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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial.

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek.

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame.

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him.

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering.

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror.

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak.

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive.

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive.

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react.

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse.

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point.

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile.

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed.

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

437 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Hobbies

Phic phight! @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

A series of vignettes about Danny having various hobbies.

(Master the Orb)

Danny exhaled slowly as the ice built up between his hands. Each new layer glittered in the ghostlight cast by the overhead ambient ectoplasm, embedding complex patterns in the overall piece as new layers built up over it.

“Very good, Great One,” rumbled Frostbite behind his shoulder. “Your control has improved immensely.”

Danny inhaled equally slowly, examining his work so far but not adding to it quite yet. “I don’t know. It looks a little lopsided.”

“Mmm, it looks fine to me. Especially for such an early attempt.”

Danny sighed, exhaling the ice he had built up with his breath. “So, it is lopsided.”

“Consider it practice,” said Frostbite, encouragingly. “It takes time to master art of any kind.”

“Humans do ice sculpture, too,” mumbled Danny. “They get really good, too. I’ve seen pictures. And videos. They don’t even have ice powers.” He rubbed his thumb over the surface, smoothing over a slightly rougher patch.

“That may be true,” said Frostbite, “but, again, you just started, Great One. You have only had your powers for a little while. Give yourself some support.”

Danny shrugged. “I guess it isn’t something my life depends on, so I can relax about it.” He built up another layer of ice. “This is oddly therapeutic, and I don’t say therapeutic lightly. You know Jazz.”

“I do indeed,” said Frostbite, somewhat ruefully, head half-bowed.

Jazz could be a force of nature, even more so than ice powers.

He held the ice orb up to the light. It caught on the patterns he had placed there. Fractals were the easiest. He was hoping that if he got better, he’d be able to make real sculptures with patterns in them, instead of just orbs.

But, first, he had to master the orb. Just like how when drawing you had to do circles first. Circle. Orb.

Ooorb. Yep.

The controlled application of ice. The evenness of the internal patterns. The solidity, density, and durability.

His orb was… not very orblike, despite what Frostbite said. Frostbite probably thought he was making so flat on purpose.

Yeah. He was terrible at this.

He was having fun, though.

(Furnace)

“You’re taking up glass blowing?” asked Tucker, surprised.

“Yeah? Is there a problem?” asked Danny, reaching over to stop his friend from accidentally drawing a line of orange sharpie across his poster on the themes in Macbeth.

“No!” said Tucker, quickly. “But, like, why? It just seems… unlike you.”

“Exactly,” said Danny, nodding sharply. “It has absolutely nothing to do with my powers and nothing to do with my family. Plus, I had a coupon.”

“For glass blowing?”

“It was a groupon,” said Danny. “For making Christmas tree ornaments. I’m going to do it with Jazz.”

“But, Danny,” said Sam, looking over from where she was working on her own poster about Twelfth Night, “glass blowing, uh, involves a lot of heat.”

“Sure?”

“Danny, you have an ice core.”

“Ah,” said Danny. “Well. I’ve got to use that groupon. If it doesn’t work out, it’s only the once, right?”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, wringing sweat out of his t-shirt. “That was awesome!” He giggled to himself and peaked into the annealer again. “So awesome!”

“Uh huh,” said Jazz. Her attempts had been… rather less successful than Danny’s, partially because she was trying so hard to make them perfect. But she had managed a few little baubles, nonetheless. “I think these’ll all be good for the tree. Assuming we get one.”

“And it isn’t set on fire.”

“Oh, yeah, that was a bad year.”

He squeaked open the annealer again, only closing it when the instructor lightly scolded him. “They’re so terrible and lopsided,” said Danny.

“Hey,” said Jazz. “Mine are fine.”

“I know! I was talking about mine.”

“Ah, okay then. I agree.”

“You aren’t supposed to agree.”

“What, you want me to lie? And after you said it first?”

“No,” said Danny. “But you could be nicer about it.”

“I’m your sister, what do you expect?”

(Lung Capacity)

Danny let the last note trail off to complete silence. He stared apprehensively at the assembled student body. Curse Mr. Lancer’s extra credit talent show assignment. Any minute now, they’d start laughing at him.

What was he thinking? He’d just watched a few YouTube tutorials on breath control, and he thought he could come up here and sing in front of people? He was a moron, and—

Sam and Tucker started cheering wildly, followed rapidly by everyone else in the gym.

Okay. What?

Sam and Tucker, following impulses known only to overexcited teenagers, swarmed up the stage and attacking Danny.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing like that?” demanded Sam.

“When did you learn?” asked Tucker, doing his level best to noogie Danny. “Why did you learn?”

“I wanted to improve my, you know, wail,” muttered Danny, “and all the breath control YouTube videos either had to do with diving or singing, so…” He did a little head wiggle to illustrate his point and also dislodge Tucker.

“I just can’t believe you kept this a secret from us,” said Sam.

Danny snorted and took a sort of half bow before attempting to leave the stage. “My dudes, I am basically made of secrets.”

“Encore!” screamed someone who clearly hated him.

“Oh, no,” said Danny, bracing himself against Sam and Tucker who were pushing him back into the middle of the stage. “No encore. I don’t do encores.”

But now people were chanting. Chanting.

“Come on, Danny,” said Tucker. “Just once!”

“Yeah, these are your fifteen minutes of fame!”

“I had those already! Multiple times!”

“That was Poindexter.”

“And now it can be you.”

Danny reluctantly took the microphone back off the stand.

(Letterhead)

The ink was thick, almost creamy, and paint-like. It was the ectoplasm mix, which also gave it a rich, rosy glow.

Danny was practicing ghost calligraphy. Well, one particular subset of ghost calligraphy, one which put special emphasis on the color of the letters as well as how they fit together.

It was a totally useless hobby. But it was… not exactly calming. No. He’d gotten way too angry about poorly formed arcs and crooked lines a couple of times. So. Yeah. Not calming. But… meditative. Meditative. And there was something satisfying about seeing the finished product.

Plus, if he framed his better finished work, they made for good presents for weirdo ghosts.

“You misspelled this,” drawled Ghost Writer.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Keuwii only has one kei.”

“This is only one kei.”

“What’s this, then?”

“It’s a flourish.”

“A flourish.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. If you don’t want it—”

“I didn’t say that.”

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Ghost Writer made a show of rolling his eyes. “Very well. Do you have one for my half-brother Randy. Perhaps one that says something along the lines of ‘idiot?’”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

(Babies on Fire)

“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are you doing up at three in the morning with a lighter? And… yarn? Is that yarn?”

“Dad wanted me to learn how to sew,” said Danny, “but I don’t like needles, not the sharp ones, anyway.”

“You get stitches every other week,” pointed out Jazz.

“Exactly,” said Danny, gesturing with the lighter. “So, I decided to look into, you know, knitting. And I was on knitting websites, and having, you know, a pretty good time with that, but then I found out about the babies.”

“The babies.”

“The babies,” said Danny, seriously. “And the blankets that are on fire. It depends on the yarn, you see. If the yarn is the wrong kind of yarn, if it catches on fire, the blanket can melt onto the baby. It’s terrible. Just terrible.”

“I kind of think that if the blanket is on fire you have bigger problems,” said Jazz. She took a step closer to her obviously insane younger brother. “Are you… testing the yarn?”

“I have to, Jazz. It’s for the babies.”

“Alright,” said Jazz. “You are going to limit it to just the yarn in our house, right?”

“But we don’t have any babies.”

“Okay, that didn’t answer my question, but, like…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Since we don’t have any babies here, why are you testing the yarn?”

“Because we might have babies here in the future,” said Danny. “Or I might knit something and give it to someone as a gift and then they give it to their baby. Oh my gosh, I’d feel so guilty.”

“I’d be more worried about the toxic waste in our basement,” said Jazz, which was exactly the wrong thing to say to a sleep-deprived half-ghost on the edge of an Obsession-fueled breakdown. Danny vanished in a blur, trailing yarn behind him. Jazz, who had only gotten up for a glass of water, cursed under her breath.

(Before the Ball)

“I’m so, so sorry, Dora,” said Danny, holding back something adjacent to laughter.

Dora laughed, more openly. “It is fine, Sir Phantom. Even now, you are better than my brother.”

“Am I really? Your brother? Who was raised to do this?”

“Well,” said Dora, letting go and stepping back out of the range of Danny’s feet. Which were, evidently, both left feet. “No, I’m afraid, but it is amusing to say, isn’t it?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, suppressing more laughter.

“Yeah, it is,” admitted Danny.

“In any case, you are far more graceful concerning your mistakes than he ever was. More gallant. A better representative of chivalry altogether.” She patted the shoulders of his shirt.

“Thanks,” said Danny. “Do you think that I’ll be, uh, ready in time for the party?”

“It’s more than a party,” said Dora. “You’re being officially knighted. You’ll be a peer of the realm.”

“Aha,” said Danny. “Yeah. I don’t… what? Really? That’s a thing?”

“You thought I was joking?”

“No,” said Danny, drawing out the word. He had, in fact, thought she was joking and only accepted her offer to teach him how to dance because he thought it sounded like fun and like it might take his mind off his problems. “Of course not. So. Dancing. Important. For first impressions?”

“Everyone already knows you, Phantom,” said the knight assigned as Dora’s bodyguard. “But dancing is surprisingly useful for swordplay. Which you need all the help you can get at.”

“You said I was getting better.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re good.”

“Ouch.”

(Time)

“I don’t have time for a hobby,” complained Danny through the Fenton Phones. “Maybe if the ghosts let up a bit—” He zapped one of said ghosts.

“Danny, are you fighting ghosts right now?”

“Yeah. That’s my point.”

“Oh my god, get off the phone.”

“No way! This is the only time I can call you, what with all of your classes.”

“Danny…” said Jazz, clearly exasperated. He took advantage of the lull in the conversation to blast a few more ghosts.

“I’m fine Jazz.”

“You are not fine. You are, like, ten thousand miles away from fine. When was the last time you even slept through the night?”

“Eh,” said Danny. “Recently?”

“You need to take more time for yourself.”

Danny sighed and captured the last ghost. “Maybe catching ghosts is my hobby.”

“Catching ghosts is your self-imposed penance for doing something that isn’t even your fault. Not a hobby.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you on Wednesday, same time.”

“Danny, don’t—”

He hung up.

“Ugh,” said Danny. “I guess I need to find a hobby. Have to find time to find a hobby.”

“Perhaps I could be of help.”

“Ah!” Danny jolted forward, dropping his phone.

Clockwork gestured with one hand, and the phone dropped back into Danny’s hands from above.

“Ohhh my ghost, why are you here?”

“You were just talking about finding time. And now I’m here.”

“Good timing, I guess?”

“Only the best,” said Clockwork, evenly. “But we were speaking of hobbies. Might I suggest ice sculpture? Your friends in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to teach you...”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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em0avacado · 4 years

Text

Only You

( Angel Reyes x Reader )

trigger warnings : none i think, guys being dudes, soft at the end. Language maybe.

word count : 2.1k ish

You were difficult to figure out, that was one thing you knew very well. You’d grown up around teenage boys all your life, being rough, chaotic and careless is all you knew. It’s who you were. Everyone knew that, but what no one knew? Was that you very, very capable of having a soft spot for someone. It was rare, when you were in highschool you swore to yourself there wouldn’t be another man you’d let close to your heart, and you were doing so well being, well, that bitch™, that when you met Angel Reyes, it threw you off, horribly so. You didn’t know how to handle it, you saw him, and you wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself, which, was likely that he wasn’t. It only got worse when you and him quickly became the best of friends. For some reason, when you started liking him a little more than the rest of your friends, you were lost, so unfamiliar with any emotions, having shut that out eons ago. Somehow, you’d worked it out in your head that you had to be more mean to him than the rest of them.

You had come home late from work one night, you were exhausted, and very much irritated when you heard rustling and noise behind your door. Nearly groaning, you shoved the key in your door and let yourself in, clearly, the boys had done the exact same who knows how long ago. You dropped your bag, and keys on the table before wandering into the very noisy living room where Angel, Ez, Coco, and Gilly were sat on your couch, feet up, beer in hands. Clearing your throat was what caught their attention, their cheers of excitement hurting your pounding head. They looked happy, and relaxed. You wouldn’t admit it but that was your favourite thing to see. Except, Angel. He didn’t look impressed.

“well look who decided to show up.” he said with an unimpressed tone, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, sorry I came home late to guests I didn’t invite over.” you muttered, pulling your coat off and setting it aside. “next time i’ll let the boss know I can’t take the last shift there might be a bunch of weird men in my home.”

“you sure it was just a late work shit? You not fucking your boss?” he asked with a hint of.. something? In his tone. Who the hell did this man think he was? Rolling your eyes once again, you didn’t have the patience to fight with Angel tonight, you’d said your boss was attractive once in response of him gushing over some girl at Vicky’s and he hasn’t let it go since.

“Why? You jealous?” you asked, and very quickly got a reaction, he got defensive.

“No.” he nearly spat “why would I be jealous of your boss?” his arms crossed over his chest. The rest of them watched with wide eyes. Except Coco, who was too invested in Tiger King.

“Because you want to fuck me.” you said blatantly, he, and Gilly, choked on their beers as Angel quickly tried to regain himself.

“I do not!” he protested, coughing and wiping at his face.

“mhm.” you hummed, pushing off your boots and heading off to the back, wanting to just have a shower before getting comfortable for the night, hoping to forget, even for just a moment, that there was a bunch of home invaders in your living room. Just as you were shutting your bedroom door, you heard mumbles and a then very clear conversation.

“You wanna fuck [Y/N]?” Gilly asked Angel, Ez could only laugh, he knew his brother, he knew he did.

“no.” grumbled Angel.

“Isn’t that kind of gay?” asked Coco. “I mean - she’s one of us, she’s literally beat you up, she’s a bro. That’d be like fucking me.” You snorted at that, of course he’d say that shit. Always. “Isn’t she.. a lesbian?”

Next you heard “Oh shit I thought she was too.” from Gilly.

“She’s not a lesbian! She thinks Bucky Barns is hot, she’s said she wants him to crush her head with that metal arm of his.” Said Ez, you heard Angel huff like a child.

Great, you thought to yourself, now you have a living room full of idiots trying to figure out your sexuality. You grabbed a towel, rolling your eyes at your friends, and went for your shower. Washing away the days stress, replacing the stench of oil and hard work with your signature cucumber, aloe vera scent. You settled on a thick sweater and plaid pj shorts before heading back into the living room where you expected to see the rest of your friends, now more ready to deal with them until you went to bed, but when you saw no one, you grabbed a water and headed to sleep.

The next few days were an endless series of hectic, and tiresome hours put into work, every day something went wrong. You hadn’t been so close to having a total breakdown in forever, but the weight on your shoulders felt so heavy. You couldn’t wait to go home, you had the next two days off and you couldn’t wait but dream of catching dreams and nothing but that. But when you got to your door, it was unlocked. Pulling the gun from your waist, you cocked it and raised it as you entered, only to find Angel at your table with his head in his hands. Setting down your things, you locked the door behind you and shed your work clothes.

This was a routine whenever either one of you had a particularly hard day, you turned to one another, despite the endless banter, you two easily fell into being each other’s safe haven. You deemed it to be because you understood each other, like best friends did, it worked. At some point, though, you’d began to fall for Angel and you had no idea how to deal with it.

“am I okay to shower?” you asked softly, crouching down beside where he sat, running a gentle hand over his head. He aches for your affections, even the slightest of your touches calmed the man, but he knew that you had to be the one to instigate it. You hated physical contact, it was rare you trusted, let alone liked someone enough to let them touch you. You were picky with it. Angel respected that, though he did sometimes want to just pull you into a hug when his world was spinning, yet he didn’t. You saw it in the way that he involuntarily followed your hand that it was a hard day for him, when he nodded, you gently squeezed his shoulder. “okay, take off your kutte and boots and go lay in bed, i’ll be there after, okay?” when he nodded again and began to move, you headed off to the bathroom quickly to rinse off.

Not all that long after, you’d met him in your room, like you promised. You wore pj shorts, and a tank, he was in his wife beater and boxers. You climbed in, and lifted the comforter wordlessly, inviting him in. He quickly settled against you, his face laid against your chest. You trailed your fingers over his back, drawing soft shapes on his skin a mark that didn’t stain much more than his mind. You both laid in a comfortable silence, his hands were secured at his sides, eventually yours sat in his hair, playing with the short strands as he listened to your heart beat. He never thought he’d be more thankful for someone else’s beating heart.

“Do you like Bucky Barnes more than you like me?” he asked, breaking the silence after a while. You furrowed your brows slightly and looked at him. You saw his glassy brown eyes staring right back at you. Your heart melting at the sight.

“Angel, Bucky is a fictional character.” you answered simply.

“So you do.” he said in disappointment, sighing. Jealousy hung heavy over his head, perhaps it wasn’t just that, perhaps he had an exceedingly difficult day. When he started pulling away from you, you wrapped your arms around his head and pulled him in, the gesture was.. sweeter and much more gentle in your head, but everyone knew you weren’t the most graceful, so you accidentally jabbed him not only in the eye, but also picked his nose for him. Dismissing the fact that you did that, you took his face in your hands and had him look to you.

“Bucky Barnes has nothing on you.” you said, doing your best to sound reassuring.

“What about his arm?” he asked, puppy eyes on full display. This man will be the end of you.

“I’d let you run over my head with your bike.” you told him, trialing your thumbs over his cheeks. Something inside you told you that there was a fine line between platonic and romantic, and that you’ve both bolted passed that line ages ago, in private, at least.

“you really mean that?” he asked yet another question, you knew you were playing into his ego but you could only give in to him.

“i do.” you said, yawning. He wrapped his arms around you again, and settled back down. Shutting his eyes. You had a few minutes at best before you were out, and Angel knew that once you started yawning, it only took a little while till you were out.

But the next morning, when you slowly started to come back to the world of the living, you heard Angel mumbled something into the phone. Being the nosy son of a bitch you were, you listened in. “I don’t know, man. All I know is that if I don’t leave now, I don’t think I ever will. She doesn’t see me the way I see her, I can’t force this on her, I’ll lose her for good and I’d rather have her as a friend, but I can’t lose her. On god little brother I can’t.” he mumbled, and you felt your chest heat up. He was talking about you. To Ez. Shutting your eyes again for a moment, you took a deep breath and climbed out as you heard him rustling around. You grabbed one of the blankets, surrounding yourself with it to try to warm back up after your toes were kissed by the cold. You headed out of the room, your toes padding against the hard wood floor. You’d caught him in the middle of opening the door, and talking to Ez still.

“Please don’t leave.” You said, your voice soft, almost timid. Angel turned around, looking at you all wide eyed.

“Wh - huh?” he looked at you dumbfounded.

“Come back to bed, I’m cold.” you said, clutching the blanket tighter.

“[Y/N], I - I have to go.” he responded, fumbling with the phone in his hand as Ezekiel yelled at him to get his head out of his ass on the line.

“You’re an idiot.” You quickly shuffled closer to him, letting go of your grasp on the blanket, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and you lead him closer to you. Looking into his eyes, you felt his hot breath brush against your face, taking a second to really look at him before connecting your lips to his in a soft kiss. This was definitely crossing the friendship line, but he was intoxicating. “Don’t leave now. Don’t leave ever.” you said when your lips parted for air. Your eyes on him, all you heard was his heavy breathing, and the cheering on the other end of the phone.

The sight of you right then and there let Angels heart melt into puddle, he hadn’t seen it before but you looked at him like he was the world, and he was, he was your world, even though you’ve quite literally sucker punched him in the stomach for taking your last cheese bun.

“So she’s not a lesbian right?” you heard Coco ask everyone.

“Coco I’m gonna beat your fucking ass.” you said, grabbing the phone before hanging up. “but first imma eat yours.” you tried to say in a serious voice, but the moment Angels face twisted in disgust, you lost it.

“Way to ruin the moment.” he groaned.

“You want me to bring the moment back?” you asked, raising a brow at him when he nodded. You reached up, brushing back his hair, taming the bed head ever so slightly, you brought your hands down to his beard, scraping your nails gently against it as you brought your lips back to his. “give me another kiss then, baby.” your voice drawled out softly, meeting his lips in a soft, yet passionate kiss.

Taking his hand after a few moments, you pulled him back to the bedroom, he was completely caught in a trance. So, as you walked, you set his phone aside, you pushed off his kutte and tossed it on the couch, you unbuttoned his flannel and tossed it on a close by chair. “Are you trying to fuck me?” he asked, bewildered.

“No, not right now.” you chuckled softly. “I want to lay with you, I want your warmth, and your smiles, and your laughter when I tell you some stupid joke, I want your arms around me. I want to hold you. Only you. Let me feel safe in your arms because I don’t anywhere else.” you admitted, pulling him into you. He looked like a lost puppy as you spoke, but then he fully dove into you, not wanting to look back.

“and after our nap? I’m making waffles.” you said in your donkey impression, making Angel roll his eyes. “Angel baby.. When we fuck I’m gonna moan like I think Donkey does when he and that dragon fuck, okay?” you ask, entirely serious.

“oh god please no.” he laughs, hiding his face in your chest.

Tag List :

@mayans-sauce

@queenbeered

@lilacyennefer

#mayans fanfic #mayans mc #fanfic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes fanfiction #clayton cardenas

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Thirty One

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Warnings: Cursing and some angst my bad Summary: Eli knew as well as I did how hard it was for me to relax after a Tag and Run, let alone a manual one.

“I’ve seen you pull some reckless shit, but launching yourself into the middle of an active and radioactive debris field with a ship on the verge of breakdown under you, that’s… That’s gotta be top five,” Eli commented as Pollard scanned me. I shot him a tired look. “I didn’t have any other options.” “I know,” He shook his head, “But...Damn, kid.” “I’m back, I’m one piece, so maybe save the lecture for some occasion where I wind up in a biobed.”

“Heart rate is still a little high,” Pollard commented, stepping around in front of me and shining a light in my eyes. I startled a bit at the sudden flash before I settled.

“And when was the last time you slept?” She added, brow furrowing. “I feel like if you really wanted to know, you would’ve asked before I piloted.” Pollard gave me a stern look that probably should’ve made me wilt, but adrenaline was still coursing through my body. “How do you feel?” She asked, a little imperious. “Like I’ll be happy if I never get behind the controls of an attack fighter again.” That made her smile a bit, at least. She nodded. “I want to check on you again before you leave the ship, make sure that heart rate is back down where it’s supposed to be.” “Yes ma’am.” “And get some sleep. I am not above sedating you.” “...I believe that.” “You might wanna get that hypo ready now, doc—” “Can it, Durling,” I cut him off, reaching for my jacket. He gave me a disapproving look as I stood. Eli knew as well as I did how hard it was for me to relax after a Tag and Run, let alone a manual one. If I lay in the dark, my mind would just run through what I had done, all of the ways that it could’ve gone wrong. I was sure that this experience was going to be no different; if anything, the possibilities for a different outcome were increased. “You heading for the gym?” Durling asked as we walked out of the medbay. It was a fair question, but as comfortable as my civvies were, I certainly wasn’t prepared to be sparring in them. “Nah, not this time. You got a report to file?” I asked. “Yeah— Hey,” Eli reached out, taking light hold of my shoulder, “I need to talk to you.” “Look, I will get some sleep—” “No, not about that,” He shook his head. He glanced around the hall, quiet as someone passed us before he turned back to me, “It’s about my assignment after this.” “...Okay,” I frowned. “They’re giving me the Pinnacle.” Confusion melted from my face and I grinned, socking him in the shoulder, unable to contain my excitement. “Eli! That’s amazing— Why didn’t you tell me before? Oh, congratulations!” I squealed, drawing him in for a hug. He chuckled, patting my shoulder before leaning away. “We had a job to do first,” He shook his head. “That’s why you weren’t putting the tag down yourself, huh?” I asked. “There’s something else.” “What else could there possibly be?” “I need a first officer.” “Oh. So who are your candidates?” Eli’s brows rose, and he tipped his head forward a bit. Realization washed over me slowly, and I found myself fighting the urge to shake my head and ask him what the hell he was thinking. “What?… Eli—” “Hear me out,” He pleaded softly, “You know my every move, you get how I operate, you don’t let me get away with shit, you know when to push and when to pull… And I swear I did not mean that the way it sounded.” “Bullshit.” “See?” He pointed out before tacking on, “Look, don’t answer me right now. I know it’s a big decision, just… Just think about it.” I gave him a small nod in concession, a murmur of promise that I would. But as I watched his retreating back, I already knew what my answer was. --

The canteen was basically deserted. I walked over to the replicators, leaning heavily against the wall beside it and scrubbing my hand over my face. “Black coffee, four shots of espresso— splash of caramel creamer.”

“Are you planning on having a heartbeat after that?” I did, but mine skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “The caramel is just to sweeten it a bit,” I justified, “Doesn’t taste the same as the Una Matrix, so I’ve gotta make do.” I glanced back to find him leaning against a table nearby. “Everything alright on the Bridge?” I asked, turning back to the replicator. “Fine,” He conceded, “And the shuttle bay?” “Uh…” I straightened, taking hold of the mug, “Well, Jett is cursing my name. Apparently Eli’s messed up a number of phaser cannons but having a damaged warp nacelle and a punctured cabin really takes the cake.” “Is that much coffee advisable after what you’ve just done? I’d think some rest would be in order.” “And Dr. Pollard would agree with you, but I can never sleep after tags,” I admitted. I cleared my throat, “So, how... “ It had been way too long to ask about how he was, hadn't it? We’d been on the same ship for hours now— “How’s um— Spock?” Christopher’s brows rose a little. “He’s...Taking leave.” I frowned. “That’s unlike him.” “Well, the war took its toll on the crew, such as it was.” I nodded a little, leaning back against the wall again, “I can understand that.” Christopher’s head tipped to the side, brow furrowing. “How so? I mean no disrespect, Commander, but you were very much in the thick of it.” “Yeah, but,” I lowered my eyes to my drink, “You all...Had to wait, I guess. You got your news about people that you were concerned about in a delayed fashion, and from a distance— all secondhand, second rate. Maybe some of the crew held themselves back from reaching out to people, not sure how they’d take it, not wanting to distract them... That time, that distance, it can wear someone down.” It was a moment before I heard Chris take in a deep breath. “We should talk,” he said softly. “We are talking,” I pointed out. When I glanced up to look at him, I found an unimpressed little frown affixed to his lips. I rolled my eyes a little, pushing away from the wall and nodding for him to follow me: “C’mon.” I was relieved to hear his footfalls behind mine without a moment’s hesitation. “I know where the quiet spots are and I’m willing to bet you haven’t found them yet.” “By Ensign Tilly’s account, you were only on this ship for a couple of days,” Pike commented. “Yes,” I nodded, “And in that time, she told me where all the cool kids hang out. From there, I used those tips, the ship’s directory, and the process of elimination to find a few quiet spots.” I peered into a small suite and found it empty. The outer wall was wrapped with a window. There was a desk with a reading lamp on one end of the room and a loveseat and side table on the other end. “This alright?” I asked, nodding inside. Pike peered around before stepping in fully. I took that as a yes and followed him in, the door sliding shut behind us. “What’d you come in here for?” He asked, looking around. “Studying, once. I had to brush up on my Klingon while I was aboard,” I told him, sitting down on the loveseat. I set my coffee aside for a moment, shrugging my jacket off and draping it over the arm of the seat before picking my cup up again. I watched Christopher drift around the room, taking it in, his fingers trailing the wood of the desk. I leaned back against the cushions, taking a long pull from the coffee and wincing from the taste. “Too much coffee?” “Just not as good as the Una Matrix,” I justified. I glanced up at him to find him leaning back against the desk, arms folded across his chest. For a moment the both of us just… looked. It reminded me of the moments in his Ready Room before we beamed down to Sandblossom— but we were so different now. “So who told you?” I asked. “Una.” “How’d that go?” Christopher averted his eyes, tipping his head forward a bit, “Well, she… Sat me down, laid out Spock’s timeline, let me know that you were on the Pinnacle.” “Can I ask when that was?” “You’d been aboard for about a month.” That couldn’t have been very long after Una had called me, then. I could only imagine her demeanor when she’d told him. I nodded a bit. “I don’t… I do not know how much Admiral Cornwell told you, but she—” “Kat mentioned before she left that she had you give your word not to contact the Enterprise.” “Okay.” “Though I am a little surprised you kept to it,” Christopher admitted. I considered that for a moment, fingers tapping along the side of my mug. “Sometimes I couldn’t believe it either. I hated it. But...Cornwell told me that you were determined to come back to Somonia for me, when you heard about the negotiations—” I watched as Chris pushed himself away from the desk, drifting over to look out of the window. I saw the tight pull of his shoulders, the wringing of his hands where he had them clasped behind his back. “Besides that,” I added quietly, “I was sure that being so removed from the war was weighing on you all in some estimation. And after Una contacted me…” I shook my head, “I'm not sure how I would've handled speaking with anyone else from the Enterprise.” Christopher frowned, and I could see the question forming as he turned to look at me. I raised a hand to halt it: “We’re fine. We spoke when the ship was docked on Earth recently.” “How long were you two out of contact?” “A while,” I answered flatly. Christopher shook his head a little bit. I slouched down against the cushions. “Why didn’t—...” I started before I stopped myself, cringing. “What would you have wanted me to say?” He asked knowingly. “Anything, Christopher! I didn’t even know that you knew.” I set my coffee aside and rested my elbows against my knees, running my hands over my face. “I didn’t think you would want to hear from us after we left you there.” He said it so softly, with such abject confidence; it nearly split me in two. I lifted my head, brow drawn, disbelieving of what I’d heard, only to find that Christopher had turned back to the window, chin tipped toward his chest. “...After you—… No,” I sighed, pushing myself off of the loveseat, “No, you didn’t.” “We should’ve turned around,” The assertion followed fast, his voice tight, “We would’ve found you— We would’ve been in range for the war, none of this would’ve happened.” I stopped a couple of steps from him. There was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated in reaching out to touch him, to draw him in, but I wasn’t sure anymore. “I saw the pictures that you got from Starbase 329,” I said softly, “It was a crater, Christopher, there was no way you could’ve known. And Choholl and I were so far underground for stretches at a time, you may not have been able to find us, even if you had turned around.” He turned his head toward me a little, but did not meet my eye. “I considered reaching out,” He admitted softly, “But I didn’t know what to say. ‘Hi’ seemed...inappropriate, and… And I was worried.” “About what?” “You. What you said, about not wanting to distract someone, keeping yourself at a distance…” He trailed off, nodding, “Does take its toll.” I watched him for a moment, considering this. Christopher had thought about me. I supposed that that was some consolation, at least; I hadn’t been alone in my hours spent curious and lonely. “So,” I said lightly, turning to face the window as he had, “What happens after this mission?” “Back to the Enterprise, ideally,” Christopher answered; his voice was firmer now, a little more self-sure now that I'd turned to a topic he was likely more comfortable with. I felt him turn to look at me as he asked, “Do you...Know where you’ll be stationed next?” “No. Command did mention something about reinstating Larilia to the Federation, now that Choholl has everything under control. They’re going to need a new attaché, they asked if I’d be interested.” I felt him tense beside me, “And what did you say?” “That I’d retire first.” He huffed a soft laugh, and I smiled a little. My mind drifted to the offer given to me earlier, and I shook my head a little bit. “What is it?” He asked. “Nothing.” “Are you sure?” I hesitated, “Eli is being given the Pinnacle. He needs a first officer and he… He offered me the position.” I turned to look up at Christopher, and I saw the split second of surprise before he schooled his face into a small smile. “What are you thinking?” He asked. I shook my head, turning away again. “I’m going to tell him ‘no’. Just haven’t worked out how yet.” “Why are you turning him down?” “Well, he needs someone— You know, more like Una. I am not like Una.” “... Well, you did take Onafuwa’s one-day intensive.” It took me a moment, and I opened my mouth to respond, but I could not help the laugh that bubbled up. I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to quiet the sound, but Christopher laughed, too. For a moment, just a moment, it felt like it used to— light, and warm. I looked at him, and found that grin that I’d missed; the crinkling around his eyes and the dimples. And as we quieted, as we found one another just looking again, I felt my eyes prickle with tears. I hurried to look away again, turning back to where I’d set my coffee and walking back to it. I settled down onto the loveseat, taking a long pull from the mug and using it to cover a small sniffle. I expected Christopher to stay where he was, but he followed, sitting down beside me. He was close— but then, the loveseat was small, he had no choice but to be close. “You really ought to rest,” He said quietly. “I can’t,” I shook my head, “After one of those—” I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, “My head just doesn’t settle right.” “Is it always like this?” I nodded a bit. I felt Christopher shift beside me a little before I heard him mutter, “C’mere.” I glanced over and did a double-take, my heart leaping into my throat when I found him leaned back, his arm thrown over the back of the loveseat. “What?” “Come here,” He urged more softly, nodding me closer. I narrowed my eyes at him before I set the coffee down, shifting a little closer. I was nearly pressed fully against his side this way, from knee to chest. “Put your head down,” He urged, nodding to his shoulder. “Chris—” “Just try it.” I huffed, irritated but did as he said. His arm curled around my shoulders. “Close your eyes.” “If you really think is is going to work—” “So stubborn,” He mumbled, resting his chin atop my head and my eyes fluttered shut at the comforting weight, “Stubborn as stone.” If Christopher thought that this was going to calm me down, he was severely mistaken; my heart was pounding out of my chest, my stomach was twisting itself into knots. I hadn’t felt worked up like this since after Koutov. Christopher’s fingers trailed over my shoulder softly, and I found myself reaching out and setting my hand on his jacket. “...The blue’s...Different,” I commented. “Wanna command the ship, you’ve gotta wear the uniform,” He pinched the sleeve of my t-shirt as he said so. I rolled my eyes a little. “Good thing I don’t wanna command, then,” I muttered. Christopher’s chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Gotta say… it is a good thing you’re turning Durling down, if only for the fact that you seem to fight so much,” He said. “It’s all in good fun… Mostly in good fun.” “The two of you seem close.” I glanced up at Christopher. “We’re friends,” I nodded. “Close your eyes,” He muttered, poking my shoulder when he saw me looking at him. I huffed, doing as he said. My fingers absently skated over a section of the gold braiding covering the zipper on the jacket, unable to keep still. “That wasn’t an accusation, by the way,” He added. “Sounded like one.” “Wasn’t.” “Mm.” I wasn’t sure what it was— the hum of the ship around us, or the steady rise and fall of his chest under my hand, or just the feeling of being by Christopher again, but I felt myself relaxing, eyelids and limbs growing heavy. “We should— I should finish my coffee,” I mumbled after a while. “Why’s that?” Christopher murmured. “‘M gonna fall asleep.” “Good.” I smiled a little, “‘M gonna fall asleep on you.” “You’re already falling asleep on me.” “So...Should move.” “You comfortable?” “Mmmmmhm.” “Okay.” That okay was all I needed. I cozied deeper into Christopher’s side, unabashedly cuddling up against him, and I felt his hand smooth soothingly over my arm. In my haze and weariness, the tears that I’d managed to push down before welled up. Now, though, I felt too tired to hide them again. A few leaked from my eyes, and I pressed my face into his shoulder. “I missed you so much,” I admitted quietly, hand fisting in his jacket. I felt his grip tighten on me, his other hand covering mine, thumb skating over my knuckles. “I know,” Christopher whispered; I could feel his lips quivering as they brushed my temple, “I missed you, too.” Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight ; @hotchswifey

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #Captain Pike/Reader #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #Christopher Pike x You #Christopher Pike fic #Christopher Pike imagine #Captain Pike fic #Captain Pike Imagine

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aks3raao1 · 3 years

Note

Me, to Luja: So tell me about yourself

Luja: No

Me: ...ma'am I need to write the story—

Luja: Good luck <3

[now that I do think of it, ALTERNATIVE's main duo that's established right at the beginning is literally a chiller but edgier Katsuki and way worse sUrViVe Nagito genderbends]

~~~~~~

Luja Sen, she/her

Anyways, Luja and Romila are friends from middle school (the story starts with the beginning of their high school at AoS (Academy of the Specialised) which was essentially founded by Nyx). Luja gains her Specialisation (Ferrokinesis: The Ability to bend metal) at the age of twelve, so she has it for a lesser time period than Romila.

Luja primarily wants to become a scientist. Her family is happy with that, because it's praised and everything, especially in our society.

She has a gifted child superiority complex. Being a gifted child + Specialised means that she hardly had many friends in school. Her family had tried to get her to socialize....which didn't go down too well.

She believes that most people are annoying because they waste too much time on useless things like gossiping and what not, which she never showed much interest in and doesn't like to be dragged into those nonsense.

She is friends with Romila since they do share the same taste in stuff and were the only Specialised ones in their class. And they kinda stuck together for most of middle school and went into high school.

She has a problem when it comes to seeing Romila since she tends to see her bad parts and is like, "It's a phase" considering that it's not necessarily affecting her. Romila doesn't get too cranky with her since she fascinates her, with her passion™ for science. Also because she isn't all self sacrifice UwU.

Luja cares for her own self above others (but tends to put Romila pretty close to that hierarchy, which is why she's one of the only two Romila trusts during the Mansion of Death (the other person is Kratanos)) however she also does want to keep what friends she has and is generally caring towards them.

She has a genuine love for science and loves to discover how things work and why, and her favourite facet is Physics. She does want to invent things and honestly just make stuff easier for the Specialised who face a LOT of issues, especially when it comes to amenities since the government is an ass about accomodations and they gained the Fundamental Rights like ten years or so ago in the ALTERNATIVE timeline. And they gain an additional right ("The body won't be harmed for science") when they graduate from school, after signing a contract that they dedicate themselves to helping the government when called upon. (The whole contract is stupid and basically oppresses them more especially the punishment for not abiding by it).

With her goal of becoming a scientist, she wants to use her talents to make accomodations specifically for them so that she could have done something.

The things she fears the most is failure. Failing as in being unable to accomplish her goals. She is afraid of it because it's an unknown variable that's constantly haunted her and she's working hard for it to never reach her.

I suppose there's a way for her to confront that fear during the Mid terms at AoS where she essentially "loses" in the practicals due to her......teamwork issues.

Everyone thinks of her as stuck up and isn't interested to listen to her much and since she views the others as annoying people with annoying habits, she tends to fail to regulate them, causing Romila to win instead (yes, it's THAT unfortunate of a situation) in their match, which causes her to review a LOT of things and she tries to see what caused her to lose after having a severe breakdown.

She develops an inferiority complex in respect to Romila and then spends a long time wondering where she went wrong.

Rena (who somehow clung to her) tries to cheer her up but gets turned back halfway, but she still stays on and Luja is like, "Wtf" until she sees Romila going entirely off the deep end (she presents an interesting contrast to how Koldin sees Romila as well, she sees Romila's behavior and considers it as a justification for her own self....she uses Romila to justify herself a lot (since if you asked Romila, Luja was more or less fine according to her since she wasn't being a doormat and stood up for herself) while Koldin sees Romila as the reason he should cling onto his own stuff) and realises that she could be on the path to destruction herself and accepts Rena's help and tries to be more open to others which leads to the Mid terms parallels in the Archenemy of Society arc where she "succeeds" instead and manages to get the class together enough to escape the situation.

However it doesn't mean that her fear of failure has entirely vanished into the blue, she just reviews the ways she can fail better now and works around it to avoid it and has more confidence in her own self. But she is still scared of failing and would love to avoid that more than anything. However she's chiller after that.

Her intelligence is more or less on par with both Romila and Kratanos, making them the three main strategists in the final battle against the bigots (which is basically a rerun of the Mansion of Death situation but way way worse and fucked up and has different leads to it).

....

The thing is that, no matter what I do, she winds up feeling like one dimensional/repetitive, which is something I am trying to amend about all the characters (I mean, I had to revamp a lot of characters so it will probably take me a long long time to actually get to writing.........sigh besides she stands up like a cardboard amongst people (I mean, you have Romila and Kratanos with extremely complicated storylines and then you have her. Just there))

So the main question is how to make her more interesting as a character and on par with the rest while still keeping her character flaws and personality?

I think the easiest way to go abt this is to view her as a sassy Bakugo. They have the main points in common. They're salty, don't like to socialise, feel inferior to a certain someone while still having some semblance of confidence and a terrible fear of failure

Now as much as I hate to compare your character to another one, it makes it a lot easier to have them become - as my English teacher would say - more. So I am sorry if this comes off as offensive-

For Bakugo, he became interesting by playing a big part in the mc's main story and we do get a few scenes where his vulnerability is shown. I assume it's the same with your character but...what rlly ties the knot for me when it comes to Katsuki is the fact that his problems...are more than just an inferiority/superiority complex. His whole thing stems from background especially (*cough* abusive mom *cough*) and the fact that he's not the main character (or rather that the story isn't being told in his perspective).

These facts make us over think and want more of him. The mystery draws us in which is why I think Luja's character is so perfect for someone in the background. She doesn't like to reveal things abt herself and is pretty dismissive to most things on top of that (plainly just salty). Her character rlly draws you in and the best way to portray those kinds of characters is through another character. Ofc, you'd have to get to their POV eventually but it's important to note that most of the details should come from someone else's POV (an observer, if you will) instead of info dumping and starting straight with hers. A character that's mysterious with a very simple yet relatable story attracts a LOT more attention and interest when seen from someone else's perspective than when you kickstart it from theirs.

Ofc, if u are planning (or already have) started the story from her POV, that would be a bit problematic in terms of interest. But not a train wreck. This is where my other point comes in. The point of making a character have more than one problem

Different ppl as well as characters have a main problem but also different ones, no matter what way you look at it. It seems that even you are confused with all ur character's ins and outs (dw, we've all been there... I am still there tbh) and a solution to that is backtracking a bit and looking at their life from the very beginning in HEAVY detail (like more than u already did). Think abt what other trauma could have been caused, what doubts and fears could have slowly crept it's way to her heart and head (I am a sucker for long-lasting doubts that develop over time) and anything you can even so much as GRASP on. If you look at it and see it as a possibility, try to fit that into her character and add it subtly in different places (as subtext or a creative pattern, wordplay, doesn't rlly matter as long as it's not openly stated bc, remember, the key thing to these types of characters is mystery).

For example, a fear of failure can stem into anxiety before the character has even lost smth later in their life. They probably get rlly anxious when evaluating smth but don't show it much or at all so no one notices. This adds even MORE to the character bc you can build it up after other events. Like once they have failed, they could probably get even more anxious and then develop a bad relationship with the person who beat them (double the points if it was a friend). You could build all that up and turn it super toxic instead of jumping right to the healing. It makes it more interesting, doesn't it? Plus, reevaluating almost everything including world views after 1 loss is...kind of hard to believe even with anxiety (no offense)

Adding a lot of little problems and thinking abt how Luja's behaviour can impact other characters helps a terrible lot if ur doing most of the story from her POV. Especially since she's probably the most relatable character (from what I've heard anyway). I have a certain saying... it goes like, "It's better to have a relatable and connecting character than one with a problem that is too big for normal people to fathom."

I like characters with heart-wrenching problems that I would never be able to relate to (take maybe Shigaraki as an example ig?) But my favourite are the ones that make me feel as tho I made a real connection

Also, I would like to say...if ur looking to progress her character even further, I would debate on whether it's the complete end to the novel or if there'll be a second part. If it's a second part, keep some of Luja's issues. Make her get better but not completely "YAY, I AM DONE BEING TORMENTED". If it's the end of the novel/series/etc., make it so that she's resolved most of most of her issues. They don't have to be completely gone but they have to be a lot better compared to how they started. And how i would work that out is a mind map but knowing ur a scatterbrain...lets talk it out where everything is all over the place

Luja's main thing is to gain confidence in herself and be finally ok with losing, right? If you ask me, that's a tough one but not impossible. I think to get her from point A to point B is to put up a bunch of events like:

Get her super anxious when doing smth

Lose to *insert person*

Have a breakdown and over think on what she could have done better (on the project or whatever she lost at)

Get even more anxious and totally mess up the next thing

Lose once again (double points if it's the same person as last time)

Overthinking abt how she's not good enough

F i g h t i n g f r i e n d s c o z d r a m a

"YoU'rE nEvEr GoNnA gEt BeTtEr If YoU kEeP tHiNkInG aBoUt YoUrSeLf"

Over think abt no. 8 bc out of options and ideas and ✨a n x i e t y✨

Try listening to others more and become b e t t e r

Win smth (bc creator forbid 3 losses in a row to start depression)

Lose again (there is gonna be a bit of back and forth but is necessary for development)

"I tHoUgHt I wAs FiNaLlY dOiNg SoMeThInG rIgHt AnD nOw LoOk"

"Losing is not th3 3nd of th3 fucking world, you lunatic"

"WELL, IT IS TO ME, BITCH"

*insert psychology somehow idk*

Another loss

"I'm angry...but I'm ok"

Note that idk where bullying would come in and these are only how I would think it to go-

A character like this isn't rlly my strong suit when it comes to them resolving their problems but they are fun to write and think abt-

................................did I just give you advice on how to traumatize? I-

#writing #writing advice #wow i rlly am a sadist #character analysis #KK's character #well shit wtf did i go on abt-

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shysneeze · 4 years

Text

persuasion (part three)

George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader

Description: a quidditch match at the burrow has the reader and george flung together again and more of the past creeping up

Warnings: it’s 2 am, i’m not convinced ik what this is but i think it’s angsty again, i swear again most likely, lmk if i missed something pls

authors note: I... don’t even know if this is coherent english

tag list: @andineversawyoucoming @theweirdsideofstuff @the-grey-lady13 @peanutem @paigeyisme @wolfiepirate @sir-lili

(pls let me know if u don’t wanna be tagged anymore ik it’s awkward but id hate to think i was annoying you so i don’t mind :))

series masterlist

(Y/N) can hardly tell if she’s shaking from the cold or her nerves when she arrives in the grassy meadows of the infamous Burrow. Although the sun sits high in the cloudless March sky, the bitter chill of winter lingers and nips at her bare fingers and she grinds her teeth to stop them chittering, suddenly regretting her decision to leave her scarf at home, though glad for the flask of coffee in her tote bag.

The apparation point she’s arrived at is a bit of a distance from where Fleur explained the match is to take place, although from here, (Y/N) can see the lopsided silhouette of the childhood home George so perfectly describe to her during nights spent curled together in the astronomy tower. She can hear the faint rumble of laughter and chatter ahead and begins to worry she may be very late, picking up her pace as she trudges up the gravelly path.

It’s not until at the brow of a small hill, (Y/N) can make out what is to be the makeshift pitch for today’s match, a flat grassy field parked outside the topsy-turvy looking building she can recognise from just the stories. She remembers being guiltily envious of George’s family back then, the way he described it as loud, but cheerful, and basically everything the Manor was not.

(Y/N) is startled by how quickly that feeling has resituated itself in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the red-headed family and their friends on the field. She can no longer hide her nerves, an anxious feeling unfurling in her chest as she gets closer. She forces herself to keep on track, reminding herself that she’s here for Fleur, not to punish herself like her subconscious has suddenly decided.

“(Y/N)!”

Fleur’s voice carries from the end of the path to where (Y/N) has temporarily frozen to calm herself. Her friend’s excitement has a smile inching itself up (Y/N)’s cheeks and her feet moving again until Fleur is flinging her arms around her.

“You came!” She gushes.

“I RSVP’d.” (Y/N) reminds, smile wavering at her friend’s doubt in her. “So here I am.”

“Well it’s so good to see you.” Fleur grins. “I was just wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Am I late?” (Y/N) grimaces.

“No!” Fleur assures quickly. “No, we’re still setting up.”

“Oh.” She sighs in relief. “Can I help?”

Fleur lets out a light laugh as she loops an arm through (Y/N)’s and begins to walk them towards the others. (Y/N) can’t figure out what it is about her question that’s so funny until they’re stood behind a plump red-headed woman, hand on her hip as she gives out orders to her various children.

“You’re supposed to be getting rid of the last of the gnomes!” She chides. “Oh, Hermione dear, not you, it’s okay.”

“Not a chance Molly will let you help.” Fleur whispers, an amused edge to her voice. “Hermione’s not been a guest in years and she’s still exempt.”

“Ron, I told you to help your brother get the brooms- it’s like herding Nifflers with their eyes on someone else’s watch!”

Fleur chuckles softly at her mother-in-law before taking a step away from (Y/N)’s side and tapping the older woman’s shoulder gently as her friend’s eyes widen in panic, longing to reach out for Fleur and pull her back. She needs at least a five-minute inner pep-talk before she’ll be prepared to meet the Weasley’s mother.

It’s too late though, the lady of the house is already turning with a startled jump to face her daughter-in-law, questioning look in her eyes. Fleur nods toward (Y/N), who can only hope her face doesn’t display the sheer distraught she’s feeling inside.

“This is the friend I was telling you I was inviting.” Fleur informs. “(Y/N) Malfoy.”

(Y/N) does a bad job at hiding how she flinches at her own surname, a habit she’s had since she was old enough to realise how other people viewed her family. She gulps at the lingering confusion on Mrs Weasley’s face before the woman is plastering on a kind-hearted smile and stretching her hand out.

“Lovely to meet you, (Y/N).” She says. “Molly Weasley.”

(Y/N) scrambles to wipe the nervous perspiration from her palms embarrassingly before reaching out for the older woman’s hand and shaking it. A glint of amusement, one that mimics the twin’s in a way, flashes in the older woman’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Weasley.” (Y/N) says. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course.” Mrs Weasley waves her hand dismissively. “A friend of Fleurs- and Fred’s, is a friend of the family.”

“T-thank you.” (Y/N) stutters. “I didn’t know what sort of food to bring but uh, I brought coffee.”

Embarrassment finds (Y/N) quickly, flustered by this woman’s kindness, that seems to ignore all the horrible thing (Y/N)’s family did to hers. No one warned her growing up how much guilt her surname carried, especially when the rest of her family wore it like a badge of honour right until the war. It’s worse right now though, stood in front of George’s mother, feeling as though she’s lying by omission.

“You needn’t have brought a thing.” Mrs Weasley smile kindly. “But thank you nonetheless.”

“Can I help set up at all?” (Y/N) tries, making Fleur smirk.

“Goodness, no.” Mrs Weasley laughs. “You’re a guest. No, just you find yourself a seat, my dear.”

There is no time for protest on (Y/N)’s part as Mrs Weasley is already shouting at Fred and Ginny for bickering on the pitch, exclaiming ‘you’re not even in the air yet!’. Fleur gives (Y/N) a smug look before nodding the pair onwards.

After a moment, they begin to discuss the teams. (Y/N) can only agree that it all seems rather unfair, observing that half the Gryffindor team are here, a mixture of the Weasley’s and their friends, not to mention Ginny’s professional status.. They’re laughing together at this when (Y/N) collides with a red-headed man, drawing several expletives from his lips and then a hasty apology.

“Oh shit, sorry I didn’t see you…”

George trails off, eyes meeting his unfortunate victim’s as she rubs at the spot where the broom sticks he was carrying had smacked her on the head. She drops her eyes to the ground upon recognition of his identity and mutters out a quiet apology and assures him he’s fine. Her heart is racing, much like last time they’d met eyes at the Leaky. He frowns having not expected her at all today, taken off guard, again.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I RSVP’d.” She repeats with a sigh. “Oh, you didn’t know that.”

“No.” He admits.

“I invited her.” Fleur assures. “I told Fred.”

“That explains it.” George sighs loudly. “Stupid git.”

“Well, we’re going to get seats.” Fleur announces. “Try not to knock her over on your way past.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” (Y/N) mumbles. “My fault.”

She looks up shyly and meets his brown eyes again, gulping at the intensity of the look her gives her. She thinks for a moment he’s never going to look away when a voice from the pitch snaps his attention away and she feels like she’s free to breathe again.

“C’mon, George.” A woman she recognises as Angelina Johnson, calls. “We need those brooms to play!”

George gives both Fleur and (Y/N) a sort of apologetic look before shouldering the boom sticks again and jogging towards the pitch where the rest of the players wait impatiently for him. Fleur watches as (Y/N) stares wide eyed at the ground, trying to still her panicked heart. She gently touches her friend’s arm and tilts her head in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) exhales. “Sorry, it won’t even bruise.”

Fleur purses her lips and holds back from explaining that’s not what she was asking about. (Y/N) gives her a clearly forced smile then begins to walk again.

When they finally take a seat on one of the many picnic blankets by the other spectators, (Y/N) pulls out her flask of coffee from her tote bag and hands Fleur a cup cheerfully, as if it’ll distract from the interaction she’s just witnessed. From the pitch, Fred is waving at them, beaming happily.

“You came!” He hollers.

“I RSVP’d!” (Y/N) calls back, barely hiding her frustration.

He lets out a laugh at her reaction, his body shakes with it and his eyes crinkle like George’s do, head tilted backwards as he chuckles. It rids her of her upset at being doubted, bringing a smile to her lips. She can note now, no longer preoccupied by trying to fight off a mental breakdown in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, that she likes seeing him healthy

She remembers when she found him during the battle, laying almost lifeless on the ground, she wasn’t sure he’d ever be healthy again, even after she’d used all the healing spells she could think of. Hearing he’d recovered after the war was one of the first time’s she’d felt anything other than numb since Harry’s victory.

“Where’s your kit?” He calls.

“I don’t play.” She returns defensively.

“What?” He asks. “Too scared we’ll beat you?”

“Sure.”

“Aw c’mon.” He tries. “We’ve got a spare broom.”

“Leave it, Fred.” George says, eyes lifting to find (Y/N)’s before jumping away again. “She’s scared of heights.”

(Y/N) looks away with what she hopes comes across as embarrassment, although her mind is already whirring with the fact he remembers. She finds herself swiftly falling down what she knows will be a self-destructive path and wondering what of her other quirks and habits he remembers, if he remembers how she takes her tea, or if he thinks of her when her favourite song plays. It has her feeling terrible in thirty seconds, a split second of hope killed in an instant by her own guilt.

Fred gives her an apologetic look and she shakes her head in assurance that it’s okay. He turns back to the rest of his team and leaves only Fleur staring at (Y/N) with a curious frown. (Y/N) offers her a shrug and sheepish smile that her friend sees straight through.

“I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” She frowns.

“Oh, well it’s my secret silly fear.”

“Hmm.” Fleur hums.

Fleur opens her mouth as if looking for what to say next as (Y/N) sips at her coffee and avoids eye contact, as if that will in anyway make her friend less suspicious. Fleur seems to give in though, lips shutting in what looks like defeat. (Y/N) Is glad when people begin to mount their brooms, a welcome distraction for both the women.

It takes a bit for the game to get into full swing but when it does, (Y/N) finds herself transported back to Hogwarts, sat in the Slytherin stands pretending she cares what her house’s team does, spending the entire game watching George as he flies. She watches him now, still as impressed as she always was, yet still as anxious.

“You nearly fell sixty feet.” (Y/N) hissed, pacing the boys changing rooms long after everyone else was gone. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“You could have died!”

“I didn’t though.” He grinned proudly. “Were you worried about me, Love?”

She fixed him a harsh glare at his teasing, but her face softened when he reached for her, fingers fumbling for her hand and pulling her in until she landed on his lap. He pushed some hair from her face and gave her a genuine smile.

“You’re very cute all worried like that.” He exhaled. “I might nearly die more often.”

“Don’t you dare.” She warned but cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Never again.”

She leaned in and kissed the forming bruise just above his left eyebrow, the cut on the bridge of his nose and then, just in case, the mark on his jaw that she couldn’t decipher as a bruise or just some dirt. He smiled lazily at her before tilting his head in order to connect their lips in a kiss.

“I’ll try not to worry you again.”

He had, she recalls, continued to worry her almost every match. However, now she feels like she doesn’t have the same right to be worried, yet she still finds herself clutching her cup tighter every time he does a flip or when he seems like he might miss the bludger. She finds herself letting out a breath of relief when the game is called a while later.

“That was a good game.” She speaks up.

“Even with the tie.” Fleur agrees.

“It was to be expected with such a high skill set on each team.” (Y/N) shrugs.

“I’m just glad Bill is finally on the ground again.” Fleur laughs softly. “It’s like I’m holding my breath the entire time- it’s silly.”

“No, it’s not.” (Y/N) assures kindly. “Quidditch is dangerous- probably more so with your siblings.”

Fleur gives her a grateful smile before turning back to the pitch, where Lee is being grilled for his referee skills, making (Y/N) chuckle to herself. Her eyes catch George, grinning with his family and friends. Fleur follows her gaze and nods.

“You see it too?”

“What?”

“Angelina and George.” Fleur explains. “We always thought Fred but recently…”

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed in fact, she was more entranced by his lovable lopsided grin, but now her eyes find him again and she does see it. Initially she’s more perplexed by it than anything else because Fleur is right, it was always Fred. Now though, Angelina is leaning in to George, grinning up at him and laughing dramatically at his jokes and (Y/N) despises how it makes her feel, because she left him and he has the right to move on. However, her guts are churning with jealousy and she hates it.

“Yeah.” Fleur laughs at her expression. “Confusing, huh?”

“Hmm.” She nods.

“There are few bets on it.” Fleur informs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I won’t weigh in.” (Y/N) manages a chuckle. “Definitely not my place.”

It becomes quickly noticeable from that point onwards and (Y/N) almost wishes Fleur had never pointed it out. As the day moves on and they all sit haphazardly spread out across the various picnic blankets, (Y/N) does find it slightly easier to distract herself though, her eyes rarely making their usual trip to George a few feet in front of her, though every so often she can feel his eyes on her. However, she finds herself somewhat relaxed as she chats with Fred and Bill.

“I’m impressed you came after seeing this idiot drunk.” Bill jokes from Fleurs side. “It’s not pretty.”

“Ouch.” Fred gasps.

“I have a feeling the morning after was uglier.” (Y/N) smirks.

“You have no idea.” Fred agrees. “George was no help either- wouldn’t bloody shut up.”

Fred’s eyes meet (Y/N) with this, a hint at what George wouldn’t shut up about perhaps, or even who. (Y/N)’s panicked is stilled when she realises his eyes don’t hold any malice or anger, though she’s not sure why not. It’s almost understanding, the look he gives her. Despite her resolve not to, she finds herself peering over at the boy in question.

She’s caught though, his eyes filtering away from his conversation to meet hers and she inhales sharply. Something in her reaction this time has him smirking, shaking his head as he turns back to the heated debate on the best type of broom with Angelina and Ginny. It’s mortifying to (Y/N), like he’s seen her panic and knows he’s done it, what’s worse is she knows she deserves it.

She misses the time that smirk would find her across the classroom, knowing and infuriating, and almost always the gateway to a quick snog in a hidden corridor, or at dinner, across the sea of other students and only for her, swiftly followed by a wink. She hates that that smirk suddenly has guilt swirling in her stomach instead of butterflies.

“Are you okay?” Fleur whispers.

“Yep.” She assures with a faked smile. “Great.”

…

It’s when her watch reads four o’clock that (Y/N) finds herself excusing herself and flung into a seemingly endless chain for farewells. She’s again amazed by how accepting everyone is of her presence, all calling for her to join them again soon. It’s after a hug and a muttered ‘thank you’ from Fleur that she stands to leave.

She’s jittery with a sort of pride as she leaves With a few hiccups, she’s still happy to have managed to hold conversations and to relax. She doesn’t feel so compelled to cry as she had at the Leaky certainly not until she gets home. Certainly not until George’s voice is suddenly halting her in her tracks.

“Malfoy.”

That about does it though, her surname said with that animosity. She doesn’t want to turn around from fear of her distraught showing on her face. She’s only a few meters from apparating, so close that a few steps would do it. However, slowly, she turns to face him.

“Am I supposed to just call you Weasley now?”

She winces the moment it leaves her lips and lets out a quick apology. She’s no idea where it came from. He has an eerily unreadable expression, instead just passing her the tote bag she apparently left behind. She takes it shyly, eyes casting down to her feet as she thanks him. He shrugs at her, already turning on his heels. She stands still for a moment then finds herself tempted again by a part of her she has no right to have.

“George?”

He stills but doesn’t turn around and she smiles at his stubbornness, so familiar to her.

“You described it all perfectly you know.” She explains, voice soft in the quiet of the meadows, the house, and the others far behind them. “Your house and your family… I know why you love them so much.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, already taking those few steps and apparating with a crack before he can even turn around again. He breathes out a disbelieving chuckle and shakes his head as he retreats towards the house.

She’s always saying things he doesn’t expect and impressing him, and she knows how to make it bloody difficult to hate her.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x malfoy!reader #george x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george imagine #weasley twins #fred weasley #malfoy reader #Fred and George imagine #weasley twins imagine #harry potter fanfic #reader insert

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obscureoperations · 3 years

Text

@ashesmoth

This is just a thought. An elaboration of Martin proposing.

The quiet hum of cicadas lulls Martin into a nearly trance-like state. The sun had nearly set, painting the field in a yellowish amber glow. The temperature had dropped quite considerably during the evenings due to the fact it was nearly fall. You had already complained about being chilly, he offered over his jacket without second thought. Goosebumps began to form over his skin, but the warmth inside was overflowing. In his arms, he held the most precious thing in the world to him-- you were speaking, but the words fell on deaf ears.

The ring rests like a led weight in his pocket..he had been eyeing it in the jeweler's shop for months. A thin band of gold with what happened to be your birthstone right in the middle. It wasn’t much, but it was all that he could afford at the moment. Martin had been taking extra shifts at the grocery store. Every time he clocked in, he tried to stave off the voice that assured him you were going to say no. He begged the shop owner to hold it for him-- he’d have the money in a couple of weeks.

The afternoon he actually purchased it, Martin felt sick to his stomach. He had no idea what he was going to say-- how could he possibly put it into words? It was just one simple question--but he felt as though he had to explain himself entirely. In a little over a year you managed to completely change his world. Suddenly, it all made sense--the years of yearning and isolation. The sleepless nights, the ever present hunger threatening to consume him. The moment he laid eyes on you--he could remember everything grew incredibly silent.

The sun had set almost completely, every now and then you would stir in his arms. He’d press his lips to the top of your head-- the scent of your shampoo was intoxicating. So warm and familiar-- faintly mixed with the smell of grass. Each morning he awoke with you curled against his chest he had to wonder what he did to deserve you. You were with him through it all-- living with Cuda,his breakdown right before he actually left. In a way, he realised you were the reason he was still alive. He finally understood that his cousin was actually planning to kill him.

If you had asked him a few years before, Martin would have been perfectly content with letting that happen. He was exhausted, the ever present loneliness seemed to rise with each passing day. The old man would be doing him a favor. But he couldn’t leave just yet. He couldn’t leave you all alone. The way your eyes would light up whenever you saw him-- the joy in your voice whenever the two of you would speak. You were enamoured with him, that much was sure. He only recently accepted the fact that you loved him.

“Martin.. Are you okay?”

The question itself startled him out of his reprieve, heat began to rise to his face. Had you been speaking the entire time? What were you saying? He always managed to mess things up.

He pulls you close nuzzling at the crook of your neck. “Mhmm. Fine. Y/n, I’m sorry. I sorta drifted off.”

“That's okay… Were you looking at the sunset?”

“I was.”

The sound of your laughter always managed to cause his heart to skip a beat. You tilt your head, lips barely grazing his jaw “Good... Martin. It’s what we came out here to see.”

There were times that Martin felt confident around you, most of them were when he held you safely in his arms. Lips moving over yours in a dizzying rhythm as you practically meld against his chest. You actually wanted him. You wanted him to kiss you. He was finally able to do something right. This evening was no different, he effortlessly shifts you onto your back. His kisses become more frantic. He holds you against him as though you might vanish. He only pulls back when you start to shift, tilting your head away from him.

His heart drops, but you suddenly cup his face urging him to look at you. In the faint glow of the nearly departed sun you couldn't describe the expression on his face. His lips were kiss bruised and swollen--there was a nearly dreamy expression in his eyes. That one small little crease between his brow was pronounced, a clear sign that he was distressed. As always you move to kiss him right in the center of his forehead. Martin almost melts against you. You always held him so delicately when he was upset. Palms lightly cupping his cheeks.

But he wasn’t upset, he was filled with more joy than he could possibly handle. That paired with weighted uncertainty. His stomach was in knots--heartbeat threatening to implode. Why did he still continue to doubt you? From his actions-- all things from the past.. It was clear that you were willing to forgive. You only wanted him by your side, yet he couldn’t bear the idea of being rejected by you.

“Martin.. Talk to me babe.. What's wrong?”

Nothing and everything all at once. The ring rests like a lead weight in his pocket. How was he even supposed to bring it up? He settles for moving his lips to your jaw. “Nothing. y/n. I’m fine. I’m just--- I’m really glad we're here.”

You were laughing again, craning your neck up to kiss him. “Yea? Well so am I!”

Something in the playful lilt in your voice soothes some of his frazzled nerves. “I’m just..really glad..” He continues, as he presses his lips to the base of your neck. You tilt your head to kiss him once again… it had to be something about the taste of your chapstick. Perhaps the warm familiarity of your lips. He couldn't imagine a morning not waking up by your side. He had envisioned it, well before the two of you became close-- when you’d wave him goodbye at your doorstep. He would never be content if he didn’t experience one more morning of you waking up in his arms.

The quiet warmth. The way you fit into his arms a bit too perfectly, you didn’t mind his early morning laziness. You seemed to be perfectly content laying there with him until the alarm actually went off.

With a sigh, Martin reaches into his pocket fishing out the ring with an ever practiced stealth. Your lips were still pressed against his jaw, you were rambling again. The warmth of your breath curls against his skin, he resists the urge to kiss you silent. He actually had something to say.

“Y/n...I.”

This gains your attention immediately, your head momentarily lifts from his chest.

“I lik--I love you alot.. You already know that, right?”

“I do.” Your response was instant. Followed by you sinking your teeth into his neck.

Despite his initial gasp, he manages to momentarily draw you away from him. The sun had completely set. He could no longer see your face--it seemed to quell some of his nerves. If anything, he could imagine he was whispering his intentions into the pillow.

He answers your pained sigh with a brief peck on the lips. “y/n… I’m sorry. Please listen?”

“Okay…”

Martin sits forward fishing the ring from his pocket, gently reaching for your wrist. He can hear you gasp as he silently slips the ring onto your finger.

“M-my heart. It’s yours forever if you want it.”

You sit up, frantically brushing the grass from your face.

“Martin.. What is thi-s”

He kisses you sweetly, thumbs lingering at the curve of your jaw. Hearts entwined and buzzing in tune with the various nightlife. The moon was already set high in the sky, you could feel the weight of its unwavering luminescent gaze.

“I want you with me… for the rest of my life. Do you think that you’d marry me sometime?”

#martin 1977 #martin 1978 #Martin Matthias #martin/you #just a thot #wholesome #sfw

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Christmas Specials: Fishcake

CW: Some hint of dehumanization and references to Bahram’s depression/past breakdown at the end, some brief emeto references, but really this is just fluff. Oh, also brief unintentional ableism that Miah calls out.

---

BAHRAM’S NOTES

December 24th, 20XX 11:15 pm Mer in Residence: 71 Days

Miah showed up tonight with a Christmas present for me, and now I feel like a giant dick for not having anything to give her.

Christmas just isn’t a thing in my family. I mean, I have cousins who go overboard with it, kind of a fitting in thing, but my family never did. Baba does some kind of fast, but for Maman it’s just another day and for me it’s always meant mostly a day where I played video games all day because I didn’t have to be at school or work.

Oh, I need to call Baba and Maman tomorrow, note to self. She always gets worried about me right around the end of the year, what with how they figured out I was quitting school and everything.

I guess getting a phone call from a hospital leaves a bloody impression.

Anyway, Miah comes in with this big shopping bag in her hand, waving at me all bright and sunny and cheerful. She set the bag down long enough to berate me for - she assumed - having not taken my medicine on time.

For the record, she was right, but I didn’t tell her that.

Nearly drowning in saltwater made my lungs apparently terribly angry with me, so for the next eight days I’m on a run of antibiotics to handle a lovely case of bacterial pneumonia. Would’ve been far handier to get pneumonia right away, but instead I ended up in Urgent Care yesterday, paying 200 dollars and waiting two hours to see a doctor for less than ten minutes.

Dr. L says she’ll reimburse me the cost, but still.

Miah asked me how I was feeling, I said I felt fine, really, and then of course I had an awful coughing fit just to prove myself a wonderful liar. The coughing’s the worst part - every time I really get going, it’s like being underwater all over again. I can feel my lungs fighting to inflate, to take the air in, and I can hear how hard I’m working to get enough air to stop coughing at all. Miah can’t hear it, but she can see it all right, and she looked worried.

I signed, “I’m fine, it’ll stop, the doctor says it will,” and she frowned at me, but let it go, I guess. While she had her face turned away to greet the mer, I opened the pill bottle and dry-swallowed the meds really fast. Sometimes there are benefits to Miah not being able to hear things.

The mer - Kima, I can call him by his name in these notes, the ones only I see - was already at the side of the tank, watching us. He’s perked up a bit lately, since I started giving him live fish on the days Dr. L isn’t around and Miah brought him all these enrichment things. We’re doing what we can, but I know it’s still not enough.

Enough would be figuring out where his bloody family is and getting him back to them, but I just… I can’t even begin to explain, even to myself, the logistical nightmare of hauling a six-foot-long mer back to the ocean and finding someone who would take him back up north where his family likely is in the middle of bloody fucking December.

It’s the right thing to do, yeah.

But it’d just be too hard to pull off, not without losing… my whole taped-together life, yeah? Plus I’m still dealing with trying to figure out who exactly is my real employer at this point - who’s paying Dr. L - and what they want from the mer’s… thing he can do.

Miah glanced over at him and signed, “Don’t worry, I have something for you, too,” and Kima just looked back at her, head cocked to the side. She looked over at me and signed, “It’s a fish-cake.”

I have to admit, it took me a second to even begin to respond. My hands just… hung in mid-air, before finally I asked, “A what?”

“A fishcake. It’s like a fruitcake, but so much worse.” She leaned down to dig around in the big bag and pulled out a box, pausing to add, “I had to wrap it and box it or the car would have smelled horrible for days,” before she picked up and laid the box on my desk, opened it, took out something wrapped in layers of plastic, and unwrapped that, painstakingly slowly.

I glanced over at the mer, who watched with total fascination. Maybe he’d caught the sign for fish, he’s incredibly food-motivated. Which makes sense, of course, probably with his pod he’d spend a lot of his day eating and hunting for more, but

Bahram. Focus.

She was right - as soon as the plastic came off, I could smell it.

“How can you handle that? Isn’t your sense of smell… really good?” Ah, yes, I am always so proud of myself when I forget a sign for a word I want to say and have to sort of cobble together the spirit of it with other signs.

She looked at me with this sort of dry are you kidding me expression, then signed, “I’m deaf, B, not a superhero,” in a way that made me feel about ten inches tall.

“Sorry. That’s an awful smell, though.”

And it was. I like fish as much as the next man, but this was foul. She grinned at me and picked up the tupperware the fishcake was in using towels to protect her hands from picking the smell up too, I guess, and went over to the ladder up to the platform. Her back was already to me, so I couldn’t ask her the question I had, or tell her not to do that one-handed. Instead, I just sort of… got up and hovered uselessly while she climbed up without looking back, and then followed her up there.

The platform makes me… nervous, now. I stay closer to the ladder, farther from the water. I hope the mer, that Kima doesn’t think I don’t want to be close to him or something.

Miah took the lid off the tupperware and waited. Soon enough the mer popped up near us, interested in what we were doing on the platform.

I watched those nasal slits open wide when he smelled the fish. And I watched how his eyes went big and shiny with excitement. Whatever Miah had put in the foul thing, he wanted it.

She dumped it into the water - I didn’t see much, other than a sort of loaf-shape and a sense of texture I never want to think about again - and Kima tore into it. It was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen, and I have actually watched Kima eat raw fish that was living seconds before. I had to look away - and so did Miah, but she was laughing. She can’t hear herself, only feel the vibration in her own throat. Her laughs kind of sound almost honking, choked-off, just totally un-self-conscious noises she’s barely aware of.

I should tell her that I like the way she laughs.

Oh, I absolutely should not do that.

Maybe I should, though.

She grinned at me, still laughing, and signed, “This is disgusting!”

“It is,” I signed back, “And it’s your fault, don’t forget that!”

She was still laughing when Kima looked back up at us, fish bits smeared around his mouth, and she signed, “Merry Christmas, K-I-M-A,” to him. He stared back, signed yes, and then dove back under the water, present utterly devoured, leaving only gross little particles I will probably have to hose off the sides of the tank on cleaning day when the filters can’t quite pick them up.

Miah looked at me, and I just thought, you know, she’s really pretty even under the sun lamps, and nobody is pretty in that light. Then she signed, after this moment of stillness, “I bought you a present, too.”

“Me?” I pointed back at myself, blinking, surprised. “I don’t do Christmas, M, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I know. But I still bought a present. Can I show you?”

“Um, sure.” I get nauseous when I’m nervous. For a second, climbing back down the ladder, I thought I’d just get sick all over myself. I was badly designed, my defense mechanism is just to vomit on myself to scare predators away, clearly my body thinks pretty women are dangerous and I have to embarrass myself until they stop looking at me.

Finally, though, we were back at my desk. The smell… lingered. I’ve since burned the candle Miah got me, and the sulfur from the matches and the scent of the candle itself have largely done away with it, but when we got back, it was still powerful.

She didn’t pull anything out of the bag, instead she just took a small card out of her back pocket and handed it to me.

I looked down at it. “Alborz?” I realized I’d spoken out loud, looking down, and looked back up quickly so I could repeat it in sign, so she could see. “A-L-B-O-R-Z? A gift card to a restaurant?”

She nodded, quickly, signing so fast I was having trouble keeping up. I guess… was she nervous, too? “It’s food like you grew up with, yes?”

“Yeah, more or less. I mean nothing is better than my mother’s food. But why-”

She reached out and grabbed my arm with one hand to stop me, leaned in so close that the smell of this super subtle perfume she wears was stronger, for a second, than the smell of fish. “B,” She signed, with heavy, slow emphasis, “Think about why I bought you this.”

I just looked at her. I didn’t get it at all, and told her so.

I’m so bloody dense.

She sighed, throwing her hands up in the air with an eye-roll and a smile, and then signed, “When are you taking me there?”

She had to repeat the signs three times before I realized she was asking me on a date.

So anyway, I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink tonight, and also I think I celebrate Christmas now.

Date-mas.

That was an awful joke. I’m leaving it there just to properly shame myself if I ever reread this.

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumpwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump

#mer whump #christmas specials #signs of the sea #depression tw #breakdown mention tw #emeto references #mer whumpee #fluff #angst and fluff #all comfort no hurt #referenced drowning #bahram anvari #miah kirsse

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pyox1 · 4 years

Text

[9:33pm] "He parked in my spot! Again!" You scoffed, peeking through the blinds of your window. "What a douchebag..." Your roommate sighed, her head hurting from your constant whines against the next door neighbor.

"Why don't you just confront him?" She asked as if it was the most obvious thing to do, only hoping that you'll agree to silence you.

"And risk embarrassing myself or him just telling me to screw off?! Never." Another sigh left her lips. "Plus, I have no idea who he is, it's not like I'd know who to talk to."

"He lives in the appartement right next to ours." She said, matter of fact.

"Still! What if someone else answers the door? And what if I start insulting the wr-"

"Oh my god!" You roommate interrupted you, fed up. "Key his car! I don't know! Why should I care?" Your mouth shut slowly as you catched the key she threw your way. "Just- please. My head is throbbing right now and your nonsense is not helping in any way right now."

"Of course, sorry. My parking spot holds a special place in my heart, you know that." She laughs, while you close the front door behind you, walking with determination towards the old toyota prius that you oh so hated. Looking around, you made sure the coast was clear before squating down to the level of the driver's door.

What could you possibly write or draw on this idiot's car... You could go for a dick, a well known classic, but unoriginal. You could also decorate it with nicknames such as dickhead, asshole, moron, parking thief, the possibilities were endless. You took a deep breath of air, bringing the key up to the car.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Without turning around you answered the unknown voice.

"I'm about to give this imbecile what he deserves." The person behind you cleared its throat, the voice now much closer to you. You turned around to be faced with a tall guy, brown hair and soft eyes. His skin was tan and he stood nonchalantly, his hands in the pockets of his pants. You were sure had never seen him before. It would've been hard to forget a pretty face like his.

"I'm sorry- but who are you? As you can see, i'm in the middle of something." You dangled the keychain between your index and your thumb.

"Well, I'm the imbecile's car's owner." You felt all the color drain out of your face as you stood back up, getting to eye level with the guy.

"I am SO sorry. Oh my- oh my- I didn't mean to- shit." You ran you hand through your hair, while he stared amusingly at your small breakdown. "Fuck- I had no idea you were the owner of this vehicule, please forgive me."

"Don't sweat it," He chuckled, crossing his arms. "I feel like there must be a reason behind you wanting to sabotage my car... Care to explain?" You had never felt as small as today, still being almost the same height as the cute guy in front of you. While you tried to explain your motives in the most polite way, and without stuttering, you couldn't help but notice his growing smirk. He didn't seem mad at all, which confused you.

"Again, I'm sorry." You said, putting an end to your explanation.

"Again, you technically didn't do anything wrong, at the end I'm the asshole of the story. I shouldn't be parking in your spot."

"Oh, uh, don't worry, it's fine." You were taken aback by his understanding and kindness. You were ashamed of yourself for expecting him to be some big jerk while he was the one apologizing.

"But I do expect some kind or payement for such malicious ideas towards my car." He started, walking closer. "What about I take you out on a date? And then we can call it even."

The blood suddenly all rushed back to your face. You tried to formulate an answer but the words kept getting caught in your throat, leaving you looking like a fish out of water.

"I'll take the blush as a yes." He tried to hold back his laugh. You suddenly relaxed, his words making you feel more at ease.

"I'm Haechan by the way, or Lee Donghyuck, but most commonly known as the imbecile."

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sunnysviolin · 4 years

Note

Kel and Aubrey going around interacting with people to learn about the different cultures everywhere as they travel, wearing cultural outfits, participating in cultural activities, just having an overall good time...

Would they be good at any cultural dances? Since they're traveling to Spain first, I can just imagine Aubrey in a flamenco dress with Kel as they just dance together and enjoy themselves (or maybe Kel wearing the dress- or maybe both of them wearing dresses-)

...I kinda wanna draw them dancing around together now.

-from a videogame-world traveling anon

nonnie.....nonnie wait....if you drew something we created together I would be SO EMO WAIT!!! No oh my god like my brain literally just exploded like art?? ART??? I wanna be able to draw so bad...but I can’t I just gotta continue on w my lil writing bits....here take some more writing bits nonnie

*Singing to myself* This got lonnng againnnn I’m putting itttt under a readdd moreeeee

Kel’s parents are....less than pleased to find out their son isn’t directly going to college like Hero did, and they make that known.

They don’t approve of his choice to take at least one gap year. They don’t approve of him not continuing his education. They don’t approve of him throwing away his life for that bad girl that spent so many years terrorizing him. Even two years after changing her ways, Aubrey is still regarded as a nuisance among the town old timers. Kel’s parents tell him plainly that they don’t approve of Aubrey, and they won’t be changing their mind.

Which leads to Kel having a minor breakdown and finally admitting what he’s known his whole life- that he will never be good enough to measure up to Hero, and he’s finally tired of trying to be someone he’s not. He isn’t Hero and he never will be, but for once he wants being Kel to be good enough.

Seeing their bright positive middle child finally crack under the weight they’ve been unintentionally laying on him is...it’s painful. Kel’s parents never meant to make it a competition between their sons, they just wanted what was best for both of them.

Having Kel sobbing at their dining room table at 3:00 am on the night of his high school graduation teaches them that they might not know what’s best for Kel after all.

So...yeah the talk the morning after that is filled with a lot of awkward pausing. Kel isn’t used to sharing his true feelings, and he isn’t used to exposing anything other than cheerful hope. Ultimately they come to an agreement. Kel can go with Aubrey, follow her and his heart on their crazy plan, but he has to spend the year before they leave working and earning and not just hanging around the house

That was Kel’s plan anyway, so he’s ecstatic. He calls Aubrey immediately after, and she comes over so they can plan things out together

That year before they leave is definitely not easy. They’re working multiple retail and menial labor jobs, spending 12-15 hours a day on their feet in steamy kitchens, being screamed at by rude customers, and delivering so. many. pizzas.

At some point in that year Aubrey and her mother have the inevitable fight that has been coming her whole life, and her mother kicks her out. Aubrey shows up in the middle of the night with her things next to her. Kel’s mother welcomes her inside and gets her a cup of tea. Kel wakes up and comes downstairs the next day to see his partner curled up asleep on the couch under a blanket his mother had just finished knitting

His mother doesn’t explain anything (”It’s her story dear not mine”) but after Aubrey comes to stay with them his parents warm to her quickly. Aubrey and Kel are allowed to share the room that Hero and he once shared, but they’re adamant that the beds stay on opposite sides

((He and Aubrey fit cramped but happy into his twin bed every night, but she always wakes up early to switch beds in order to be respectful to his parents wishes))

Soon enough its the afternoon before their journey is beginning (They decided to redeye to Sevilla). They have hostel confirmation numbers for a dozen different European countries, a thick binder of plans and itineraries, and a joint account that has a surprising amount of money in it.

Turns out working 15 hours a day, taking only your eight paid vacation days, and having all of your dates be creative free dates in the five hours a week you both have off together means that you are able to acquire quite the nest egg. Kel’s parents sit them down at the dining room table, and his father is shocked to see how this year has shaped Kel.

It’s a strange thing to see your son as an adult for the first time. It didn’t feel strange when it was Hero, he always expected it from Hero. Seeing it in Kel rocked him.

They drive the two young adults (calling them kids now feels...wrong) to the airport and make them promise to call and write daily.

There’s an undeniable energy and excitement as they board the plane. He and Aubrey breathe an audible sigh of relief. They shouldn’t, but they sleep on the plane. After a year of running, they’ve earned it

OKAY SO THAT WASN”T AT ALL WHAT YOU ASKED FOR....HERE HAVE DANCE LESSON HEADCANONS

Aubrey planned for everything, so she planned that they would need at least two days to recover when they finally got to Spain. The first two days are spent in a combo of sleeping and eating fantastic food and finally being able to spend a full night in bed together instea of sneaking unsuccessfully around Kel’s parents.

She splurged and got them a private room at their first hostel in Sevilla. It was more expensive, but ultimately so very very worth it.

But day three is when they start to explore. They finally venture off of the block around their hostel and began to deep dive into the tiny back paths of the city. They meet a nice handful of locals who invite them to breakfast the next morning (Kel’s spanish speaking skills are undeniably useful to them in this moment)

And that night...that night is the beginning of the wish fulfillment she’s waited for since she was five years old. A flamenco lesson that promises an authentic experience, real outfits, and a party for all involved at the end. Aubrey was frugal with accomodations, but she spared no expense when it came to the experiences. Especially this one.

Flamenco is traditionally a single dance with one woman, but she asked and Kel is allowed to come if he likes. The instructor in charge recognizes Aubrey from her call, and drags Kel over to where another man sits with a guitar. He and the man begin to converse in Spanish, and Kel seems to be rapidly making plans. He’s fine with only watching for tonight, this is her dream

Aubrey is thrust into a room with a bunch of other tourists, even a few from her own state, and a gaggle of women who work at the studio. They show her a row of gorgeous traditional dresses, an overwhelming rainbow of frills and explosions of color.

Aubrey has let her hair go back to it’s natural color by this point, and her long dark locks catch the eye of one of the instructors who pulls her over to a corner of the rack of dresses. The instructor winks at her and pulls out a dress. It’s perfect.

Kel is also having a fantastic time. He and the guitar player who’s name is Raphael are discussing guitar playing. Raphael wants to teach Kel to play himself so “He can play for his lady when she wants to dance for him again”

All conversation stops when Aubrey walks out.

The others are dolled up as well, but Kel only has eyes for his girl. Her dress is black, hugging to her waist and her body. As the ruffles of the dress begin on her arms and her legs, the dress goes from black to a striking bright red. Around her wrists and on her neck is bright gold jewlery, gleaming against her skin.

Aubrey’s dark hair is wrapped up in a bun with a series of pink to red carnations following the curve of her hair. Her lips are tinged with maroon lipstick.

Kel is left speechless. Aubrey asks him something and Kel just has to nod and try to catch his breath. The rest of the group giggle at their antics, and Aubrey rolls her eyes at him. She presses a kiss to his cheek, maroon imprint left in its wake, and then she is over with the other girls in front of the instructor.

Raphael begins to play at the instructors insistence

The dance lesson is fun. Even just watching Kel has fun. Aubrey normally has a hardness in her eyes, a tightness in her shoulders as if she’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Within minutes of the instructors careful praise and guidance Aubrey is loose and even giggling. Kel hasn’t heard a sound like that from her since they were children.

At the end the group performs the dance all together to a raucuous applause form Kel, Raphael, and the instructor. Then they all go to the patio behind the studio which has been decked out in warm golden lanterns with a table of food prepared.

Raphael begins to play again and the others mingle close to the food. Aubrey takes Kels hand and they go to a separate corner of the dance floor. They don’t dance in any particular way, just holding one another and rocking to the melody. Her hair has begun to come out of it’s tight bun, but her eyes are bright with happiness and she can’t manage to stop smiling

That night under the glow of the lanterns is the night they first say they love each other. It was a given, they already knew it, but those words are saccharine sweet against their lips as Kel holds Aubrey close to him and they spin while the music plays.

#videogame-world traveling anon #asks #anon #omori #omori headcanons #omori headcanon #i guess #omori au #world travel au #kelbrey #omori kel #omori aubrey #omori kels parents #This is cute #I love this sm

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

Hope you don't mind me sending one of these: Catlina - “you remembered?”

Hello there! I do not mind in the slightest! I'm sorry this took a while, but I have it finished for you! I do hope you enjoy though!

She still has about ten minutes before the meal is fully prepared and she’ll wait for another three hours in hopes that Liz will come. She has to come home at some point, Cat thinks leaning against the countertop folding her arms, It’s been almost two weeks. She lets out a slow breath, relaxing her body briefly, the shrill of the doorbell tensing her once more. Her eyes slide slowly towards the front door catching sight of the sleek black car parked in front of her house, Should I really be surprised at this point? She pushes herself off slowly making her way to the front door, pulling the cardigan closer, a soft knock out of time to her walk.

Cat pulls the door open, the first thing she sees are John’s blue eyes darkened by the night. He smiles as she leans against the door, meeting him with a small smile, “Little late for missionary work don’t you think?”

John gives a small shake of his head, “Hilarious,” one of his hands holds a reusable shopping bag as the other gestures inside, “May I come in?”

She stiffened, heart picking up speed, “She might come back John,” Cat glanced back at the stove avoiding his gaze, at least nothing looked to be burning, “She won’t want to see you.”

His smile falters for a split second, “Well I’ll leave if she does show up,” Cat bites her lip, casting her eyes downward, “I just came to see you.”

She perks her head up, giving a small tilt, “You came to see me?” He nods, “Why?”

He shrugs, “Does there have to be a reason,” he asks, face not matching the apathy in his tone, “I figured you could use some company.”

She lets out a sigh, turning away back to the kitchen, “You better keep your promise of leaving if she shows up, John.” Cat leaves the door open, John following behind quickly watching as she moves about the small kitchen. He gives a smirk as he notes her familiar dinner pattern of having a meat, something heavy in carbs, and a vegetable to form a complete meal, he can only assume there’s some kind of dessert lying in wait in the refrigerator.

He takes a seat at the round table, glancing around the room setting the bag on the floor next to him, “I’m surprised you didn’t find a house with a bigger kitchen my Catlina.”

“I didn’t need one,” she replies matter of factly, “Liz and I weren’t getting a lot of visitors so what was the point?”

“Because you could,” she still doesn’t face him head on, which is fine with him as he gets an opportunity to look at his ex-wife for more than just a few rushed minutes, taking in the new details about her. The way the grey in her hair shined through under the lights, how she moves about with more confidence than when he first saw her getting up from that bed seventeen years ago, and the sliver of art peeking out from beneath her shirt on her back making it easy to miss the scarred ends of sin if you didn’t already know of their location. “I made sure you’d have more than enough to get a nice place,” he muses, moving to stand.

Cat brings down the plates, three of them, with a huff, “I thought I made it clear I didn’t like using your money.” Her movements are sharp and short as she puts food on it, gripping the utensils with white knuckles.

“You did,” he sits himself back down as she walks over to him with a plate, “I just wanted to take care of you is all. You and Liz.” Cat gives a small eye roll, working to set the plate down gently rather than drop it like she wishes she could, it's part of her favorite set though.

Her jaw tightens moving to make her own plate, “I don’t need someone to take care of us. I managed just fine.” It’s a lie, his money came in handy when she kept moving hoping for a fresh start for Liz and then again when Cat had a breakdown the week Joseph became a fugitive. She never wants to tell him this though, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or the power over her.

“You were the one that asked me for money though,” she splays her hands on the counter, nails digging into the faux granite, “So it seems like you did need me.”

“Only because I was at the last of my options,” she says through gritted teeth, “I set aside my pride for Liz because she needed a place that was safe and as free as one could be with her,” Cat paused, turning to look John up and down trying to hold back the sneer, “genetics. Ones that no one lets her forget once they know.”

His eyes narrow, a hand running through his hair, teeth grinding, “I am aware of her life and how it’s been Catlina, there’s no need to remind me.”

“Never hurts to do so with you.”

John inhales deeply, closing his eyes, “There’s no need to bring this argument up once again, don’t you agree?”

She glares at him a moment more before nodding, finally allowing herself to sit down across from him. Her shoulders fall with an exhale as she settles herself, eyes casting downward, replying softly, “I don’t really feel like arguing with you tonight anyway.”

John lets the quiet loom, waiting for her to take the first bite before making any movement of his own. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the accusations started with her, her anger did always have its way of festering beneath the surface and John had always been the one that could draw it out. Little by little until it all flooded out and she was no longer the same person he had grown to love and care for. John smirks to himself at the memories of their first few weeks together, “Do you remember those first few weeks and we did nothing but fight all the time?” She glances up at him, “Sorry. When we did nothing but argue.”

“We didn’t fight all the time,” Cat mumbles, pushing the food around on her plate. “I didn’t really like talking to you, I remember that.”

John laughs, “You and I still talked quite a bit,” his teasing tone getting an eye roll from Cat, “and it always seemed to end with you stating an opinion that I didn’t agree with.”

“You know I wasn’t the only one giving opinions,” a smile teases at the corner of her lips, pointing the fork at him, “You baited me into those arguments. Tested my patience.”

“Not like it was hard to do, especially then.” John smiles resting his chin on his hand, “We were so different you and I, like oil and vinegar,” Cat snorts, giving a small shae of her head, “Pretty sure my brothers still wonder how we managed to actually end up falling for each other.”

Cat stiffens at the notion, swallowing the bite in her mouth, “There are people that believe they know how we managed that.” The memories of when she would call out to him in the months following her return to society and the calm responses of the doctors telling her that it was all made up, some side effect of whatever they drugged her with echo on the edge of her hearing. She swallows the memories back, “We did seem to meet up in some kind of middle, I’ll admit, even if it was brief.” Cat can’t even fake a smile as she casts her gaze down, no longer focusing on the plate in front of her. John slides the chair closer to her, reaching out to place his hand gently on hers.

He gives a small smile when she looks up at him, “There’s still time. We can always pick up where we left off,” Cat’s stomach flips, her chest pulling towards him while everything else backs away. He can’t be serious. He knows why we can’t, “After all, we do have a child together, so I doubt we’ll ever fully be out of each other’s life.”

“John,” she warns, looking up, “we’ve talked about this.”

“I’ll be good, don’t worry,” he says softly, “Just hard not to think about, on today of all days.”

Cat frowns, “What do you mean ‘today of all days’?”

He gives a genuine smile, something she forgot he could do, “It’s the day this all started.”

“You remembered,” she gives John a pointed look, arching a brow, “the exact day I finally woke up after the accident?”

“I could tell you the exact date if you’d like but it seems a little irrelevant considering that day passed.”

She opened her mouth ready to argue, closing it as she glanced at the digital clock on the wall the date spelled out for her. “Our wedding,” she whispered, eyes moving slowly to look back at John slowly, unease threatening to climb her spine, “That was today wasn’t it?”

He nods, giving a small hum, “Married seventeen years today.”

“I think illegally in the eyes of the law, technically, but that’s more your department,” Cat looks down to the bag still at his feet, “Is that why you brought that stuff?”

John gives a nonchalant shrug, “Kind of seems silly now, don’t you think? Especially since I was the only one of us to remember,” he laughs softly trying to keep the mood light.

“I used to remember it,” she admits pushing some of the food on her plate, “Used to fixate on that date to a point I’d get upset when it wasn’t.” Cat lets out a slow breath, “Used to convince myself that you would finally come back, would whisk me away from that place and we’d live out our lives happily, because surely my husband, who loved me so deeply and obsessively, wouldn’t just abandon me on our anniversary.”

“Ah,” he hunches, leaning his elbows on the table, “I see.”

“Eventually days started to blur and I worked to actively not think about Montana. Honestly it became too painful to do so and I had Liz to focus on.” She shook her head, “So I’m sorry, I-well I needed to forget that date. Forget the significance of today.”

“I understand,” John attempts a smile that falls quickly, “The first one didn’t go so well for me either. I lost your ring….,” he sighs, “O well the dep-Chance stole it from me. Probably should have taken that as a sign looking back at it all.”

They let the silence fall, each taking small bites finding nothing either could do to lift the disappointment. Cat paused peering closer to the contents John had brought with him, the only thing she could identify with certainty being a bottle of wine. It’s just one night. It doesn’t have to mean anything long term, She bit the inside of her lip, It doesn’t even have to go beyond talking. She swallowed, inhaling deeply, standing to make her way to the cabinets, John watching curiously.

She pulled down two goblets, one a smokey black and the other a deep red, giving them a quick rinse and drying them off before walking back to the table. “Now don’t read too much into this,” she started going back for the wine opener, “but given we were both sort of on good terms with the other at the time of our first anniversary I say that we let ourselves celebrate it late.”

John smirked, arching a brow, “Do you really think that’s a good idea, my Catlina ,” he asked, pulling out the bottle from the bag, taking the opener from her.

“I think it’s the nice and right thing to do,” she smiled giving a shrug, “Besides it might help us get some closure on us.”

He pulled the cork out with ease, eyes widening, watching as she poured their glasses. There was little hesitation to her words, something that he once again should have seen coming, still it did little to ease the sting, “Yeah, it could,” he agreed reluctantly, “We both can use the closure.”

She threw him a smile, going to the fridge once more putting away the remaining dinner, John took a glance at the small purple wrapped box he pulled from his pocket as she announced her idea of celebrating. He took a deep breath sliding it back into place, opting to pull out the small container of chocolate covered fruit before Cat had turned back to him fully, his smile on to its full charm once more. He could let himself enjoy these few hours, let himself believe that there was a chance for them once more. John held up his glass once she sat down, “To celebrating our first and only year of marriage,” Cat laughed, tapping her glass against his before they took their first drink of the night. One night. She could let herself indulge in the fantasy she once, still, craved for just this one night. It didn’t have to mean anything more.

#x: tribulation #salvations two paths #catlina rojas oc #I'll put a banner later cause I can't find what I like at the current moment but I hope you enjoy it still!#getting some post salvations catjohn was interesting to say the least in getting that relationship right

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makeste · 4 years

Text

not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #all might #endeavor #todoroki shouto #shigaraki tomura #horikoshi kouhei #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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spaceskam · 4 years

Note

For the fanfic mash-up thing: how about 10 and 72 for Malex?

this prompt is literally like a year old whoop. from this prompt list

10. airport/travel au & 72. stranded on a desert island

warnings: plane crash, anxiety, injury, open ending

ao3

Michael Guerin hated planes.

He spent most of his life avoiding them which was easy. His childhood rendered them virtually nonexistent and his adulthood had always carried the excuse of poverty. It worked out. Until now when he found himself five seconds away from throwing up on his ex-something as they waited to board the plane.

“Are you sure you don’t want to even half of one?” Alex asked. He’d basically been trying to feed Michael his anxiety meds from the moment he realized Michael was nervous. It was painfully attractive and annoying of him to try to take care of him like that.

“You need them more than me, that’s why they’re prescribed to you,” Michael argued.

“You’re going to have a full blown panic attack if you don’t calm down,” Alex said, “Why didn’t you tell Isobel you were scared of planets?”

“And ruin her dream destination wedding that she can finally have because it’s her second one and she doesn’t need to have everyone come out, just the ‘nearest-and-dearest’, and that your brother took off of work for, and that you pulled strings to get me a last minute passport for? Absolutely not,” Michael said. He didn’t have to look at Alex to know he was rolling his eyes.

“You might ruin it anyway if you show up having a full blown breakdown,” Alex said.

“Shut up, I’m fine. I am perfectly and entirely fine,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “I don’t need your help.”

“Okay,” Alex sighed.

And he was able to pretend that that was the truth until they called for them to board the plane.

Michael was shaking and sweating and already looking for exits. He didn’t know why he was so fucking scared. Nothing bad was going to happen. The plane was going to land and he was going to be absolutely fine. Fine, fine, fine.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, buckling himself in immediately and identifying the little oxygen mask. Alex sat on the side near the aisle and Michael sat by the window. He didn’t look out of it though, instead choosing to look straight ahead.

Isobel was already there, ready to have her lovely wedding to Gregory in Cabo and Michael was going to be there if it killed him. Max and Liz were flying there from California and that was their wedding party. It was small and just about immediate family. And Michael was going to be there.

The plane started to move and Michael was gripping the arm rests like it was the only thing saving him. He hated this. All the way up until Alex reached over and laid his hand on top of Michael’s. He fiddled with it until he locked their fingers and squeezed.

“You can crush my hand, it won’t hurt me,” Alex promised him. And if it were any other situation, Michael would’ve sat there and let himself overthink every tiny thing about the fact that Alex was holding his hand. However, he was way too scared for all that and just squeezed and ignored Alex’s soft laughter.

Even after the plane took off, Michael didn’t let go. He clutched Alex’s hand until his started to cramp up and then he powered through the cramps to keep holding onto it. He just stared forward and tried to will away the bad feelings.

And it was all full and games until the plane shook.

“It’s just turbulence,” Alex said, voice soft and promising. Michael swallowed harshly.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, it’s normal.”

But then it happened again and worse.

Alex didn’t say anything that time, just rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of his hand as the flight attendant asked everyone to put their seat belts back on. There was rough winds, they said. Michael swallowed harshly.

“It’s okay,” Alex said, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Except it wasn’t okay.

Things started to move too fast, the plane was shaking and waving through the air. People were screaming, the flight attendant requested they put on their oxygen masks. And Michael knew this was going to happen. Bad, bad, bad.

Alex held onto him and stayed completely stoic. Michael almost felt guilty about that. He was staying calm because he wanted Michael to stay calm. He should get to freak out too, right?

Then they were going down.

Michael Guerin hated planes.

And now, in the middle of the woods, with the plane suspended amongst trees in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people screaming and hurt and dying and dead, he felt like he had a completely valid reason to hate them. He hated them more than anything in the entire world. Higher than Jesse Manes and snakes.

With a little unconventional use of his power, Michael had gotten himself and Alex safely to the ground. Sort of safely. There was a doctor on board and a couple other soldiers assessing everyone and trying to help them, triage them. Michael didn’t feel bad putting his full focus onto Alex.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Alex breathed, eyes closed as he laid on the ground. Somewhere during the plane going down and him trying to keep Michael calm, he’d taken a dislodged tray to the thigh. It was stuck in him and he was still trying to act calm.

“Alex,” Michael breathed. He’d thrown away his panic for the time being. He was still a little shaky, but he had his priority set on this man as it always should’ve been. “Alex, hey, I’m gonna get it out.”

“What? No, no, don’t do that,” Alex said, shaking his head. His hair was matted to his forehead and he was pale and he was bleeding and this was unfair. “Could make it worse.”

“No, look, I’ll make a tourniquet,” Michael said, already ripping his shirt to tie around his thigh.

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head and pushing at his shoulder, “No.”

“Alex,” Michael said a little desperately, “I need to get it out so I can try to heal you.” That got his attention.

“What? No, no. No, no, no. There’s people.”

“I don’t fucking care, Alex, you’re hurt!” he argued. Alex shook his head.

Alex was able to keep his stoic composure up until he tried to move a little to show he was fine. He let out an involuntary groan of pain and then gasped as it moved another way. A few heavy breaths later, Alex nodded.

“Okay, heal it,” he whispered. Michael nodded and immediately tied the fabric around his thigh and went to remove the tray. He moved slow and Alex did his best to stay calm. He had to admit, it was impressive how calm he stayed.

Blood gushed as the tray was removed and Michael hated it. He immediately covered it with his hand and was preparing to try his damnedest to heal him. Alex grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said, "Wait.”

“What?”

“Just, wait,” Alex said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “If you do this, will you be able to feel my feelings?”

“Only if you want me to,” Michael assured him. That was, at least, what Max had said. “But I can’t promise you won’t be able to feel mine even when I don’t want you to. So, if you’re, like suddenly in love with me after this, don’t trust it.”

Alex gave a breathy laugh, squeezing his shoulder before he moved his hand to his jaw. “I’m already there, I’ll let you know if I feel anymore.”

“Okay,” Michael said, taking a deep breath as he pressed his hand over the wound. He felt like that just added fuel to the fire already brewing in him. “Okay, thank you.”

He’d been practicing for awhile now with Isobel and Max and he’d been getting pretty good at it. The main problem was that he usually didn’t do it when he was this stressed out. Alex was hurt. Actually hurt. He could’ve died. And they hand’t even fixed their bullshit yet.

It took a few seconds, long seconds, almost a minute, but eventually his mind swirled and blurred and he slowly pieced Alex back together from the inside out. He didn’t scream, not wanting to draw any attention to himself, just fed on Alex and the fact that he loved him more than anything.

After draining himself into Alex, he tipped forward a little and caught himself on the ground. So he sat there on all fours over Alex’s lap and just breathed and tried not to focus on the fact that this was bad. Alex getting hurt was just the tip of the iceberg. There were in the middle of nowhere after a fucking plane crash and Isobel’s wedding was still happening.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked.

“Are you?” Michael asked right back. Neither of them really gave appropriate answers.

Alex swallowed and grabbed his head, pulling him into his chest. Michael let himself fall and breath him in.

They were going to be okay.

There weren’t any other options.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic

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flamyangelwings · 4 years

Text

For a Given Value of 'Fine' Chapter 3

I swear, this was supposed to be a oneshot ^_^;

@winterpower98 just gets too many anons that inspire me. But this is the last chapter, I swear. I just needed to add Tang and the PowerPoint.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295903/chapters/73944804

There was something wet on his face.

That was the first thing MK registered when he woke up followed by the fact that, while his throat was a bit less sore, his head was still killing him, especially right behind his eyes, and that he felt...weirdly spent for how little he remembered exerting himself. He let out a quiet sigh and rubbed at his face, realizing in the process that the wet thing had been a cool cloth resting on his forehead and surely he didn’t have that bad a fever? The next thing he noticed was that he was staring at his own ceiling, which was weird since the last thing he remembered he had been miles away from home.

He was definitely in his bed, but...when had he gone home? He remembered climbing out his window and going up to Flower Fruit Mountain for training, and the Monkey King having hime meditate over tea, and then...Oh. Oh. And then Pigsy had shown up. Oh, Pigsy had called him Xiǎotiān. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

MK stared at the ceiling for a few minutes just regretting his life decisions, or at least the decisions of...that morning? The previous day? How long had he even slept?

He had known that Pigsy and Tang wouldn’t be entirely pleased with him, if they found out he’d gone to train when they thought he was “too sick to work”, but he hadn’t realized they’d be that displeased!

A soft rustling of paper caught his attention and, when he turned his head, MK was surprised to see Tang sitting at his desk reading. He tried to sit up but the motion sent his head spinning and MK slipped sideways into his wall with a gasp that caught in throat and quickly turned into a coughing fit.

“Oh!” Tang said, nearly dropping his book in surprise, “MK, you’re awake!” He placed his book aside quickly and jumped up to help MK sit up and pat his back. “How do you feel?” he asked, once the cough had subsided, feeling Mk’s forehead at the same time

“MmfineMisterTang” MK mumbled, attempting a reassuring smile that he could tell came out more like a grimace.

Tang’s glasses seemed to glint in the light as he looked at MK with a piercing gaze “Do you want to try that again, Xiaotian?”

MK flushed and ducked his head at the look and the usage of his proper name and bit his lip “My throat’s a lot less sore, but my head still hurts and it also kind of feels fuzzy.” he admitted reluctantly, staring purposefully at one of the drawings on his wall instead of Tang “And I’m a bit...I'm really dizzy.”

“Yes, that makes sense, some of that is probably being caused, in part, by dehydration,” Tang said, fixing MK with a look of displeasure, “which tends to happen when people decide to exercise, or go near volcanoes, or do both, with a fever.” he grabbed a bottle of water that MK hadn’t noticed before and handed it to him “What were you thinking?”

MK took a small sip of the water to avoid having to respond before realizing how thirsty he was and taking a deeper drink as Tang pressed on “How many times have Pigsy and I told you that you need to rest when you’re sick?”

“I know,” MK tried to argue, giving a stubborn pout “but I was fine! I barely had a fever! The world doesn’t-”

Tang clapped a hand on MK’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze, causing MK to pause in the middle of his sentence, “I know full well what your parents told you.” Tang said, spitting out ‘parents’ like it was a curse word, “And we have talked about it before. The world might not ‘stop because you have a runny nose’, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. Or won’t, MK. Did you even think about what could have happened? You could have fainted while on the way to the mountain, while you were in the air or over the ocean. You could have died, MK.” Tang’s grip on MK tightened as he said that, and MK felt a rush of shame as he pictured Tang sitting alone in the noodle shop, not knowing if he was alive or not, waiting for Pigsy to find him and bring him home.

“...I’m sorry Mr. Tang.” MK said in a small voice “I really thought I was-”

“Fine?” Tang repeated dryly, before taking a deep breath to calm himself “MK, what does ‘fine’ mean exactly?” he asked calmly “It clearly doesn’t mean ‘healthy’, since you’ve repeatedly claimed you were ‘fine’ when you were obviously sick, and don’t get me started on the number of times you’ve said you were ‘fine’ and on the verge of an emotional breakdown or hiding an injury!”

MK bit his lip but didn’t answer, mostly because he didn’t have an answer, fine was...fine. It was...what did fine mean?

“Anyway,” Tang continued, unaware of the mental upheaval he’d just caused with his question, “the Monkey King has given you the rest of this week, and at least part of next week off from training. He said that if he sees you on the mountain before Pigsy gives you a clean bill of health he’ll bring you back here himself. The real question is whether I am going to have to stay up here to keep an eye on you or if we can trust you to stay put and rest.”

MK winced at that statement, he hated the idea that he’d even slightly damaged Pigsy and Tang’s trust in him even if he could admit that, in hindsight, he probably deserved it. “I’ll stay put Mr. Tang.” he promised sheepishly, fiddling with the now-empty bottle in his hands until Tang grabbed it from him and started to refill it.

“Good.” the older man nodded with a soft grin that then faded into a sharp look that sent chills down MK’s spine “That means I’ll have plenty of time to work on a little...presentation for you.”

MK froze at that statement before groaning in despair and collapsing backwards onto his mattress. He sent the scholar a pleading look but held his tongue. The last time he had made the mistake of complaining about Tang making a slideshow to lecture him, he had been seventeen and the man had made him write a five page essay on the subject instead, with proper sources and citation, and had refused to tell him any stories about the Monkey King until he had finished it.

MK would take the slideshow over repeating that experience any day.

“Don’t give me that look, MK.” Tang chided, handing back the bottle and crossing his arms, “you knew full well what you were doing, and I care about you far too much to let you pull stunts like this without consequences.”

“Yes Mr. Tang.” MK sighed with a pout, taking another drink of water

Tang picked his book back up and patted MK on the head “I’ll tell Pigsy you’re alright and let you get some more rest.” he said, heading out of the apartment, MK sunk back onto his mattress with a huff, and covered his face with an arm.

The next week and a half? At least? This was going to be so boring!

-----

It was.

The next two weeks were increasingly dull. For the first few days, Pigsy and Tang constantly came up to his apartment to bring him food, or check his temperature, or just to ‘check up on him’, which and MK just knew that actually meant ‘check that he was still there’. And that stung a bit, the confirmation that he’d messed up badly enough that Pigsy and Tang didn’t trust him to keep his promise to stay put. MK knew he deserved it but...it still stung.

Pigsy had apparently texted Mei when he was missing, because she showed up and gave him a hard time for being ‘an absolute moron’. Once he filled her in on the rest, she gleefully teased him for being ‘all but grounded by his dads” which MK loudly shushed her about, worried Pigsy or Tang might hear her. If he had his way, they would never find out he felt that way about them. It wasn’t that he thought that they would think it weird or reject him for it, but it’d make everything weird to say it out loud.

Tang borrowed several new books from the library for MK to read, and it had only taken a couple for him to realize that the books had a common theme. Every. Single. Book. Had one of the characters getting sick, ignoring it, and getting worse. Sometimes even dying because of it.

Tang could be very subtle if he wanted. Apparently, this was not one of the times Tang wanted to be subtle.

Once his fever finally broke MK was allowed to do a bit of exercise, just so that he didn’t get too out of shape, but only under Pigsy’s supervision and only for a short amount of time every day. MK didn’t dare try and do any extra, he knew if he did and he was caught, not only would Pigsy place him firmly back on ‘bed rest only’, but he’d also probably damage their trust in him even more.

After two weeks, MK finally got back to full health.

-----

As eager as he was to finally get out of his apartment again, MK had also been dreading the day when Pigsy decided he was fully recovered and that day had finally arrived, emphasized by Tang showing up with a folding chair under one arm and a bag that MK just knew had his laptop in it.

MK slumped on his bed, trying his best not to glare at Tang’s laptop as the older man hooked it up to his TV. As he fiddled with one of his stim toys, the screen was suddenly lit up by a plain grey rectangle with “The Hazards and Long Term Repercussions of Straining the Human Body While In Poor Health” written across it.

Tang handed MK a binder with the same words on the cover page and pulled out a collapsible pointer.

“Alright, open your handout to the first page, we will begin with the basics. How stressing your immune system can prolong your recovery period.”

Fifteen minutes later

“And that covers the dangers and long term side effects of heat exhaustion, if you turn to page eight, we can start talking about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.”

Ten more minutes later

“After pneumonia, the next on the list of diseases that can be acquired from stressing yourself or ignoring your body when ill is bronchitis.”

------

After a total of 45 excruciatingly boring minutes, Tang finally put down the pointer and MK closed the binder with a sigh of relief and practically collapsed backwards onto his bed.

“And what have we learned?” Tang prompted as he unplugged his laptop and put it away

“Not to make you mad at me unless I want to be bored to death?” MK tried to joke, before ducking his head at Tang’s sharp look and sighing “It’s important to rest when I don’t feel well and not just try to power through it because I could make myself way worse and permanently mess up my body.” he recited, hoping that the answer was thorough enough

Tang looked at MK and raised an eyebrow, clearly wanting something more from his response and MK sighed, “And just because the world doesn’t stop running when I’m sick doesn’t mean I need to keep going.”

That got a pleased nod from Tang, who then sat down on the bed and ruffled MK’s hair

MK pouted up at Tang, free to complain now that the lecture was over and he was safe from the threat of having to do homework “You’re really, really, good at making really boring slideshows.” he grouched, readjusting his position so that he was leaning against Tang

Tang chuckled and gave MK a fond smile “Thank you. I had two awful semesters of university with one particularly dull professor to learn that from. That man could make anything sound dull.”

“You learned well then.” MK teased, his pout melting into a teasing grin that Tang returned, jokingly cuffing MK lightly on the head.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a bit, before MK’s eyes darted up to Tang somewhat nervously “You guys...you still trust me, right?” he ventured “Now at least? Mostly?”

“What?” Tang’s gaze snapped to MK, brow furrowed in confusion and alarm, “Of course we trust you! Why is that even a question?”

“Well you said…” MK floundered “You asked…After I snuck out. You weren’t sure if you could trust me to stay in bed. And then you and Pigsy kept coming up to ‘check on’ me” MK quoted, putting finger quotes around ‘check on’, making his opinion on what they had actually meant clear.

Tang stared at MK for a moment, eyes wide in shock, before taking off his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. After a few minutes of silence Tang let out a heavy sigh, reached around MK and pulled him into his side giving him a tight, albeit one-armed, hug “MK, I’m so sorry. I should have realized saying it that way would affect you. Pigsy and I trust you with our lives. We’ve always trusted you! I swear, we really were checking on how you were feeling, we’ve never seen you that sick before and we were worried!”

“Oh.” MK didn’t quite know what to say to that. He’d been worrying about having broken Tang and Pigsy’s trust in him for nothing? That was...great. It actually was great! MK had never been so glad to find out he’d been overreacting to something! He let out a relieved laugh.

“That’s...good. I’m...That’s good.” MK grinned, relaxing into Tang’s hug “So...Anyway…” he grinned up at Tang eagerly “I’m healed...And I sat through the presentation...So…..” he gave Tang a pleading look that was betrayed by his lips tugging into a mischievous smile

Tang laughed “oh, fine” he sighed in mock irritation. He reached into the bag that his laptop was stored in and pulled out a well worn leather book. He scooched back so that he was sitting comfortable against the wall, MK following him, and opened the book to a bookmarked page

“Let me tell you about the time Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing got into a prank war that ended with all three of them dyed different colors....”

-------

MK: Pigsy and Mr. Tang can never find out I see them as my dads. Also MK: Literally called Pigsy ‘dad’ to his face while out of it from fever and drugged tea

That book may or may not be Tang’s personal journal chronicling The Journey. I made the story up because it seems like something that could have happened.

#my writing #lego monkie kid #winterpower98 #mk monkie kid #tang monkie kid #Yes Tang is apparently Tripitaka #I didn't decide that until I was trying to find a story for him to tell MK #He has many degrees in many things #Including the lore of his own adventure

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