else? Like... a customer?”

Jonah stops, and pulls the carrot out of his mouth. “You heard about that too?”

Sandra’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

“You did! Did- does everyone know about that?”

“Well, it-it’s been sort of, floating around-”

Jonah groans, putting his head in his hands.

“... So um... are you?”

“What? No! No, I am not hungry for him, that’s objectifying. Not that I- I mean, I’m a straight man, I can’t, objectify another man, because that implies attraction. ... Unless I’m playing into toxic masculinity stereotypes by believing that...”

“I don’t think you have to worry about falling into masculinity stereotypes,” Carol pipes up from another table.

Jonah looks at her, annoyed. Her eyes widen and she looks away.

Jonah puts his head back into his hands. “This is a nightmare...”

“For all of us,” Sandra whispers.

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Jonah sighs, slumping over onto the customer service counter. Garrett just looks at him, waiting for whatever Jonah has in store.

“... It normal for straight guys to admire other straight guys appearances, right?”

Garrett blinks. “Wow, just some casual conversation, huh?”

“Just- I mean, I know people are talking about-”

“You eyeing up that dude earlier like he was a steak?”

“... Yeah. That.”

“Dude, I don’t think this is the issue you should be focused on right now.”

“I know, I know! I’m in my thirties, I should have this figured out and be focusing on more important things-”

“Not what I meant, actually, I meant the superpowers-”

“-but I don’t know, I’ve never really had anyone point it out before! And-and now I can’t stop thinking like, am I? Attracted?”

“You know there’s nothing wrong if you are, right?”

“Yes, I do, I’ve been to a bunch of rallies and stuff.”

“Did you oogle dudes at those rallies?”

“NO! ... I mean I guess I observed and-and appreciated-”

“Yeah, you might just be on the gay spectrum, dude. I don’t know what else to tell you. Except that, uh, you just accidentally slapped my shoulder and you’re as cold as a bag of ice, so maybe that should be your crisis of the day.”

Jonah is staring off into space, rubbing his arm. It doesn’t seem like he heard Garrett at all. Garrett just sighs, and rolls away.

Jonah stays there, contemplating, for quite a while.

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“Okay, no more dancing around it.”

Jonah jerks awake. Again. God, why can’t he stay awake? ... Probably because he stayed up all night.

“No, Cheyenne.”

Jonah looks around. He peeks into the next isle, and then the next.

... Where the hell are Cheyenne and Amy? He can hear them so clearly...

“He’s like, totally oblivious to it!”

“He’ll realize it eventually, okay? It’s not some truth bomb we can just drop on him.”

“My friends drop truth bombs on me all the time, and it just brings us closer. Best bitches don’t lie to their best bitches.”

“... Right. But, it’s kind of something for him to take the time to process.”

“What if he doesn’t? He’s just gonna like, wander around forever making excuses and being all nervous and confused.”

“Well... then we’ll give him a push. But for now let’s just... give him some space. Let him come to terms with it on his own.”

Jonah is startled out of his accidental eavesdropping by hearing himself sniffle. He quickly wipes his eyes, sticks his hands in his pockets, and hurries away. He still doesn’t know how he heard them, maybe some kind of really weird echo or sound tunnel. So he goes to the other side of the store entirely and finds the chattiest customer he can.

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He can feel Dina and Mateo staring at him as he restocks softlines. They whisper to each other, and he sighs and hangs his head. “You know, it makes it worse when you talk behind my back.”

Mateo yelps a little. He clears his throat and quickly composes himself. “Sorry. Uh, we were just talking about-”

“Yeah, no, I know. I’m... aware, okay? And I just would like to stop hearing about it for now, please.”

Mateo looks taken aback by the tiredness in Jonah’s voice, the... weary tone. Dina, however...

“Yeah, well, not exactly something to brush under the rug.”

“Why do you even care? It’s a me problem, okay?”

“Really? You think this doesn’t impact everyone?”

“How! Would it even do that?!”

“Well, let’s see! It made Mateo afraid, it made Amy all somber and worried about you, it made Glenn cry even more than usual-”

“It did?”

“He started a trust fund for your soul.”

“... Oh.”

Dina stops, her frown slowly becoming more confused. “You... didn’t realize that would happen?”

“... I don’t know, I guess I thought... thought he’d be more open-minded.”

“Glenn?”

Jonah takes a deep breath. Ugh, why’d it make his chest hurt? Why do his lungs feel like they don’t want the air?

The next thing he knows he’s done with softlines (it felt like he got done in the blink of an eye) and walking away. He swallows down the lump in his throat, and the urge to comfort eat. God, he’s craving a snack now. Well, he has all day, but he’s been... a little distracted.

“Excuse me? Hello? Hey!”

Jonah looks up at the customer, still feeling drained and empty.

“Finally, god. How useless do they let you people be around here? I’m looking for the shock collars, my dog keeps licking me when I tell him not to.”

“... That’s a really, really shitty thing to do to your dog.” Jonah doesn’t really mean to say it, but he’s just sort of on autopilot now.

For some reason, the customer doesn’t reply. Just stiffens.

“Follow me. I’ll sort you right out.” Jonah thinks he smiles at them. But he can’t be sure, because at that moment he blacks out.

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

Jonah shrugs his coat on, not looking anyone else in the eye as they all file out to clock out.

He waits until the very end, and clocks out last. Maybe he can avoid them all by waiting long enough?

Ugh, he can’t. He feels restless. Looking like another sleepless night already. Two in a row, great. Maybe that’s why he had that blackout. He still isn’t sure where the customer went, nor how he ended up in the No-Go zone of the Gardening Section...

Whatever. They were a jerk, anyway. Maybe he talked some sense into them? He did that during a blackout yesterday. Maybe it’s stress, then?

He keeps his head down as he thinks about it (trying to avoid some other, more introspective thoughts) and walks out.

He lifts his head as he exits the breakroom to find everyone standing in a group, smiling softly.

“Um... what’s going on?” He claps his hands behind his back. Please don’t let this be more teas-

“We know we’ve made you uncomfortable today,” Mateo pipes up. “And after talking to Garrett about your guys’s conversation, we realized we had the totally wrong idea about everything.”

Glenn steps forward and hugs Jonah. “I accept you no matter what,” he says firmly. “I would never start a fund to save your soul for being gay, that was a complete misunderstanding! You like whoever you like, Jonah!”

“And I didn’t mean to badger you,” Dina admits with her shoulder a little sunk. “I didn’t quite understand what you were going through in your head, and I made some assumptions. Wrong ones.”

“We all care about you, Jonah,” Amy says, prying Glenn off of the poor man. “Okay? We just want you to know that. Today we were being really, really shitty. But it won’t happen again.”

For the second time today, Jonah isn’t aware he’s crying until he hears himself sniffle.

“I just- I feel really, really stupid,” he admits, wiping his eyes with his palms. He laughs, not quite bitterly, but not happy. “I mean, I’m in my thirties. I-I had... so many obvious moments where I should have realized! How... oblivious, am I?”

There’s a bit of an awkward air to the group after that comment. But Amy hugs Jonah, and he feels a little... spark, in his chest. It’s nice.

His chest has felt pretty heavy and empty all day.

“Everyone comes to terms with stuff at their own pace,” Amy says. “I lived in an unhappy marriage for years because I couldn’t accept the obvious. What matters is that you got to this point of realization, okay?”

Jonah hugs back. He thinks he feels Amy shiver, but he brushes past it. They pull apart, and Jonah sniffs and wipes his eyes again.

“And I um. I-I don’t think I’m... fully, gay,” he says slowly. He hesitates, mouth open, the words stuck. “I think... I think I’m Bi.”

There’s a moment of silence. He smiles a little, and stands a bit straighter. That feels... really right. “I think I’m Bi,” he repeats.

Sandra claps for a second, but no-one joins in. She lowers her hands slowly.

“Wow! Hah! That feels- wow! God, that feels good! Um,, what-what now, though?”

Garrett shrugs. “Flirt with some dudes? Some people in-between dudes and chicks? I don’t know, man, it’s your life.”

“Your long, long life,” Dina mutters to herself.

“Right! Oh, yeah, uh... that guy! From earlier! I-I think I want to see him again. Okay, uh, I’m going to go home, and-and maybe research some local protests he might be at-”

Everyone groans a little.

“Protester Jonah is the preachiest Jonah,” Garrett says, shaking his head.

“Can he still be preachy? Wouldn’t that hurt?” Cheyenne whispers to Glenn.

Glenn shrugs. “I’ll ask Pastor Craig,” he whispers back.

Jonah doesn’t even notice. “Okay! I’m going to head home! I kinda feel like, I don’t know, like this is a whole new chapter in my life! Um, how do we- I mean how do- do we do a group hug, or-or maybe a high-five-”

“Or we just head home.”

“Yeah, no, Garrett’s right, head home. Let’s all head home!”

They all head out to their cars. Jonah gets into his, plops down into the drivers seat, and grins.

What a freeing realization! He doesn’t know how he missed it, it was all so obvious!

Well, as far as he knows, there’s no other huge life-revelations waiting for him. He’s figured it all out, finally.

He starts driving home, humming along with the radio as the car next to him keeps pace, despite being in the faster lane. He never understands why people do that when the roads are empty. He chuckles to himself. Maybe he’ll realize that Life Mystery tomorrow.

What he doesn’t realize, neither when he gets home nor when he wakes the next morning, is that he never turned his own radio on.

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musings-from-mars · 3 years ago

Text

Routine Repairs

Some Ruby x Crescent Rose fluffiness. A girl and her sniper-scythe can be something that’s just so soft tho…

~~~

Well, that went a little rougher than expected.

The Beowolf problem was not going away anytime soon, it seemed, but it was nothing Ruby couldn’t handle. Her family knew that well, even if her dad still got on her case about going out alone. She’s not a proper Huntress yet and blah blah blah. It’s not like she’d ever gotten hurt. In fact, this time around, she didn’t even take a single hit! Not even a scratch!

The same couldn’t be said for her beloved scythe, however.

Ruby entered the Rose-Xiao Long workshop (a shed behind their house) and stomped her snowy boots on the doormat. She had unfolded Crescent Rose into scythe form, already studying her for damages. “Geez, Cres,” she muttered, shaking her head at all the dings and scratches on her metal surface. There was even a loose hinge that made folding and unfolding her difficult. She went over to a workbench and set Crescent Rose down, then flicked on the light.

“Don’t worry,” Ruby said, dusting off her hands before opening a toolbox. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”

She started on the hinge at Crescent Rose’s neck, right beneath where her scythe blade mounted to her handle. While Ruby adjusted and tightened the screws with one hand, she idly patted the side of Crescent Rose’s blade comfortingly. “Now you won’t make that scraping sound when I change configurations,” she said. “I can’t help but imagine that hurts…”

Once she finished with the hinge, she tested her work and was delighted to have Crescent folding and unfolding with ease once again. Ruby laughed as she did a couple careful twirls of her weapon inside this small space, then held Crescent to her chest in her arms. “See? Good as new, right?” She kissed the fixed hinge with a “mwah~,” then returned the scythe to her bench to work on the scrapes and other markings. They were rather unsightly, but nothing Ruby couldn’t buff out or repair with paint. No matter how long it would take, she’d return Crescent Rose to mint condition, as she always did after an encounter.

“You know…” Ruby said, rocking her head side-to-side as she wiped at one of the scratches with a cloth. “I know I don’t really have to do all of these repairs all the time. It’s not like these scratches and scrapes make you less effective in a fight.” She chuckled. “I mean, obviously. You were so impressive out there, holding up beautifully! But I guess…” She shrugged and lifted the cloth away. This scrape was fixed! “I guess I can’t help but feel like you deserve it. You work hard to help me defeat Grimm. As a fighter, I’m nothing without your strength and resilience.” She paused and looked down Crescent’s handle, and she sighed. She set her cloth aside and leaned down, resting her cheek on the broad side of Crescent’s hooked blade.

“I…” Ruby closed her eyes and sighed. “I love you, Crescent Rose. I know…I know you’re just a weapon, but you’re not just a weapon! You’re like a friend to me, a really dear friend. You’re there for me in a way no one else is. I mean, my dad and uncle and sister are always there, but you’re the one who makes it possible for me to achieve my dream of becoming a Huntress!” She took a shaky breath and smiled weakly. “You also…let me cry on you when I get sappy.” She wiped her eye, then closed her eyes and hummed to steady herself.

“Every day, I question if I’m good enough,” she continued. “And I remember back to what Uncle Qrow told me, that in a fight, the weakest between the fighter and the weapon will always break first.” She closed her eyes, still idly stroking Crescent’s shiny red blade siding. “I’ll never let you break, and I know you’ll always keep me safe from harm, too. Like today! I didn’t get hit once.” She giggled. “We’re such a good team…”

After a silent few minutes, Ruby sighed and slowly sat back upright. “Alright, I know. I still have some work to do on you.” She grabbed her cloth and began to work on another scrape along the top of Crescent Rose’s blade. “I gotta make you look your very best! Not that you aren’t beautiful already.” She leaned down and kissed Crescent Rose again quickly, before sitting back up. “And yeah, I know, I should be getting inside and warming up, but if I can still feel my hands, then I can do repairs!” She declared with a laugh. “Like I said, you deserve it, Cres. I love you so much.”

Before long, Ruby had managed to touch up all of Crescent’s damage. Ruby admired her under the light as she did one final inspection, then nodded with a hum and folded Crescent Rose up into her compact form, holding her against her chest with both arms. “There we go! And now I’ll head inside. I must’ve had snow in my boots, because now my socks are wet, ew…” She switched off the light and carried Crescent Rose out of the workshop. “You’re lucky, Cres. You’ll never know to horrors of wet socks.”

#ruby rose x crescent rose #cookies and croissants #rwby #ruby rose #crescent rose #objectum romantic #drabble

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

98. I’ve been hired to kill you, but you don’t seem that concerned???

Super/vigilante/mercenary au? I feel like it would be really cool if one of them has known the other’s secret identity for a while but doesn’t have anything against them. The two have also been becoming /close/ friends with mutual pining, so the hit is actually just a good excuse to reveal their identity before asking them out. Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I tried to work in as much of this as I could

Content warning for mentions of guns and mentions of death

It’s a dark and stormy night, because of course it fucking is.

Indrid steers the borrowed car down the street, rain hammering the car while his heart tries chiseling it’s way from his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, circling the block like a shark on a reef, the light from the top floor, left corner of the apartment building telling him there’s no pretending his prey isn’t home. He doesn’t want to think about the instructions he burned, the lethal object hidden in his clothes.

He doesn’t want to kill Duck Newton.

“Excuse me, but I have a rather odd question; which of these trails is the least traveled?”

The ranger looks up from the map between them, grin friendly and a little lopsided, “Lookin to do some birdwatchin or somethin?”

“I like to draw but I, ah, I also get easily overwhelmed by crowds.”

“Try this one” The man circles a trailhead, “not super popular this time of year. Watch out for mud.”

“I shall, thank you.”

He didn’t.

Which is why he’s back in the visitor center, trying to get enough of the mud off so that driving home isn’t miserable. Worse, the ranger from earlier walks in, takes one look at him, and snickers.

“I tried! Truly, I was careful, but there was this-”

“Patch of stones in the trail?”

“...Yes. How did you know?”

“Fell flat on my ass two days ago thanks to them. Wait here a sec.” The door swings shut, then opens again while Indrid is rinsing mud from his glasses. The ranger holds out a packet of body wipes, “this’ll get the worst of it.”

“Thank you ranger...Newton.”

That same smile, reaching a pair of mismatched eyes, “Just call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid parks in a spot far from any streetlights or cameras, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts towards the apartment complex.

“These are fascinating.” Indrid peers over the edge of the dock at the early blooming bulbs.

“Glad you like ‘em, thought they might be alley after you showed me those drawings of the marsh.”

He imagines Duck seeing the flowers on his rounds and thinking not of the seasons, the weather, the way their petals look near the water, but of him. It’s the sweetest thought anyone’s ever spared for him.

The lobby door opens easily, courtesy of the copy of the keycard left in his mailbox. He knows he should take the stairs; fewer people use them.

He calls the elevator.

“Duck? The sign on the door is, that’s just temporary right?”

“Nope.” Duck sets his hat on the counter, runs a hand right through the grey streak in his hair, “they’re closin the whole park until further notice, which is probably gonna be never. Laid all of us off.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Even Indrid could tell it wasn’t. That from their occasional conversations, Duck’s work was akin to his heart, kept life flowing through him on even the roughest days. The assignment had told him not to worry, that he was almost doing his target a favor, ending a life he wanted over anyway.

Indrid knocks on the door, tossing his options about in his mind as slow footsteps approach. He could do what he was sent here for. Or he could offer Duck Newton something to brighten his days.

The door opens, Duck standing there in boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a confused expression.

“Indrid? Jesus, come in, you're fuckin soaked. This is some storm.”

“At least it will help with the drought.” Indrid closes the door, slips off his shoes, lets Duck take his sweatshirt to hang near the heater, angling his body so he won’t see or feel the handgun tucked in his waistband.

“Yeah. Assumin it don’t just mudslide all the hills that lost their cover durin fire season.” Duck sighs, plops down on the couch, “sorry, ain’t exactly in a chipper mood.”

“That’s sort of why I came to see you. I, ah, I wanted to see how you were getting on after the park closing.”

Duck gestures to the messy apartment, then at himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you got enough money to reopen the park indefinitely.”

He chuckles, “I wish I did.” He picks up a small, wooden ship, “goodness, did you make this?”

“Yep. Know it’s an old man hobby but, uh, I dunno. I just like makin stuff. Putting things into the world, even if it’s just a model ship on the shelf or a mint plant on the windowsill.” His smile is tired, but there’s a determination to it that makes up Indrid’s mind for him. He’s about to make his offer when Duck adds, “mind grabbin me some water since you’re closer to the kitchen? Cups are in the middle cabinet.”

“Of course.” Indrid crosses into the small kitchen, mind wandering to what their first date will entail as he sets his hands on two glasses.

The cold metal at the base of his neck hurtles him back to earth.

“Someone set you up, slim.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Duck’s hand goes instantly to Indrid’s gun, pulling it free and tossing it away before roughly patting him up and down. The barrel on his skin never wavers.

“Duck, please, I, I can explain.”

“No need to. Thought you seemed familiar, went diggin and found out who you work for. Bet you thought I hadn’t seen your nine mil, but I ain’t lived this long by bein careless.”

“I don’t understand. The file they gave me didn’t say anything about this.”

A bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t always a ranger, slim. The fact they didn’t tell you that makes me think they’re hopin I off you, not the other way around.”

“But, but I didn’t do anything.” The crack in his voice is why he was never cut out for this, he told them that, over and over again.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“Duck please I, I wasn’t going to do what they told me.”

“If your bosses are who I think, then helpin me would be a goddamn death wish on your part.”

“It would have been worth it. One date with you would have been worth whatever they did to me if they caught me after I ran.”

“That’s mighty funny” the barrel disappears, and the ghost of a kiss takes it’s place, “I was busy weighing whether askin you out was worth the risk of gettin shot.”

Duck sets the Glock on the counter as Indrid slumps against it, turning to find the ranger watching him carefully.

“What do we do now?” He sort of wants him to kiss him, sort of wants to storm out and find whoever thought he could be gotten rid of so easily.

“I say we-” Duck freezes as three, sharp knocks come from the door. He crouches to the floor, Indrid following him. The ranger grabs Indrid’s gun from the floor, whispers, “stay put, follow my lead.” Then he calls, “who is it?”

“I have a package for you to sign for, Mr. Newton.”

“Be right there. Actually” he lowers his voice slightly, “uh, Indrid, you’re right by the door, could you-”

The shot breaks the wood right where Indrid’s head would be. Duck fires two shots, both of them sighing when there’s a tell-tale thump of body meeting carpet.

“Glad yours had the silencer. Buys us some time, but someone is bound to come outta their apartment eventually and find the fucker.”

“Our hitmen also have to report completion within a certain time frame or back-up is sent. And no, I can’t do it for him, it has to be voice contact.” Indrid stands, calmer than a moment ago; this part he knows.

“Good to know. In that case, slim,” he raises an eyebrow, “think it’s time you and I take a vacation.”

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

“You really got no clue what they’re after you for?” Duck winds them along highway 50 as the sun peers anxiously over the horizon.

“None.” Indrid fishes out the roll of mini doughnuts he bought near Donner Lake, the first place Duck had deemed safe to stop since they left the coast. They’re in his car, Indrid knowing full well the one he borrowed has a tracking device installed, “I’m mostly a numbers man; they give me scenarios and I give them likely outcomes. I, ah, I also helped with clean up, but I suspect they did that when they were annoyed I’d given them what they thought was an inaccurate prediction. I don’t like the aftermath of disasters, even if they’re small. And I was never, ever assigned a hit until last night” He worries a hangnail, “I thought they were satisfied with my work. Even if they weren’t, they could easily do away with me. There was no point in sending me on a fake mission and hoping you’d kill me instead.”

“Unless they got something against me too, which they could.” Duck drums on the wheel, “I, uh, I joined a, uh, guess you’d call ‘em a vigilante group when I was younger. I was eighteen and they recruited me, sayin how there were certain folks who were chosen to protect the world from evil. I avoided it for a few years, but they were persistent, and honestly I thought I could make a difference. That we were just protectin folks who the system didn’t. And we did. Kinda.”

Indrid offers him a doughnut, which he takes and chews before continuing

“Trouble was, not everyone agreed on who needed protectin. It got so convoluted and so goddamn dangerous that I decided I wanted out. Wanted to spend the rest of my life makin things grow, lookin out for the woods, that kinda thing. It almost worked. But if I could go back in time to talk to that kid, I’d tell ‘im there are enemies you can’t unmake, things you can’t undo.”

“Very true.” Indrid murmurs, “I suppose I’d tell myself I did not blame him for throwing in with who he had to in order to survive.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doin’ now, too.”

“No.” Indrid shakes his head, “right now I am on the run with someone I like a great deal.”

Duck flashes him a smile, flips the blinker to turn them into the only sign of civilization for miles; a cluster of buildings calling itself Cold Springs Station. The groggy teen at the counter gives them the key to a cramped cabin.

Indrid tosses his bag--the one he hid in the trunk of the borrowed car, knowing the likely outcome of his visit would involve flight of some kind--down on the right side of the bed, Duck doing the same on the left. It’s only when they’re under the covers, both half-asleep, that he notices he forgot something.

“Drat. I meant to stick something plush in my bag. I, ah” he blushes, “I sleep much better with something to cuddle.”

A strong arm drapes over his waist while Duck tucks his head under Indrid’s head, “how’s that?”

Indrid winds his limbs around him, feeling like a little kid who’s just had his favorite teddy bear returned to him after hours of tearful searching, “perfect.”

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

The plan is to weave through the Southwest like a drunk bee before turning North; they need to put off visiting any places with friends or family for as long as they can. They spent a morning on the floor of a run down motel with a map and some pens, marking off the safest routes and places they’d like to visit. Duck picks state parks, Indrid any place likely to have lots of sweet food.

Whenever they stop for the night, they never bother asking for two beds. While they’ve yet to go further, Indrid delights in waking Duck with a kiss on the cheek each morning.

On the Nevada border Indrid spends two hours playing Blackjack, counting cards enough to win several thousand dollars but not enough to get caught. In a pizza place outside of Salt Lake, Duck wins Indrid a stuffed mothman from a claw machine (“just in case you gotta sleep alone some time”).

And fifty miles from Alamogordo, they get into trouble.

Indrid carries his weapon near constantly, but he really didn’t think he needed it at the Motel 6 Breakfast Buffet. When the man waiting for the waffle maker next to him says “outside, Cold, let’s get this over with” he goes still, wishing they’d at least given him time to eat.

Then he hurls his scalding mocha into the man’s face, striking him in the ribs and breaking his nose before he even hits the floor. Orange and red liquid splashes his face, two shots hitting the juice dispenser behind him. The other two assassins don’t get a second chance to fire; Duck takes out one with a chair, jabs the other with the splintered leg, and gathers both their guns with an ease that Indrid admires.

As they’re sprinting for the parking lot, Indrid slapping an extra two hundred dollars on the lobby desk in apology, he realizes admiration doesn’t quite capture his feelings. Duck is so calm in the face of danger, so commanding, and so very, very...hot.

The moment he allows himself that thought is the moment he dooms his focus for the remainder of the day. He contributes to the planning of their next stop, to driving and watching the mirror for cars that follow for too long, but his mind is back in the dining room, hoping Duck will turn the fire in his eyes onto Indrid, bend him over the beige table and take him while the people who tried to hurt them whimper and bleed on the floor.

“‘Drid? I’m gonna go shower, didn’t get a chance this mornin. You wanna scope out dinner?”

“Of course, but I fear it might be the vending machine special again.”

“Eh, I can live with that, especially if they got those Oreo packets.” Duck blows him a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

Duck’s showers are between five and six minutes in length; Indrid’s certain he can get himself off in that time. He slips his pajama pants down, spits in his hand, and pretends the fingers pressing on his neck are not his own. That Duck’s voice is in his ear the same way it was that first night, low and so firm Indrid has no choice but to bend.

“You droppin hints, slim?” Duck leans in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist.

He bolts upright, pants tangled around his knees, “Nono, I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be a few minutes more.”

“Wanted to shave and forgot my dop kit. Now I’m kinda disappointed that I was gonna miss the show.”

“I, ah, I, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Thought we established we were into each other.” Duck’s smile falters, “wait, fuck, if you decided you ain’t I’ll back the fuck off.”

“No!” Indrid crawls to the edge of the bed nearest Duck, not caring how silly he must look, “it’s the opposite, I want you even more now than I did when we started this trip. After this morning I--ah, never mind. The point is, I would very much like to get you into bed sooner rather than later.”

“How about now?”

“Only if you…” Indrid’s brain screeches to a stop as Duck drops his towel. Now he understands where the urge to create phallic sculptures comes from; he wants to preserve this sight for all time.

“Glad you approve.” Duck chuckles, joins him on the bed, “gotta say the, uh, feelin’s mutual.” He slides a hand along Indrid’s dick, gone soft from his alarm, and lets out an approving groan as it hardens against his palm, “that’s it, sugar, get excited for me.”

“If I get any more excited I will explode.”

“Can’t have that, it’s a pain to clean blood off of walls by yourself” a kiss finds his cheek, “you got a preference for how we do this?”

“I, I’d like to, ah, receive. At least for tonight. Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck growls, abandoning him on the bed and laughing when he whines, “gimme two seconds, slim, then I’ll take care of you.” Two condoms and a small bottle of lube bonk into Indrid’s foot, “packed those just in case. You’re gonna get one of ‘em out and open yourself up for me while tellin me just what got you so riled up. Shirt off, c’mon, get to it.”

The gruff tone means Indrid is blushing on every inch of skin by the time he’s fully naked. As Duck’s gaze moves over him, all traces of dominance wash away, leaving expression tender when their eyes finally meet.

“Christ, ‘Drid, you look better than ever coulda pictured. Shoulda been bookin more places with pools just to get you shirtless.”

“It’s January, dear.”

“Hot tubs, then.” Duck nudges him onto his back by kissing his shoulder, and the sight of the ranger above him reminds Indrid’s fingers what they should be doing. He fumbles the condom open, gasps when one digit feels like a massive intrusion.

“Easy slim, easy, you’re probably still tense from this mornin.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” Indrid grins as Duck bends to kiss his collarbone.

“It is, so start tellin me what got you so horny you jerked off the first free second you had.”

“It’s a, a bit embarrassing OH, ohthat'snice” he sighs as Duck kisses a slow trail towards his hips, “but I find the moments when you demonstrate a certain...ruthlessness in-incredibly arousing.” He wiggles his hips happily as Duck drags his lips across his belly.

“Keep goin.”

“You’re brave, and calm even when things are awful, and that makes me feel so very safe with you. But then there are those times when I remember how dangerous you could be, AHnnn” the second finger goes in easier than the first, “that when it, it comes down to it you are more seasoned in lethal matters than I am and I, you could render me utterly helpless, have me, use me, hurt me, but instead you offer me more tenderness than I deserve.” He glances down to where Duck’s chin rests on his chest, the ranger’s eyes overflowing with affection.

“You want the gentle me or the rough one tonight?” Duck tucks a strand of Indrid’s silver hair behind his ear.

“Rough.” It’s so quiet he’s amazed Duck hears it.

“Okay. In that case-”

“AHgod!” Indrid’s hand is pulled free as Duck first flips him over and then hauls him onto his knees.

“Hands on the wall. Now.”

Indrid sets his palms on peeling grey paint as foil crinkles behind him. When the head of Duck’s cock rubs his entrance he whimpers, hoping the prep was enough.

“Here’s how this is gonna go; I’m gonna use this cute little ass however long and however hard I want, and you;re gonna keep your hands there the whole fuckin time. You move, or you mouth off, and I shove some fingers in along with my dick just to remind you who’s boss.”

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid rests his forehead on the wall.

“It gets to be too much, say stop.” A kiss to his neck, “much as I wanna ruin you, wanna be good to you even more.”

“Understood. Now please, please fuck meEEEh, ohgoodnessAH, ahhhgod.” He scratches the wall as Duck stretches him open, the prep proving enough but only just and tears pricking his eyes by the time Duck bottoms out.

One hand stays on his hip while Duck’s right arm wraps around his chest, keeping them close, “Fuuuck, now I see what your job was; ass this nice, you were the fuckin cocksleeve for the entire Organization, weren’t you?”

“Not at all” Indrid rolls his hips at the taunt in Duck’s voice, “I was a very valuable asset.”

“Yeah, I’ll say you’re an asset.” A sharp thrust, the menace of which is broken by Duck giggling at his own joke, Indrid hiding his face in his arm to do the same.

“I say in, ahgod, an office all day, no one saw me, I was not h-hired for my looks, I promise you.”

“If you say so. I say it’s their. Fuckin. Loss.” Three thrusts and Indrid’s cock is dripping onto the pillows, and he moans as Duck settles into a demanding rhythm.

“Got another theory for you, slim.”

“D-do tell.” Whether the stammering is from his teeth clacking together or his thoughts being bounced around his brain from the force of Duck pounding into him, he can’t say.

“I think you stuck around as long as you did because you get off on it danger.”

Indrid sucks in a breath, whimpers, “No. I, I was there because I was apprenticed out and, as you knowOH it’s, it’s hard to leave such places.”

Fingers on his throat, pressing but not squeezing, “Liar. Bet you got off at least once a day, let everyone from the hired hits to higher ups cum in you as long as they made you think they could off someone. Oh fuck, heh, you like that?” Duck smirks as Indrid tries to fuck himself in time with the pumps of his hips.

“Yes, goodness, I’d never want it, only want you, but, but the idea is divine.”

“Too bad, because now you’re all mine and anyone who tries to take you is gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

His climax curls in his stomach, begging him to touch himself and free it, but he’s determined to be good.

“Duck, please let me cum, please, it’s so good but I can’t-”

“I’ll help you out sugar, don’t worry. But you gotta do one thing first.” Duck nips his ear, “say you’re my personal toy from now on. C’mon” the fingers on his throat tighten, “say i-”

“I’m yours, I’m your toy, only you can have me, you can do whatever you wish to me and I’ll take it with a smile, anything, sweetheart, please, pleasepleasepleaseAHhhhn.” His cum splatters on the wall, Duck’s hand leaving his dick the instant it does to dig his fingers into both hips and fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“That’s it sugar, take it, be good for me and lemme fuck you until you can’t move, ohfuck, fuck, ‘Drid, yes, fuckyes.” He holds him tight as he cums, breath warm against his back. Then he’s pulling out and slumping forward as Indrid falls back into his arms.

“Ooops” he snickers, spotting the cum, “still easier to clean than blood.”

“Indeed.” Indrid bites his lip, “I, that was wonderful but there’s one thing more I would like. Will you kiss me.” He looks over his shoulder to say it. Duck cups his face, turns it so he can bring their lips together. It’s far slower and twice as tender as anything else they’ve done together.

“Can’t believe I forgot to do that until now. Gonna kiss you silly.” Duck kisses him again as Indrid turns in his lap. When he pulls back, his face is serious, “Y’know, it’s easy to be brave and calm when I’m doin’ it for you. You make me feel like I can face any goddamn thing, long as it’s for your sake. That make sense?”

Indrid studies his face in the half-shaded light from the bedside lamp, sees the curves and colors, sees the man he was willing to run away for.

“Yes, sweetheart, it does.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #hitman au #I guess?#assassin au

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catharrington · 4 years ago

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Strawberry Seeds and Love Potions. (T, 2.4K words)

@harringroveweekoflove day 2: LOVE POTION && MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURES. Also including: witch Robin, post season 3 recovering Billy, flustered but giving it his best Steve, and cat boys. Or cat men? No, cat boys.

***

The coffee mug clicked onto the table with an otherworldly menace. Steve’s brown eyes darted to it, then back up to Robin. He furrowed his brows in a question. But before he could open his mouth, she held up her hand.

“It’s not poison,” she explained.

“Could have fooled me, Robs,” Steve hissed.

“It’s called a potion, dingus. It’s going to help!” She pushed the cup farther down the bar. The diner around them was mostly closed, and Robin was the only waitress in the place. Her peach colored apron brought out the green of her wide, devious eyes.

“Potion... poison... that’s like one letter different,” Steve leaned back in his stool away from the mug.

“Wow, so you know how to spell. What other skills will you showcase, The Amazing Harrington?” Robin’s lips curled up in an evil grin, leaning her body over the bar to dig the insult farther.

Steve just scoffed. Putting his elbow up on the bar and shielding himself as he tried to get back to the open College text book he was supposed to be reading. All the words were rushing together in swirls of black and white. He pushed his thumb into his curved bottom lip to try and force himself to focus, chewed on the pad of it, but he could swear the mug was mocking him.

Could swear he could smell that strawberry pink liquid Robin had poured for him when he ordered a simple black coffee.

“Drink it,” Robin snapped.

“No,” Steve growled.

“Are you going to grow a backbone and actually confess then?” She quirked one brow up.

Her face was so condescending. So smug. Steve hated how much he knew that look, how it made him sort of fond for her.

“I mean,” he sighed. His walls crumbling in defeat. His fingers coming up to join in worrying his bottom lip. “I mean I might?”

“It’s been a year Steve. A year of following him around like a little stray kitten! A year of ‘Oh Billy, I’ll give you a ride!’ ‘Oh Billy, how was physical therapy?’ ‘Oh Billy, pay attention to me!’—“

“I get it, I get it!” Steve turned towards her again to motion with his hand to keep it down. Waving his wide palm around until Robin’s pursed face cracked into a giggle. “Just keep it down, would you?”

And he turns over his shoulder to survey the empty diner before he’s got enough courage to look at her again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a fat, stupid crush on Billy. And I know that I’m the most embarrassing and dumb guy you know. But...,” he trails off. Eyes wandering back down to the coffee cup. “It’s not the same as Nancy Wheeler or even Tammy Thompson. So much can— no, so much has gone wrong. If I... confessed right now, It would just make everything too much for him.”

His fingers nervously tick across the mint green bar. Wishing like hell he could cross them in front of his chest and make a barrier.

Robin takes a step forward. Her own fingers an inch away from his. She twitches like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to grab them. Like someone worrying their bottom lip if they are going to pick the last slice of pie in the diner’s glass container. But she does, reaching out to lay her skinny fingers and their chipping black nail polish over his own.

“Dingus,” she starts lovingly, “you don’t know any of that.”

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes like he’s going to turn away, but Robin holds his hand tightly.

“You don’t know if it’s too much for him, or what he wants. And you don’t,” Robin took a second before continuing, her breath hitching, “you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hawkins, Indiana is the poster town for unknown tomorrow’s. Steve knows way too well about that. The tunnels crawling with slime and vines that play host to the monsters of the world.

But Billy, he surely knows better than anyone. It’s been a whole year but noone’s going to ever forget what he did. What happened to him under the control of a creature called The Mind Flayer. How Billy used himself like a human shield and died to try to make up for it. Just to come back with an electric jolt to his tattered heart.

They had to stitch new lungs inside his chest. He called himself Zombie Boy now. Called the patchwork scars heavy metal.

Steve just smiled. Nodded his head as he watched Billy climb out the crumbled wreckage of his shell. Climb out a new man, a man Steve caught himself falling head over heels for.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve exhales.

“Oh, what was that?” Robin giggled, leaning in to hear better.

Steve pushed her away by their joint hands. Wiggling his fingers afterwards as if cursed.

His breath quipped and held tight in his chest as he turned back to the coffee mug. It sat waiting for him. The light red liquid swimming with foam and black seeds at the top. As if no matter how long it sat, it was always freshly prepared.

Steve gripped the handle of the white mug hard. Thought about how quick Billy’s body hit the ground when he died. How quick it all felt to Steve who had to helplessly stand back and watch it all.

He lifted the mug to his lips and drank in desperate, greedy gulps.

And as he finished it and slammed the ceramic back down on the bar, he didn’t immediately feel different. His mouth felt strange, the red juice had a powdery after-taste and much more seeds than his gag reflex was expecting. But as he screwed up his face from the flavor, he didn’t feel changed. Or empowered. Or whatever Robin was trying out with this magic spell.

“I don’t—,” Steve started, but his voice stopped just as it started. His head pounded like a drum was beating right next to his ears.

Doubling over in his stool, he gripped at the sides of his head in a panic. His whole skull felt like it was vibrating. Shifting around even, his scalp moving at the top of his head as if something were to burst out.

Steve grabbed two fist fulls of his hair and groaned through the wave of pain. Burying his chin in his chest to try and stop the noises before they came. It was so painful, but somehow only lasted a second.

As sudden as it came, he felt fine again.

Steve jerked his head up to scream at Robin , when he noticed her eyes wandering to the top of his head.

He followed them with hesitant fingers, slowly running up his now messy head of quaffed brown locks under his fingertips brushed something new.

Giving an undignified yelp, he drew his hand backwards as if burnt. His eyes were wide and pleading with Robin. But she watched him right back with the same face. As if she didn’t make this, as if it wasn’t her poison potion that created this.

Steve timidly touched the new addition to his head again. This time he didn’t finch as his fingertips sank into hair that felt soft as fur. Following it up to a point, and then feeling as it curved inwards to softer peach fuzz.

He could feel something, as his fingers moved, he could feel them as easily as if he were touching the lobes of his ears.

Because he was touching his ears.

A quick glance to a dingy mirror hanging at the back of the bar confirmed it for him. There was a pretty pair of brown cat ears sprung from the top of his head.

“Robin,” he breathed. Unable to fully grasp how he felt. “What was that drink exactly?”

She blinked at him, gathering her thoughts before she cleared her throat. “It’s um, it’s supposed to be a charm. An aid, like-like an enhancer. It said it would bring out the traits that the person you craft the potion for desires the most.”

Then she stopped to laugh, her red lips caught between gaping open or turning up on the corners in a mocking laugh. “I didn’t— wow! I thought worst case scenario would be you’ll turn into an asshole like you were in high school. B-But this?”

Steve looked from her back to the mirror. Wrapping one hand around the pointed triangle of his ear. Pushing it down just to watch it perk back up again.

“I’m... I’m a cat boy?” Steve stutters out a gasping breath.

“Well, more like a cat man, really,” Robin tries to help. “Come on, you’re almost old enough to buy beer.”

“Really helpful, Robs, thanks so much for the curse and now the insults!” He shouts.

Holding up her hands in defense, her smile doesn’t drop. Even in her shoulders Steve can see she’s quivering with laugher.

He feels along the base of his new ears. How the fur is the same color and melts almost perfectly into his own silky hair. How it feels good, actually, to scratch his blunt nails there just like how a house cat would enjoy it.

“This isn’t some trait. Or some, something that Billy would find attractive in me.” Steve groans. “This is some freaky kink!”

Robin finally clasps her hand over her mouth to dam up the waterfall of laugher. It hits against her palm in a muffled, annoying, cruel noise. She shakes her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t get past how funny she found it.

“You must have mixed up the wrong stuff, Robin! Put the wrong magical thing in the mixture!” Steve tried to shake his head out to unstick his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair as he does when he gets flustered, and now his cat ears bend with the motion so they don’t get tugged on. Folding neatly onto his head before bouncing back up to attention.

It felt so weird, but somehow it didn’t feel very different at all. They acted as if they’ve always been there.

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Steve nodded to himself. “You gave me the wrong potion. It’s okay, it happens! Just whip up a new one that’s for reversing cat ears. That’s in your witch book right?”

Robin kept her hand over her mouth and kept shaking her head. She wasn’t replying to anything Steve said. And it was honestly making him more mad than the new ears on top of his head.

“Hey, is it really funny enough for all that?” he mused.

Then Steve looked back up at the mirror. He turned his head side to side to admire the way his ears moved with him. How they were his hair color on the outside then a flushed pink in the very middle. How there were strands of lighter brown between that and those reminded him of how highlighted his hair gets in the summer sun.

“I don’t know. I think they... I think they sort of suit me?” He shrugged.

Robin dropped her hands and her laugher was louder without it, but she managed to catch her breath to finally reply. “Oh, they suit you alright. You’re a natural at this stuff, Garfield.”

Steve furrowed his eye brows. Cat ears folding down on his head in defense. “I’m not orange,” he hissed back.

Robin opened her mouth with likely more insults and no actual help from the aspiring witch who caused all this mess, when she was interrupted. The bell above the entrance letting out a loud ding.

The front door, painted in matching mint green like the bar, swung open. And like he was summoned, like his ears were simply ringing so much from being talked about he hunted down the source, in walked Billy.

He was wearing a grey hoodie. One of many that he collected once he got discharged out of his hospital. This one Steve was familiar with, because it was his. Handed down with a coat and a couple other winter items as Steve feigned indifference over concern about Billy’s California blood staying warm. An old Hawkins High baseball league logo sitting right in the middle. It’s fading green and orange design still bright enough to make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy greeted. He lifted his big, scarred hand to wipe the hood down from his head. Letting loose the wild mess of short curls that are regrowing on his head.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve croaked out. His voice was awkward. His face, he knew, must be blushing bright red.

He turned to seek help from Robin, but the swinging door that lead into the kitchen was rocking back and forth on its hinges. She must have run away as soon as Billy came in. And Steve was too busy watching his entrance to even notice.

Cursing under his breath, Steve racked his brain with an excuse. Some logical way to explain why he had sprouted two new fluffy ears off his head.

He felt like he was playing a pinball machine in his head. Flashing lights and jingling noises were going off. But nothing was coming to him. He couldn’t find any words to offer at all to Billy.

So he whipped his head to the side, watched as Billy stopped glancing around the empty diner to finally settle on Steve.

And he watches as Billy’s gorgeous, totally unfair pretty blue eyes lift to see the cat ears on his head.

“Woah, Harrington,” Billy exhales like he’s blowing a mouth full of cigarette smoke. “That’s really—,”

“I know, Billy, okay! It’s um, um?” Steve waves his hands around as if that can turn the wheels of his thinking some more. But he can’t think. Not well anyway, when Billy’s standing here looking so handsome, so warm, and so alive right in front of him.

“Yeah, okay, I can totally explain this—,”

Billy cuts him off with a soft chuckle. Just under his breath. Steve closes his mouth quick enough to make his teeth click.

“I don’t know, Steve. Ya don’t have to explain it. It’s kinda cute, actually,” Billy drawls out his words low and soft. And then smiles at him.

A second ticks by. Billy’s boots skid on the tile as he steps even closer. All the way until he’s right next to Steve. Grabbing the back of a stool right next to him.

And Billy hasn’t taken his eyes off Steve’s ears once. And he’s got a little sparkle in them like the first time Billy got a point over him during basket ball practice back in high school. And oh, oh.

“Cute?” Steve parrots back.

“Yeah, super cute,” Billy confesses.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #my fic #harringrove fanfic #steve/billy #harringrove moodboard #harringroveweekoflove #harringrove week of love #cat boy Steve #cat boys in my Harringrove week of love? it’s more likely than you think #my moodboards

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pizzacrustdisposal · 3 years ago

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naming and judging bedrooms i found on google

you can tell i dont pay attention when my grandma watches HGTV lol

Contrast Is Key - looks okay, but it’s too bright for me. i wouldn’t like the person who owns this home. cool windows, fluffy lookin pillows

Grey Black - the segmented windows are kinda iffy, and the bed reminds me of a thin mint. the textured wall is a little offputting, but the whole thing is interesting. i dig the mono palette. let me get a big fluffy canopy bed tho

Earthy Tones - the blue/olive/brown is immaculate. looks big and comfy. the loveseat at the foot of the bed is making me go feral. i wouldnt have that tiny little table though. loving the french doors.

Gold Rush - well. its very gold. i love it. the accent patterns are a no for me though.....grandma’s curtains type vibe.....love the windows tho. again mattress looks uncomfy and there’s too many impractical pillows. shapes and textures no thanks..... all in all an ok vibe if you discard the pillows and dont nitpick

Ivory Afterlife - that scene where Harry Potter died and saw Dumbledore in the afterlife or whatever?? this. i think it’s a hotel room actually. patterned floor is not my style. good loveseat, nice armless chairs to ragdoll in. better pillows than gold rush bc no texture on cases. again too bright but good vibe.

Light Grey Living Space - Woah. bed isnt too crowded, LOVE the architecture. big window<3 fireplace<33loveseats<33 not too bright and love the flooring. dont care for the rug but it does fit well.

Mono Red - woah ho ho! i am a sucker for red and white and i love this. what the fuck is up with that corner plant i want to be one of those! low light fixture might be a silly little problem. mattress looks like a kitchen sponge...... the aesthetic really is great tho

Modern Cream - oh another soft boy! digging the lamp and curtain. looks spacious. cool floor.

Modern Neutral - looks like a millionaire’s bedroom, with less technology. like the weird couch arms around the bed. offput by all the stuff going on but i see a living space in the background? idk

Monochrome Mentality - oh? oh i like this. Big soft bed. lots of room in the room. the vanity is pretty cool but personally not my style. not much to critique. very good.

Panned Gold - more than 10 pictures? blasphemy! anyway nice mono color palette. looks like a wardrobe with mirror doors which is cool unless you’re a soprano opera singer. the brown is a bit yellow for me but it works with the gold pattern. i dont know that man.remove him. tiny little shelves for tiny little objects, very nice. spindly chandelier reminds me of an anglerfish lure. what is with modern bedrooms and thin mattresses (but this one actually looks ok).

This.... - oh wow that is a lot. that is a big cactus. where is this. ive never liked stone walls, not even brick. reminds me of my cousin’s bedroom. the cousin i hate. Anyway the bed is glorious and theres a sink? just there? holy fuk.id love to see the bathroom. nice view of absolutely whatever that is. lovely.

Wispy Bits - woah. i want that chandelier if anything. why is there a book on the floor is that built in. i don’t know what the aesthetic is but it’s really cool. dont like the arms on that chair. im getting rich wattpad bachelor looking for a spouse so his parents stop bitching at him and im ok with that but maybe thats just the jack daniels lmao

Romantic Red - oh wow😳 that is all 9.5/10 title says it all

Room To Think - yep. Lot of floor. doors to a patio i see? cool. bathroom is kind of minimalistic which i appreciate. nice greenery there. curtains for privacy very good. nice looking bed and i like a fireplace. i am getting lazy with my commentary i am sleepy.

Regal Dark - i am FOAMING at the MOUTH. the Drama. I am in awe. 10/10

last one thank fuck. got that metal bed frame. there are so many straight lines i am so uncomfortable. what is the point if you can’t sit on the edge of your bed and spiral into self-loathing... nicely lit, good structure, but i cannot get over the bed frame.

and thats it! i may revise some of my reviews in the morning, but I also am don’t care that much. im just looking for background images for a project its fine. ily im going to bed<33

#long post #hard to read #bedrooms #interior decorating #interior decor #modern decor #bedroom #bedroom decor #pizzacrustdisposal

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aizawaskittenwhore · 4 years ago

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𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

pairing: cartel!shota aizawa x fem!reader

words: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, this will be a cartel!au, so mentions of c*ke and distribution...yeah lol, suggestive content towards the end of the chapter (vague description of a bj), angst, cheating, aizawa just ain’t shit in this story LMFAOOO

a/n: this is the third fucking time i’ve tried to post this so if it doesn’t work i’m gonna cry. but I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE and i can’t wait for you all to see what i’ve got planned. so uh...strap yourselves in it’s about to get crazy. sorry ms joke </3

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐚’ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

The salty, warm breeze from the ocean whipped its way through Shota’s onyx locks, tossing them around with a gentle force. Miami was gorgeous from the water, skyscrapers alight with the buzzing energy of the city, streets crawling with good food and even better looking women. Gorgeous full lips wrapped around martini glasses, criminally short dresses clinging to any skin it was given. He didn’t care much for the nightlife, opting to observe the partygoers from a distance.

He wasn’t here to socialize.

He was here to work.

His wrists draped over the edge of the rail that separated him and the water, a small portion of his weight against the cool metal. When Hizashi suggested that he get a yacht he nearly spat out his whiskey, face contorted in an expression of annoyance and disdain. Shota didn’t understand why someone would need such a flashy boat, it was merely a watercraft meant for travel and or fishing. This wasn’t the 1400’s where one’s worth was tied to the size of a man’s ship. Just another glorified pissing contest for rich people with too much money, and not enough couple’s therapy in the world that could keep them home for days at a time.

It’s not as if he was in any position to judge though, his pinky coming to rest just below the silver band that rarely inhabited his ring finger these days. He doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to wear it, whether it be the ever-crushing guilt from lying to his wife, or the text he’d received from Emi this morning that read:

“Make sure to bring me back a mojito! Don’t work yourself too hard, and remember how much I love you!💕”

If only she knew that these tri-monthly “Inter-Departmental Hero Conferences” were just fronts for selling a literal boat-load of cocaine.

Turns out, yachts were really good for that.

In the span of just five years, superhuman society was nearing it’s peak. Upon the graduation of all the students in the 1-A Hero Course, and Izuku Midoriya’s induction as the new Symbol of Peace; the world began to see an astronomical shift. Crime rates were the lowest they’d ever been, with Japan and the States sitting at 2 and 4.5 percent, respectively. Newly minted Pro Heroes roamed the streets, bringing security to those who needed it and striking fear into the hearts of those who were on the wrong side of the law.

But this utopia came at a price. With the sudden influx of fresh and talented pros, crime decreased exponentially, leaving little villain-based work for Heroes to get paid for. Hostage situations and evacuation efforts took backseat to helping older women across the street and assisting young children with their schoolwork. Soon enough, peace became a burden for those whose careers surrounded chaos.

Aizawa was no exception to this dilemma. Once Midoriya and his classmates graduated and obtained their Hero Licenses, he’d ended his tenure as an instructor at UA. He felt that he’d done his civic duty as a teacher and a Pro, and produced some of the finest Heroes the world would come to see. So he began to settle down. Surprisingly, he’d begun to tolerate Joke’s incessant laughter and boisterous personality, and soon fell in love with the eccentric woman. Between patrols and giving advice to aspiring Heroes at the community center, he and Emi explored all the the world had to offer; swapping out steel-toed combat boots for soft plush flip flops against hot sand. After three years he’d proposed, much to Emi’s delight (and Ashido’s upon hearing that Mr. Aizawa could actually tolerate another human being). The ceremony was small, and intimate. Shinsou serving as the ring bearer, and Eri as the flower girl. Mic even shed a few tears during the toast, though he’ll deny it if Kayama ever brings it up.

For a while, things were good. Life was good. Emi was glowing with the energy of a new life blossoming inside her, and Shota fantasized about meeting his little girl, counting all of her dainty fingers and toes, and doting on her for all to see.

Or at least it was, before agencies began to close. Paychecks got smaller and smaller. Heroes were struggling to find work and their pockets began to struggle along with them. With Emi on maternity leave, and Hero society coming to a standstill, things were looking grim. He needed to provide for his family, his wife, his children.

He needed a plan, and fast.

Luckily, Hizashi always did have good standing with everyone’s favorite Bird Boy. So he called in a few favors.

“Just for a couple months man! We stir up a little bit of noise, make a couple ripples and bam! Crime rate’s back up, and we get back to makin’ money. It’s temporary. Nobody will ever know, I’ll make sure of it. I got you.” Hizashi pleaded, an arm slung across Aizawa’s shoulders as he pensively gazed into his glass of amber liquid. He’d done some vigilante work here and there in his twenties but this....this was outright criminal. But what choice did he have?

Just a few months, he’d said. If only it’d worked out that way.

“I was getting worried you wouldn’t show, Eraser!” Zhu thundered, hands clapping joyously at the other man’s timeliness. “That’s some boat you got there, let me guess...the wife’s idea?” He queried, eyebrows waggling emphatically as Aizawa descended from the metal ladder and onto the wooden pier; eyes rolling into the back of his head at Zhu’s...excitable personality. The two had known each other for about two years or so, having gotten acquainted over the course of Shota’s many trips between Japan and the States, and sometimes South America. Zhu Kanaka was a man of the lower ranks, opting to use his easygoing disposition to negotiate deals for Takami “Lord of The Skies” Keigo, better known as Hawks. Standing at a solid 6 foot 4, with thick black locks that spiked into a point reminiscent of an onion, thick bushy brows and a set jaw, you’d think he wouldn’t hesitate to punt anyone like a football.

At least until he opened his mouth.

“As it turns out, Emi hates the damn thing. Makes her seasick. Hizashi talked me into getting the fuckin’ eyesore.” He intoned. His left hand palmed his slacks for the emergency pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket for when he was stressed during a deal, although he never really needed them anymore after Eri said she wanted him to quit. He still held on to them though, just in case. “The hell you waiting for? You know the deal man. Let’s see it.” He muttered, silently willing for Zhu to get on with it so he could get in a bed. Three and a half hours on a goddamned boat (that you didn’t even want to begin with) will do that to you.

“Someone looks like he needs a nap. Alright, I got ya. Count it, make sure it’s all there. I had Thing 1 and Thing 2 back there pack it, so you might wanna double check.” Zhu quipped, jerking a thumb towards the two young men currently engaged in a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors; the pair of them flushing upon receiving one of Aizawa’s infamous stares. Two thick black duffles were handed to his two bodyguards, the men immediately unzipping and checking the stacks, a mental tally steadily climbing higher and higher as they sifted through the cash.

“He’s good. Four hundred thousand in each bag. It’s all there, Eraser.” Sato affirmed, Toru nodding alongside the man. “Good. Go ahead and call Jamie, tell him to bring the car around. Zhu, I’ll send Sato and Toru to help your men unload our shipment. It’s a hefty one, so you’ll need the assistance.” Shota offered, shoulders visibly relaxing at the thought of getting some alone time in an empty hotel room.

“Yeah that’d be great, thanks! How long you in town for?”

“Until about 3pm tomorrow. I’ll be on my flight back to Kyushu then.” He states, right arm extending to clasp the other man’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re goin to that meeting the Big Man’s holding in a few days right?” Zhu queries. “Unfortunately, yes. Gonna miss my little girl’s first doctor’s appointment for this shit.”

“No way! She had the baby?!?!? Congratulations man! How’s it feel?” Zhu exclaims, eyes alight with joy for his friend’s new addition to the family. “Feels good. She had a smooth pregnancy, everything worked out fine. Hana’s beautiful, and healthy. I couldn’t be more proud.” Shota brags slightly, heart swelling at the thought of his little girl and how proud he was to know he’d helped in making someone so...ethereal. “Wow. Raising another kid, you flying out all the damn time, along with whatever else you got goin on?? No wonder you look like shit.”

Red eyes and floating hair caused Zhu to immediately retract his former statement.

“Aw I’m just joshin’ Eraser! But I hear ya. It’s a lotta’ sacrifices that go into this, but they’re who we do it for. All of it. Ya know?” Zhu amends, eyes shimmering with the reflection of the city lights off of the water.

Did he even know who... or what he was doing this for anymore?

Shota found himself asking that question more and more often as of late.

“...Right.”

“Anyway, you’re probably spent, so I’ll leave you to it. It was good seeing you man, send Emi my love!” Zhu shouted as he slowly walked towards the men unloading his boat. “Likewise. Tell Macie and the kids I said hello.” Aizawa responded dryly, body screaming for some kind of relief from this exhaustion.

“Will do! Oh, by the way! You might wanna bring some cooler clothes and sunscreen with your pale ass, I hear Guadalajara’s pretty sunny around this time of year! See you in a few days man!” The male laughed, throwing him a wave as he slowly disappeared into the darkness of the port. Massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation, Aizawa nodded in acknowledgement as Jamie pulled up alongside him; his hand reaching for the handle and dragging his siphoned body into the backseat.

Jamie could sense his employer’s weary expression, and didn’t make any attempts at conversation, merely opting to start making his way to the hotel while smooth jazz floated through the car. Forehead against the door of the towncar, Shota typed out a quick message to his wife:

“Alcohol is the last thing you need sweetheart, and I love you too. Got another meeting in a few days, mandatory. I’ll in be in Mexico, so I’ll miss Hana’s appointment. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to the two of you.”

Sent.

The message sat for a few seconds before Emi read and typed out a response:

“Aw, bummer! </3 Dont worry, work is much more important right now. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures!”

“You don’t have to make it up to us, you caring is enough. Get some sleep old man, me and the girls love you. xoxo, Wifey 😘 ”

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve any of them.

This he knew. And yet, it didn’t stop him from responding to the unknown number that texted his phone every time he happened to be in town.

“Same time and place? Desperately in the mood to play....My toys just aren’t as good as yours, Eraser. ;)”

His heart sank. A beat passes. Then two.

Calloused thumbs move fluidly across the screen. He’s done this far too many times.

“Be there in 10. You know the routine.”

And in retrospect...he would’ve been way better off just blowing off Guadalajara and going to Hana’s appointment.

Because while he wrapped her slick ponytail around his hand, as a head that wasn’t his wife’s dipped between his legs, he didn’t think this would be his last moment of peace. Shoved down the throat of a woman who’s name he had long forgotten, settling for calling her whatever pet name he felt like adorning her with, her hands clawing at the soft and sleek cotton of his trousers.

Aizawa never anticipated that this would be the last time he would be in a room without immediate reinforcements, and be content.

The last time someone he didn’t trust with his life knew his location, and he wasn’t terrified.

The last moments of peace in his world before it all went to hell.

Temecula, California;

1:36am

The office floor was barren. Dark, coffee stained carpet congealed with the bacteria of old and new; giving it a sad beige color from the creamy foam-like white it was when the building was built. Cubicles cluttered with miscellaneous paperwork from separate departments, all of it raining down from desk to desk like a fresh layer of snow on the first day of winter. Tired, weary hands typed at a computer with precision and accuracy, the warm glow from the screen illuminating the buttons on her blouse as she plowed through each document. Her body raged for a moment of rest, but she couldn’t give in. Not when so much was at stake, not when so much needed to be done in so little time.

After a few minutes, and approximately twelve sips of bittersweet lukewarm coffee, the fingers came to a halt. A sigh of relief was freed from her body as she pushed the enter button on the dusty, tan keyboard and began to pack up for the night. Since the computers were set on an activity timer, there was no need for her to physically shut it down. After 30 seconds of no visible movement, the screen flashed a message declaring that the activity would be suspended within the next 2 minutes if no motion was detected. Content with her work, she slung her work bag over her shoulder, and trudged towards the elevator, mentally clocking out for the night.

As the elevator slowly carried its passenger down, the computer continued its countdown before discontinuing its power, leaving the following words for nobody but its future recipient to read:

Drug Enforcement Agency Operative Travel Request:

Agent: L/N, F/N

Current Operation: Potential formation of a rising cartel under the leadership and or affiliation of Pro Heroes Hawks, Endeavor, and Eraserhead. Agent has been undercover for eight months and twenty-seven days.

Investigation Status: Active

Location of Travel: Guadalajara, Mexico

Reason for Request: Possible gathering of multiple Hero-Run plazas to discuss further movement. Will gather more intel and gain trust of suspects involved/acquire more resources for investigation.

Travel Request Status: Accepted.

#shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x female reader #aizawa x you #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #nyafterhours

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javisjeanjacket · 4 years ago

Text

Stagnation - (poe dameron x reader)

A/N: everyone needs a lil hurt/comfort Poe Dameron daydream :). I tried to make this one as gender neutral as I could, but please let me know if i missed something! I want to work on being more gender neutral when I write.

As always, if i use your gif let me know so that I can tag ya!

Warnings: um...none? I mean its a hurt/comfort so there’s some angst and some fluff.

Word Count: 1.6K

Your breath shook and kissed the metal of the door before you. You tapped the strap of the blaster holster fastened around your hip with the very tips of your fingers. Once, twice, three times for good luck. Armed with the luck of your blaster and a steaming bowl of soup in one your hands, you pressed an open palm to the handprint scanner stationed beside the door.

The mint green of the scanner zipped underneath your hand, casting an eerie glow through the tendons and muscles there. It beeped with satisfaction and then the door in front of you slid upwards, revealing an absolute mess of a room and an absolute mess of a man curled in the bed sitting against the far wall.

You stepped inside, blinking in the palpable must and stagnation of Poe Dameron's quarters. The Resistance's most valuable pilot had willed the fates so strongly that they had been forced to allow him to freeze time and remain here-frozen in his grief and guilt. His hands wrapped so tightly around the cord of time that he seemed to warp all the stars around him, strangling them as tightly as he did the blanket lying beside him.

You cleared your throat and moved cautiously, walking heel to toe as to not spill the steaming bowl of soup; past forgotten flightsuits, tossed machinery manuals, tired boots, and crinkled wrappers of Poe's favorite candy, Koyobursts.

The pilot did not stir in the unmade bed, his body laying so that he faced the viewport on the opposite side of the room.

You sighed, the weight of the empathy pressing devilishly on your shoulders. Sitting delicately upon the side of the bed you had left just hours ago, you gently moved the bowl of now cooling soup to his nightstand. Your eyes scanned over his form, a nurse assessing their patient's wounds, and you reached out a tender hand to touch his shoulder.

The fabric of Poe's t-shirt was worn and longing to be washed, it's fibers straining against his oily skin. You squeezed his shoulder softly, tempting him back towards yourself.

"I brought you some soup." You whispered. The words seemed to resound in the room as the shouts of a mighty chorus. You could hear them ringing in your ears and shaking through your veins.

You worried about Poe every day, of course. Worried about his hot head and his quick trigger finger and his burning heart. You worried when he kissed you hurriedly, lips squished and harsh against yours, as he ran to his X-Wing. You worried when he didn't talk to his father for more than a week. Kes's voice and sage advice always seemed to comfort and guide him when he felt that he was less than what he should be. But this, this absolute emptiness, the broken shell of a man lying in bed next to you, this worried you more than any First Order attack or close call ever had.

Poe seemed to not hear your offering of soup, or maybe he did and didn't have the energy to say he wasn't hungry. His body remained as a statue, a heavy laden stone doomed to spend eternity crumpled like this in his Resistance issued mattress.

Sitting next to Poe, his face sullen and the stars in his eyes burnt out, sent a knife through your chest; chopping and catching on every tendon of your aching heart. You softly unbuckled the belt holding your blaster and kicked off your boots, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. With as much grace as you could muster, you wriggled into the smelly sheets behind him and wrapped your arm around his middle, pulling yourself close enough to kiss the back of his neck. His skin was oily and coated your lips with a salty taste as you worked your way up his neck and to the space behind his ear.

Poe realized you were there now, one of his hands reaching up to rest upon your arm tucked around him.

"Are you hungry?" You whispered, your lips pressing again to the stubble collecting on his jawline.

The dark-haired man sighed meekly and shook his head no.

"Baby, you have to be hungry. I haven't seen you eat anything but Koyobursts in two days." You tried to reason with him as you took a piece of his oily hair and ran your fingers through it, gently pulling your fingernails across his scalp.

"I'm not." His voice was soft and filmy, the cobwebs of melancholy resting over it.

You sighed and rested your head in the crook of his neck. You moved your hand now to run over his hair, over and over again, the greasy pieces flipping up with resilience as you moved over them. "Poe, you couldn't have known what she would do. You did what you thought was right. We all did."

"Holdo died-" His voice caught as her name always did in his throat. "She died because of me. I couldn't just shut up and trust her and she died."

You tucked your lips into your mouth. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who made her stay behind. You weren't even conscious when she told Leia she would stay."

Poe's form grew rigid underneath you. You could feel his teeth gritting in his jaw. "But we would have had more time to get away," His voice was sharp and unyielding, searching for an undamaged part of his heart to scathe. "We would have been able to come up with a better plan, if I-"

Pressing your palm to the underside of his chin, you pushed against his pillow to gently move his face from the bed. "Hey." You interrupted, your voice now finding it’s legs. "Of course we would have been able to come up with a better plan if we had had more time. But we didn't. We didn't have more time and we didn't have more ships or more people. We had what we had and we did what we thought was best. So did Holdo. That's all we could have done."

Poe's eyes were swollen and red-ringed, the skin underneath them puffed up with emotion and over stimulation. His dark eyebrows, now scattered and wild from tickling a pillowcase for a few days, pushed themselves together as he looked over your face. His umber colored eyes danced across your features and his breathing picked up when he met your gaze once more. Wrenching himself out of the indention he had made in the bed, he turned to lay with his face to you.

"I've been thinking." He began.

You sighed and braced yourself.

"You should leave me." He said, his voice cracking.

Knowing Poe and knowing how he allowed his failures to creep up from behind him and whisper to him that he was nothing without their sweet devotion, you perked an eyebrow and replied. "Alright. State your case."

Poe nodded and swallowed, his conviction settling over him. "I'm- I'm a liability. I'm too hot-headed and I can't keep you safe and you would be better off with someone who hasn't gotten someone else killed recently." Your boyfriend looked out of the side of his eyes and over your face, searching for any kind of clue as to what you were feeling, searching for you to reassure him, to hold his heart even closer now that he had asked you to leave it alone.

You paused a beat and felt waves of adoration wash over you. Looking over his yearning face, you could see every time he had flashed you a smile as he hopped in his X-Wing, every time he had touched the small of your back when you stood together, every sweet whisper in your ear in the midst of a crowd. You could see his love for you hiding under the ridge of his nose and in the shadows of his eyelashes on his cheek. "Nah, you're not getting rid of me that easy, Dameron."

A soft smile crept up on Poe's face and tugged at the edges of his mouth. He let out a sigh and looked down to the intermingling of your legs with his. “You sure?”

Playfully, you reached out a hand to push against his shoulder. “Of course I’m sure.”

Poe’s dark eyes flicked back up to yours and you noticed the first embers of warmth returning to them.

"This thing is going to be over one day." You said, reaching out to tuck a particularly unruly curl behind his ear. "And it's not going to be over because Poe Dameron made one bad choice one time in one situation."

"You don't know that." He whispered, his eyes still avoiding yours.

"You can't carry the weight of the fight for every single planet all by yourself, sweetheart. Your shoulders will get too tired." Smiling gently, you moved your hand from his hair to his cheek and ran a thumb across his stubbly face.

The man before you sighed heavily and pressed a kiss to your palm. "I know that. I'm just....I’m so tired. I want it to stop." His heart rested so carefully on his tongue, teetered on the brink of collapse.

Echoing Poe’s bleeding one, the heart inside you jumped at his words, yearning to reach out and take the agony from him. To curl and squish it, until it was small enough to hide somewhere he would never find it. "It will stop one day. We just have to kick their asses first."

He chuckled. "Yeah, just that little thing first."

You smiled and scooted closer to him, tucking your head underneath his.

Poe ran a hand over the top of your head, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and rested his hands around your waist. A beat of silence passed between the two of you when he said, "Did you bring me soup?"

POE DAMERON TAGLIST: @softly-sad @itsamedeemoney

ANY/EVERYTHING TAGLIST: @mcolbz14

What did you think? I really hope you enjoyed reading my work. Just your liking / re-blogging it means a lot. If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts! Tell me what you think via my ask box or a comment always warms my heart!! Thank you again for reading!

Need more reading material? You can visit my Masterlist for more Poe Dameron content, as well as my other works.

Want to be kept in the loop? Let me know so I can put your handle in my taglist form. Right now, I’m writing for Poe Dameron, Santi, Shara x Kes, and Din Djarin, but I have plans to expand my SW character list, and eventually add in my favorites from the MCU as well.

Thanks again for reading! Sending love! -hai

#poe dameron #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fluff #hai writes #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x reader

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kuzuhinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Work Title: cryptic shells, orange juice, and candid talks

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @serpenteaus

Pairings/Characters: Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Hinata Hajime, No Additional Characters

Rating/Warnings: Teen Rated, No Content Warnings Apply

Prompt used: “postgame mundane shenanigans”

Author’s notes: hi! i apologize for this leaning towards the shorter side, but this was a lot of fun to write! i really hope you like it :D

Hinata swings around his cabin at the same time he always does, knocking and waiting patiently as Kuzuryuu heaves his ass out of bed.

It’s a really minor routine, in truth. There’s nothing super interesting about that repetitiveness– coming around at 8 AM, walking with him to the dining hall, bantering with him over some toast while they talk to their other friends, and spending the rest of their day working on the island or just relaxing. It’s the same shit every day, the same shit they do unless it’s like, someone’s birthday or something, and it should probably bore Kuzuryuu at some point.

It kind of doesn’t, though. In a sense that Kuzuryuu isn’t going to complain about seeing his boyfriend in the morning, or getting to vibe around the island with him, even if it’s similar to what they’ve always done. All of them find ways to keep things interesting– accidentally, like Komaeda, or on purpose, like Imposter– and the island always feels dynamic.

They’ve been through a lot. Having a kind of stability, yet one that shifts according to what they want Jabberwock to be, is sort of relieving. Kuzuryuu rarely got that relief in the past, and he sure as hell isn’t going to pass it up now.

Kuzuryuu makes his way over to the door, unlocking it. Hinata looks a bit more disheveled than usual, dark brown hair messy and growing a bit long, shirt half buttoned and his hands in his pockets, but he still gives Kuzuryuu a smile. “Hey,” Hinata says tiredly, “woke up late. How are you?”

Well, that explains it. Hinata likes routine, too, on most days (and sometimes he hates the tedium of it, but hey, Kuzuryuu can accommodate that too). “I’m fine. Just got up ‘nd shit. Let me brush my teeth and, like, get dressed. Is it hot outside?”

“Well, we’re on a tropical island,” Hinata deadpans, “so I would assume so. Bit cooler, since it’s November, but that’s how it always goes.”

Kuzuryuu nods, throwing open a dresser and changing into some shirt Hinata gave him a while back. Everyone on Jabberwock has a bad tendency to not remember who owns what clothes, so sometimes Komaeda shows up to lunch in Mioda’s skirt, or Koizumi ends up with Owari’s jacket, or Sonia nestles into Tanaka’s scarf. Nobody really minds, though– they’re all sort of a family, after all.

And, y’know. Kuzuryuu likes wearing Hinata’s clothes. Not that he would, like, outright admit that to him, but. Hinata has a nice scent of sandalwood and citrus, and Kuzuryuu thinks, as his boyfriend, he has the right to indulge in it.

‘Course, Hinata still has to point it out smugly. “That’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

Kuzuryuu gestures to the pattern on it– sunflowers, or something. Bit flashy, but Kuzuryuu can cut him some slack for it. It looks really nice on Hinata, either way, so. “Who else would have this shit?”

“Maybe Komaeda,” Hinata suggests while Kuzuryuu opens the bathroom door, pulling out the green toothbrush (there’s a spare blue one, for Hinata, in case he stays over) and putting on some mint toothpaste. “He’s picked up gardening, hasn’t he?”

“Him and Owari, yeah.” There’s a lull in the conversation, as he can’t exactly talk with toothpaste in his mouth, but he picks it up where he left off after he finishes. “Not sure how Owari got into it, actually, ‘cuz gardening never seemed to be her gig.”

Hinata leans against the wall. “The food, probably. Even though Komaeda’s luck keeps fucking up the strawberries, according to Hanamura. I wouldn’t really know, I don’t swing by there much, y’know, but. Probably for that.” Kuzuryuu nods, sliding on some pants and picking up his phone. Hinata straightens, already moving to nudge the door open. “Ready to head out?”

“Don’t know what else I’d be doing.” Hinata just snorts in lieu of a response, gesturing for Kuzuryuu to walk out first before closing the door behind them.

Hinata’s right, it is a bit cooler. It’s a subtle kind of difference, one that comes from knowing the island like the back of his hand, being able to tell when a storm’s about to hit and give them a shit ton of rain, or when it’s about to be super fucking arid, enough to give at least one dumbass heatstroke (fucking Souda and his stupid ass machine work, in the middle of the sun, with metal, and no water, for hours, in the fucking sun). It comes with time, basically.

And it’s sort of a neat thing. It should be boring, once again, but, eh. He likes it.

He thinks about that, sometimes.

Then Hinata makes an awkward gesture in an attempt to subtly ask to hold Kuzuryuu’s hand, and he stops focusing on the weather and all that bullshit, and more on his stupidly endearing boyfriend.

Kuzuryuu intertwines their fingers and mumbles, “You can just ask to hold my hand, dipshit.”

“You looked like you were thinking about something,” Hinata defends mildly. “So I didn’t want to, uh, just. Jar you straight out of that?”

It’s pretty considerate of him, Kuzuryuu considers, even though it’s kind of just inefficient, like the weird waffling they did when they first got together. Which is always really funny to think about in retrospect, because, like, the two of them have always been close. Back in the simulation, they got along decently well, and in the miserable months after waking up, the two of them would stay the night with each other all the time, doing scattered things across the island to distract themself, hugging each other when the days got shitty.

It only really made sense, then, that they had some kind of charisma between them back then. It only took everyone waking up and shit calming down, managing to get some kind of therapy across the shitty telephone lines that the Future Foundation got them, for them to even think about that shit. But, hey, they got there in the fucking end, with the help of the others, like, trying to get them past the yearning into an actual confession.

(Kuzuryuu still remembers the humiliation of Souda and Komaeda– fucking Souda and Komaeda– being the ones that helped him talk to Hinata about it. Souda, who is the definition of running himself in circles, romantically speaking, and Komaeda, who wouldn’t know how to confess to someone normally if a walk-through manual slapped him in the fucking face.

… Not that Hinata’s help was much better. Sonia and Tanaka were pushing for him to confess to Kuzuryuu with a fucking shell. Like, just a cool looking shell, that they thought would appeal to Kuzuryuu’s fiery energies, or something.

Hinata still ended up giving Kuzuryuu the shell, for the record. But Kuzuryuu was a lot more invested in kissing his new boyfriend, at the time. It’s still… somewhere in his room. Just, as a little memory. Or something like that.)

Hinata squeezes his hand again, and Kuzuryuu jolts back to reality. He laughs at himself a bit. “Sorry, I was just, like, thinking about the shitshow that was us trying to get together, all that time back.”

He tilts his head, olive green eyes softening. “How come?”

“Because you trying to hold my hand was awkward as hell.”

The soft eyes are immediately hidden with an eye roll. “Fuck off.”

Kuzuryuu snorts, nudging him with his shoulder before they continue walking to the dining hall. “Seriously, though. That was such a fuckin’ week, wasn’t it? Hell, I still think about Komaeda looking me straight in the eyes and calling me an idiot.”

“I’m still not entirely sure that one happened,” Hinata jokes. “Like. I know Komaeda is kind of… a lot, but the fact that he just called your ass out, then and there, is so much. Then again, Sonia called me a dense motherfucker, so.”

“You are a dense motherfucker.”

“I am not a dense motherfucker.” Kuzuryuu shoots him a look, and Hinata sighs. “Okay. Sometimes, I am a dense motherfucker. But I did know you liked me! I just can’t, uh, interpret half my emotions at any hour of the day.”

The Kamukura effect, Kuzuryuu calls it in his head, but he doesn’t, like, verbally say that. Not that it would be an issue– Kuzuryuu is kind of adjusted to Kamukura suddenly fronting, and the two of them get along decently well, but. Y’know. It’s just kind of a weird thing to say, he thinks. “Yeah, I mean, that’s fair. We were still pretty fresh out of everything, I can imagine you had more going on.”

“Yeah.”

Kuzuryuu shoots Hinata a look, taking in the slightly pensive expression, before impulsively standing on his toes to kiss his cheek. His face erupts in a blush, because Hinata isn’t the most accustomed to physical touch, still, and Kuzuryuu takes the chance to say, “You aren’t stupid, though. You’re, like, really fuckin’ smart. And I get it. We all do.”

Hinata glances away in some failed attempt to hide his expression. “Thanks,” he mumbles, but he squeezes Kuzuryuu’s hand, so. He knows that the other gets what he’s getting at. He’s just flustered, sort of adorably, but Kuzuryuu would never admit that. He is not a sap.

(Well. Hinata’s eyes sometimes remind him of the times long ago, back at home, where it was sunny and he felt sort of okay, actually. And he has nice hair, y’know, falling into his eyes but nice to touch. And he’s nice, like, a real sweet guy with a closed off heart that you can still sort of trust. And he reminds Kuzuryuu of the sunshine, just, entirely.

… So maybe a little bit, but, hey. One of them has to maintain the romantic coherency around here, and if they have to pass the baton of sentiment, so be it.)

“You’re contemplative today,” Hinata remarks.

“You spend half your time brooding and getting lost in thought, and you’re getting on my ass?”

Hinata laughs, which makes Kuzuryuu’s scowl soften. “Fair enough. Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” Kuzuryuu sighs. “Just. Thinking about us, again.”

“That’s, uh, pretty sweet of you. Or just really, really sappy, I guess.”

“Shut the literal fuck up.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They’re at the dining hall, now. As Hinata opens the door for them, the sound of the others becomes pretty apparent. Hanamura in the kitchen as usual, Tanaka and Souda’s voices distinct amidst the sound of everyone eating. There’s probably a few people missing– Komaeda and Owari come to mind, since Owari eats food unreasonably early sometimes, and Komaeda tends to show up when fewer people are there– but, since Hinata and Kuzuryuu got up sort of late, the rest are probably there.

It’s… nice. Another one of those expected things, mundane as all hell and probably boring to literally anybody else, but Kuzuryuu likes it. Likes the way things flow, likes the routine, likes it all. Even when it’s, yeah, sometimes decently repetitive.

Hinata gets the door for them again– chivalrous dumbass– and Sonia immediately issues them a, “Good morning, Hinata-san, Kuzuryuu-san.”

“What’s up.” Kuzuryuu lets go of Hinata’s hand to go and grab some food, his boyfriend engaging in an actual conversation with Sonia and Nidai. Kuzuryuu would like to later, no shit, but he’s hungry and Hanamura’s food calls to him. He gets himself some orange juice (that Hinata will probably steal from him, prompting an aghast orange juice and coffee, at once, are you fuckin’ serious? but, eh. Better than grabbing, like, milk or something). He also grabs some food, toast with some kind of spread Hanamura would give them the details of, before taking a seat.

Souda slides across him, leaving whatever conversation he had been having with Tanaka to the wind. “Hey there, soul bro! How we vibing?”

“Fine.” Kuzuryuu says with a shrug, instinctually scooting over as Hinata sits next to him.

Souda gets out another, “Soul bro number two! How are you?”

“Doing fine, Souda,” Hinata steals Kuzuryuu’s juice from the get go, so he kicks him under the table. Hinata stifles a laugh. “Tanaka’s giving you a death stare, though.”

“Ugh, dammit. Prick’s been getting on me over crystals, or some shit.” Souda gets out of the chair, already walking back over to probably start another argument with no other pretense. It’s early enough in the morning that Kuzuryuu doesn’t second guess the weird interaction, though Souda has a tendency to start and end conversations in the worst, most abrupt way.

He’s off, watching Souda and Tanaka go at each other while Koizumi sits tiredly near them, looking as if she’s debating whether to interfere or leave before Tanaka throws out an archaic insult, when Hinata moves to grab his hand and squeeze it. Kuzuryuu turns to look back at him, eyebrow raised. “What’s up?”

“Uh, nothing, really,” Hinata replies, and Kuzuryuu almost looks away again before he blurts out, “I love you.”

Kuzuryuu flushes, trying to roll his eyes to counteract it, but the awkwardly fond expression on Hinata’s face gives the impression that his plan didn’t work. Still, he keeps his voice casual (if not a bit softer, dammit Hinata, fucking contagious sentimental hours) as he replies, “Love you too, dipshit. Give me back my fuckin’ juice.”

“Of course.” Hinata takes one more swig before giving it back, and it’s almost a quarter empty, so maybe Kuzuryuu should have let the bastard keep it, but, eh. He’s too busy focusing on the I love you thing, which they’ve said fairly often throughout their relationship, but, still. He used to think– and Hinata must have, too– that it needed to be saved for big occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries or the days that come particularly rough. But, Kuzuryuu thinks that they’re worth hearing any day, even the particular slow ones, like these.

Later, they’ll probably go off to work around the island, separate for a bit to apply their talents wherever needed. Kuzuryuu will talk to his friends, hang out with Pekoyama a bit as she trains, and probably spend too much time contemplating to be productive.

But, it’s still a nice day. Slow, and a bit chilly comparatively, but a nice day.

And, hey. He can roll with that, he thinks. That they’ve earned their share of peaceful days after everything.

He shoots a glance over at Hinata while he’s eating. His face is neutral as he fiddles with his sleeve and thinks about something, either entirely random (like the light fixtures, or something), or a topic a bit more serious that he might bring up to Kuzuryuu later. He’s come a long way, in being open with that, but also with just… everything. Both of them have. Hell, the reason they could get together was that growth, getting through it all, that bullshit. All of that shit, to get here.

And, to be honest? Despite all the shit they went through, the shit that Kuzuryuu wished they didn’t have to go through, wouldn’t have gone through again no matter what…

… he’s pretty fucking happy that the two of them are here.

Together.

#kuzuhina #kuzuhina secret santa 2020 #serpenteaus #fieldofsunflowers8 #submission

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