#he hits me over the head and i shrink up and make a cartoon noise like in tom and jerry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

korissideblog · 3 years ago

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ohh it's time for a sillie little sports festival fic <3

Tsumi belongs to the lovely @glitchviper , who also helped me a ton while writing this <3

[tw: fighting; derogatory language; like... Aito gets nasty with it]

Tsumi was preparing for the fight, her usual redgement of slow stretches. She wasn’t sure how this tournament would end, and she honestly didn’t want to think about it. She just had to get past the first round, then she could worry about the next one after.

Time slowed as she stretched her arms over her head, breathing calmly to soothe her nerves. Just do it. Aito would probably hate her for winning, but some things were just more important than other people’s opinions. Winning this sports festival meant more than just a metal and a ‘good job’ from her teachers. It meant proving herself to her peers- and earning her place in the ranks of Pro Heros.

But she shouldn’t think about that. She shouldn’t even be thinking about the fight right now. All she should be thinking about is her muscles relaxing as she stretched her legs. She would do her best. If her best lets her win, that’s good. If her best still ends in loss.

Then at least she’ll know what to work on.

___________

Aito’s forehead was an interesting sight.

Not that it was fairly fascinating in any way. Honestly, other than the twin horns poking out of the top, it was the model of an average teenager’s forehead. The only thing that was interesting about it was…

Was that you could see it.

Usually her forehead could only be seen in small slivers, seconds before you were charmed by the boy’s eyes. But for the sports festival, Aito seems to have an agenda in mind. You see, Aito is a strangely cruel creature, the kind to drink blood just to taste it, but there were just certain sympathies that were impossible for even her to ignore.

But with her bangs held back with a bandana and her poisonous yellow eyes on full display, she seemed more than willing to ignore them today.

___________

The girls stood across from each other on the floor of the stadium, Aito facing the crowds and waving as the announcer warned them to not look directly at the boy, especially not his eyes. Tsumi focused on her breathing, preparing for the fight ahead. She didn’t plan on much, Aito seemed an easy enough opponent. He was hubristic, and would probably lose interest in the fight in favor of the crowds. All Tsumi had to do w-

And then Aito looked at her. His eyes shattering into millions upon billions of fractals, all moving and shivering and growing and shrinking and rattling and screaming and-

And suddenly Tsumi found herself kneeling, the sides of her vision cloudy and dark as she continued to stare directly at Aito’s eyes. The next thing she knew, she was laying on the ground, the taste of concrete only shadowed by the pain in her head. She felt like she had been trampled by marshmallows- a fairly pleasant sort of pressure all over her body as she looked up to see Aito waving to the cheering crowds, and looked at a nearby television screen as a replay showed Tsumi kneeling before Aito, and the boy slowly approaching before landing a kick into the side of Tsumi’s head. She had charmed her. Tsumi knew vaguely of Aito’s quirk- and tried to figure out how to fight without looking the student in the eyes when-

Tsumi felt hands on her horns, and was immediately greeted by the sickeningly yellow eyes that she only wanted to avoid, the fractals returning and only growing worse with proximity, seeming to somehow engulf everything that wasn’t the darkened sides of her view.

“Breathe, Tsumi.” Aito commanded, helping Tsumi rest on her knees. “You’re going to have to breathe. You’re stressed. Just breathe.” Aito watched as Tsumi inhaled and exhaled, nodding as her breath returned to its regular pace. Aito had noticed Tsumi start to hyperventilate a bit when she hit the concrete, and wanted to make sure she was still alright.

He wanted everyone to see what a spectacular fighter he was, and he couldn’t do that if his opponent was in a suboptimal state.

“Tell me, are you tired, Tsumi?” Aito asked, trying to get a quick rundown on Tsumi’s state of mind.

“No- not tired. My head hurts.” Tsumi admitted, clearly under Aito’s control as she seemingly tried to look away, but just couldn’t. Aito also felt the need to look away, honestly, she’s never looked directly at one of her classmates for this long. Even when her eyes were covered, Aito had a habit of not looking directly at anyone he was interacting with, just as a second layer of protection. But this required focus, so even through her discomfort, Aito would press on.

“On your feet now, you need to stand up.” Aito advised, helping Tsumi up to the crowd's confusion. “Now, tell me Tsumi…” Aito whispered, slowly starting to spin them in a circle to further disorient her opponent. “Are you going to make this fight easy for me?”

“Never.” Tsumi responded honestly, with little expression in her face or voice, and Aito knew it was true. Both because of how amazingly dedicated Tsumi was and also because… you know- you can’t lie when charmed.

If Tsumi wasn’t going to make it easy on Aito, Aito wouldn't play nice either.

“Can’t you hear them Tsumi?” Aito asked, tightening her grip on the demon’s horns to keep eye contact. “They’re booing you. They’ve finally realized it. Realized that you’re scum. You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing!” Aito barked, watching Tsumi’s eye try to dart around, to look at the crowds as they jeered and heckled her in her mind, but she couldn’t. All she could do was hold Aito’s shoulders, weakly trying to push him away. “Do you have friends here, Tsumi?”

“I-I-“ she stuttered. Aito’s never gotten anyone to stutter while answering a question! Aito’s control only grew crueler as she grew more exhilarated- electrified as she imagined her next fight going just as easily- and the one after that, and the one after that, and so on and so forth till!! Victory!

“Yes… of course you do.” Aito hummed, keeping Tsumi’s hallucination laden mind focused on her voice. “They hate you. They know what you are and they hate you for tricking them.” She continued, her grip on Tsumi’s horns growing tighter and tighter as he felt victory at the tip of his forked tongue. “They’re gonna watch me put you down like the dog you are. And they’re gonna cheer! And they’re gonna thank me! Thank me for destroying you. Thank me for finally showing them what worthless vermin you really really are.”

Aito’s voice grew stronger, till Tsumi couldn’t even hear it anymore- only feel the shivers of sorrow and the wish to just keel over and die. Die right there and never have to face anyone ever again. Because she was disgusting. And she was weak. And she was worthless. And she was… she was getting so tired. So very very tired and… and she wanted to lie down… she should just… just lie down. And… and…

And the next thing Tsumi knew, she was laying down on the floor of the stadium again, again looking up at Aito- the bandana now over her eyes- as she laughed, almost seeming to shake with all the excitement. The crowds cheered hesitantly, not sure exactly how Aito got her opponent to submit, but… a winner is a winner?

Except… Tsumi could stand. She wasn’t immobilized, she wasn’t out of bounds… and she definitely never surrendered.

So… she could stand up- and she did- and she could sneak up on Aito- and she did- and she could- and did- snatch the little demon by the tail.

Aito yelped in surprise, barely even thinking to turn around before Tsumi had pulled him back into the fight. Tsumi pulled Aito to the ground and- if not with a bit of irony- kicked the creature in the head. Aito’s head made a bit of a louder noise when it made contact with the floor, but little harm was done as Aito rolled back onto her feet and shook it off, immediately charging back into the fight. He reached up to remove the bandana, but was stopped as Tsumi smacked her hand away, landing a punch within just the next second.

“Ah!! Tsumi! Ah you got my eye!” Aito whined, reaching up again to apply a soothing pressure on the injured eye and turning away from her opponent as if to shield himself. “Owowowowow!” Tsumi’s Big Sister Mode immediately kicked in as she was about to call the match off just to check on Aito’s eye-

And she suddenly realized that she should have seen this coming when Aito’s elbow crashed into her nose.

“Ah!!! You-” Tsumi barked, touching her upper lip and scowling at the blood leaking from her nose. “You brat!”

“Well hey now!” Aito huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “We don’t have to be rude!” Aito grew to regret the bandana as, while trying again to remove it, he caught a right hook to the jaw. Aito went stiff from the force, spinning around on his heel and falling flat on his stomach like a cartoon.

The crowd’s cheering came to a climax as Tsumi realized she shouldn’t underestimate anything about her opponent, and needed to finish this while she could. She reached down and grabbed Aito by the back of her collar and her wiry little tail, lifting her up just enough to throw her over the white lines and right out of bounds.

Aito huffed a bit, trying to catch her breath before finally standing to face an equally exhausted Tsumi.

“Great match señora Sumi!” Aito chirped, shaking hands with Tsumi and immediately getting back to her usual chipper attitude, as if nothing had ever happened. “I’m not too happy that I’m out of the tournament, but I’m glad I was beaten by someone as tough as you!” Tsumi stared blankly at Aito, unsure if this was some sort of trap or joke or- then suddenly Aito removed his bandana and pulled Tsumi close, clacking their horns together, as everything went into a familiar sort of tunnel vision. “Believe me Tsumi, I won’t be beaten by just anyone. If you value your sanity, you will win this tournament.” Aito spat, her grip on Tsumi’s hand tightening for just a second, before she was released again and Aito closed her eyes. “Good luck on your next fight, Señora!” Aito giggled, giving Tsumi a tight hug before slipping the bandana over her eyes and skipping back into the side door of the arena.

“Aito wait!” Tsumi called to the girl as he started to walk away. She might have been angry at the little gremlin but that didn’t mean she had nothing to say. “I hope you know the outcome of this match could have been far worse for you,” she paused, smiling a bit at Aito’s pout, “even so- I owe you my thanks. You actually managed to teach me something… and as for the tournament, I don’t plan on losing.” Despite her quirk not being activated a dark aura seemed to surround her, her voice a whisper of a sinister tone.

Aito pout turned to an equally evil smile, his tail wagging with enthusiasm as his ears flapped in excitement- as if he would burst at the seams with delight from just the promise alone. “Give ‘em hell, ‘Sumi!” she hollered, raising his hands to his head and making his fingers look like Tsumi’s horns as he cheered for his once-opponent.

Tsmui laughed wholeheartedly at the boy, turning back to her side of the arena. “I plan on it!”

#ohhh these sillie little girls <3 #aito takao #tsutsumi natsumi #bnha oc comeback #event: sports festival tournament #Kori stories

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littlemisslol-fic · 4 years ago

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Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: One problem gets dealt with. Another gets worse.

The woods were quiet.

Varian scowled as he shoved at a branch, stalking down the path. The letter in his hand was nearly crumbled from how hard he was holding it, balled up tightly. He winced when he realized how it was starting to tear, finally slowing his pace.

He’d left Rapunzel and Eugene behind. Eugene had put himself between Rapunzel and Varian before she could chase after him, not that Varian had taken the time to really look. The alchemist wasn’t sure if that was a good thing- on the one hand, he definitely needed the space, but on the other he was now alone in an unfamiliar area with who knows how many Bayan operatives skulking around. He needed to slow down, get his bearings. To take a breath.

Varian sighed, stopping in a small grove in the woods. He huffed for air, wheezing at finally taking a break. He didn’t know how long he’d been running, at least half an hour, but it felt like longer. His lungs burned, even as he choked air back into his chest through gasping breaths.

Tears stung at his eyes, but he pushed them away. He’d done enough crying, by the Sun, he was sick of it. Varian rubbed at his face with his free hand, shaking his head. The sting of Rapunzel’s betrayal was still fresh, a somber pain deep in his chest that refused to leave. He couldn’t believe that Rapunzel had been hiding this the whole time, while he’d been suffering, desperate for answers after all this time, and she’d taken them from him. She, he knew, would have denied him the truth so long as he was protected, just as she let Corona burn while they ran.

Something in Varian’s stomach curdled at the thought. He wiped at his face again, ignoring how the rough fabric of his cloak rubbed at the skin. He felt stupid; in the time since he left Barviel Keep, he’d spent so long wallowing in his own misery he’d failed to see an extremely dangerous anxiety growing in Rapunzel- and now it was coming to bite him.

It was high noon, the sun weak through the clouds as it tried to break through the treeline. Varian sighed as he walked into the glen in front of him, an open, grassy space surrounding a massive, gnarled willow tree on the bank of a small creek. The alchemist kicked at the dirt under his boots, shaking his head and making his way to the base of the tree. He twisted around, gently falling back against the bark, and sliding down until he was curled at the base of the tree, nearly hidden by the massive roots poking out from the earth.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, taking a second to compose himself. He wasn’t sure what exactly his plan was- he’d never been to the Wildshore Isles, had no idea how to even get there, but it wasn’t like he’d go anywhere else. He pushed a niggling sense of doubt away, shoved it as deep into the back of his mind as he could, and looked back down to the note.

It was basic, simple parchment and elegant script in smudging ink. He read it over once more, shaking his head at the audacity of his sister hiding this from him. He couldn’t help but feel a small splash of guilt at the memory of her heartbroken face, but shoved it right next to the doubt to fester. He was making his own path now, and damn the rest of it. The brook to his left babbled quietly, a soft song that whispered through the trees. It was almost loud enough for Varian to miss the sound of twigs snapping nearby.

Almost.

Varian’s hand flew for his alchemy belt, grabbing one of his bombs. He felt himself tense, fear skuttling up his spine. Varian tightened his grip on the glass, cursing himself for stopping- stupid, stupid, he wasn’t safe here- as a familiar pair of green eyes glowed from within the darkness of the forest.

Rapunzel gasped as she burst through the trees, her hair a mess and her dress dirty. Eugene was close behind, the man obviously relaxing once he caught sight of Varian. Rapunzel moved from the forest, her eyes wide with relief. Varian let his arm drop at the sight of his sister, though the glare stayed. Rapunzel rushed to him, her dress almost a blur.

“Varian,” she sighed, putting her hands over her chest to calm her breathing. “Thank the Sun, we found you.”

Varian scowled, refusing to stand up from where he was hidden in the roots. “Yeah,” he griped, “You found me.”

She paused, stopping at the center of the glen. Her dress swished around her for a second, revealing Ruddiger at her heels. The raccoon chirped with delight at seeing his boy, the animal running along the grass to park himself in Varian’s lap. Rapunzel’s face fell when she saw that Varian was still upset, but she bit her lip and pressed forward. Typical, an angry voice in Varian’s head whispered.

“Varian I-” she cut herself off, her hands dropping to her sides. “I am so sorry.”

The boy only scowled, tears he’d just managed to brush away returning in full force. “That’s great for you,” he said, “But it doesn’t fix this. What you did- what you said.”

Rapunzel looked hurt, green eyes blinking away tears of her own. “I… I know,” she said softly. “I know, it won’t magically fix things. But please, Varian, we have to deal with this once you’re safe.”

Varian felt himself uncurl a bit, meeting her eye a little more as she went on.

“I’m sorry,” Rapunzel said, her voice thick. “Varian, really, I am. I just wanted to protect you.”

The boy scoffed, shrinking back into himself. Rapunzel seemed to notice him closing off, brazenly stepping closer. Her bare feet were silent in the grove, like a ghost. Varian felt the sudden urge to kick at her ankles when she got in range, but shoved the impulse down. Even if he were upset, it wouldn’t be right. Rapunzel sank to her knees so that they were eye to eye. Varian was struck by a feeling of familiarity, of the two of them hiding away in the depths of Corona Castle together, the chill of the earth easy to mistake as the cool touch of polished tile. He shook himself, trying to cling to the feeling of bitterness in him- lest he sink back into the terrified apathy he’d been in since the beginning of his birthday.

Varian moved back when she reached for him. Rapunzel shook her head, trying again and succeeding in taking his hand the second time.

“We need to keep moving.” She sounded close to begging. “Even if-” A heavy sigh, “Even if that means going to the Wildshore Isles, like you want.”

Varian’s head snapped up, eyes widening. “You mean…” he trailed off, unbelieving. Rapunzel nodded, the motioning seeming to pain her. Eugene’s face broke into a small smile behind her, obviously approving.

“If you’re sureyou want to chase this, then that’s where we’ll go,” she said.

Varian felt his lungs twist, the boy sniffling. “I want to,” he said it hesitantly, like he was afraid to say so. “I need… even if she’s just as bad, she might be all that’s left. I need to know. I want that closure.”

Rapunzel winced when he said so, but didn’t argue. Eugene stepped up then, putting a hand on her shoulder and offering the other to Varian.

“Alright kids,” Eugene said, “Glad we got to kiss and make up, but we really should be taking this show on the road.”

Varian huffed, taking his hand and letting Eugene pull him to his feet. Rapunzel followed, wiping at her eyes. The boy shifted from her grip, keeping Eugene between them for now. Varian couldn’t help but still want distance from her, the sting still fresh even with the apology, but it was when he shifted to the side, he saw something move in the woods beyond.

“Look out!” he screamed, shoving Rapunzel roughly to the side. Varian toppled as well, landing a bit to the left. She yelped as she hit the dirt, but the noise wasn’t enough to cover up the loud thwack of a blade embedding itself into the bark of the tree. Eugene let out a shocked shout, the knife having missed him by a hair. All three of them snapped their heads towards the woods, eyes widening in shock as Cerise stood from a lunge, her hand outstretched from throwing the blade.

“Shit.” she sighed. “Must be rusty. Oh well.” She reached behind her, bringing her halberd out from its place on her back. Varian’s heart sank at the heavy thudit made as she settled it in the dirt. Cerise grinned, rolling her shoulders casually as she fixed them with a smug look.

“Who’s ready for round two?”

There was a split second of silence, the four of them staring at each other, waiting for the other side to make a move. Rapunzel had her frying pan ready at her side, Eugene had his sword. Varian’s glove tightened around his last bomb- he couldn’t help but feel underprepared for a fight. The silence stretched, thick like molasses; Varian started to worry no one would ever make the first move.

But Cerise, it seemed, was out of patience.

With a small cry of exertion she ripped the halberd from the ground, running toward the Coronians. Eugene let out a startled noise, moving himself between her and his prone charges. Varian scrambled to his feet, a hand already on his alchemy belt, and looked over just in time to see Cerise stab the axe end of her halberd into the earth, using the momentum of her run to use it almost like a pole vault. She launched herself into the air, her cloak flaring out behind her like bat’s wings that blocked out the sun for a quick second, before landing both feet on Eugene’s shoulders, the man yelping as she used him as a jumping point. Her grip on the halberd never faltered, dragging it behind her as he sprung into the air.

He hit the ground with an oof, knocked to the dirt from the force of her jump. She landed in front of Rapunzel and Varian in a crouch, taking a second to blow a wayward piece of hair from her face. When she stood, Varian felt himself tense. Cerise stood, shifting her weight once onto her heels with a little bounce.

With that, she swung the halberd around, sending Varian backpedaling with a yelp. Rapunzel shot to her feet at long last, only to be smacked to the side by the blunt edge of the axe. She shrieked as she was batted away, being thrown a good few feet and back into the dirt. Ruddiger screeched, disappearing into the treeline, knowing better than to stick around.

Varian winced, his hand tightening on his final goo bomb. He chanced a wide-eyed look up to Cerise, who seemed to be over even trying to play around at this point, and threw the bomb. The Bayan woman seemed to have figured out his tricks, however, and it too was swatted away by the halberd, launching it to the side and- Varian noticed with a grimace- hitting Eugene head on, trapping the man flat on his back with the sticky chemical.

Eugene let out an indignant cry at that, something about his hair and dirt, but Varian was too busy being forced to duck as the halberd, now with the blade pointed towards him, was swung back around. He hit the dirt with a gasp, curling into himself as the blade embedded itself in the tree trunk behind him.

Varian heard Cerise snarl, something in a language he’d never spoken, and took the chance to push himself off the ground and around her, dodging a grab when he did so. He ran to Rapunzel first, trying to pull her to her feet. She shoved him back gently, shaking her head.

“GO!” She screamed at him, her voice echoing. “We’ll handle this, just go!”

Varian stumbled back, his gaze flicking between Rapunzel and where Cerise was pulling at her halberd in an attempt to get it unstuck. “I can’t just-” he started to say, only for Eugene to butt in from behind.

“Kid, we love you, but get outta here!”

That was enough to get Varian moving again, shoving a vial into Rapunzel’s hands. It was neutralizing agent, which he was confident she knew, and took the second to look at her. She caught his eye, getting to her feet and shaking herself.

“We’ll find you once this is done.” Rapunzel muttered, running past him to get to Eugene. Varian didn’t take the second to think, his feet moving without thought. The treeline opened up around him, the boy sprinting for the brook without thought. At least if he followed the water he’d be able to find his way back.

Varian sprinted along the bank of the river, his boots sinking into the damn earth and causing him to stumble a few times. He cursed when he nearly twisted an ankle, only just catching himself on a knee before pushing his weary bones back into a run. His lungs burned, his tired legs pumping as hard as he could force them. He was exhausted, from the run earlier in the afternoon but also just from the past week in general- Varian forced air down in a gasp, nearly tripping again and sliding in the mud.

The ground began to rise in front of him, turning into something of a ramp taking him up, up, up and into a gorge. Before he realized it, Varian found himself on a high footpath along the stone wall, the creek having turned into a rushing river nearly forty meters below. Varian shuddered when he caught sight of how far up he’d managed to run, forcing himself to pay attention to the thin path in front of him.

He felt like a coward for running, but at the same time he knew Rapunzel and Eugene were right on this one. It was wise to get Cerise’s target away from her and give the heavier hitters have more space to work. It was smarter, sure, but as he felt his body slow from the exhaustion creeping in, his stomach churned. What if his family got hurt, and he wasn’t there? He had full confidence that Rapunzel and Eugene could take their Bayan opponent, but she was still formidable enough, and it was obvious that Cerise had started to learn their tricks.

He slowed to a walk, gasping for breath through his aching lungs. His legs hurt, mostly around the knees and ankles after the rough week. He wiped sweat from his face, trying in vain to rub the salt from his eyes. His ears perked up at the sound of moving stones from the path, the snapping of twigs. He listened, trying to pinpoint the noise, and tensing when he realized what hey were.

Footsteps.

He turned around, looking down the path he’d come from, foolishly hoping to see Rapunzel or Eugene coming up behind him, but only groaned when he caught sight of black hair. Of course.

“You’ve gotta- ugh- gotta be kidding me,” he sighed in between panting breaths.

Cerise seemed to have lost her halberd somewhere along the line. Her hair was a frazzled mess, and she had a horrible bruise started on the side of her face. She caught sight of Varian, and seemed to run even faster- Varian stepped back with a yelp, already turning to run farther down the path. She must have seen him following the river, of course.

“Get back here you little shit!” He heard the Bayan woman scream at him, sounding nearly feral with rage as he ran. She also sounded much closer than he thought she was, and he spurred his aching legs to work double time.

The canyon around him was becoming taller by the second, covered in thick foliage, creeping ivy and stubborn trees, and far below the river grew more and more violent. Up ahead was a fallen tree trunk, the thick column spanning across the cliffs and creating a bridge of sorts. It was wrapped in ivy and vines, grown over with foliage. Varian’s heart sank when he saw it, knowing exactly what it was.

An opportunity.

If he could just get across before her, find a way to dislodge it- he’d have time to get back to Rapunzel and Eugene before Cerise could make it around the gorge. He groaned, forcing himself to run faster toward it. Stones clattered when he ran by, dropping the long fall into the water below. He tried to ignore how long it took for them to hit the ground.

Gods, this is the worst, he thought to himself, the absolute worst.

The log drew close; Varian didn’t bother to stop before he jumped up onto it. He grit his teeth as it wobbled under him, rolling nauseatingly to the side a bit before settling back in its place. He threw his hands out to either side, his balance absolute crap as he took the first few shaky steps on the bark.

It was about ten meters to the other side. Varian shuddered when the wind blew past him, making his footwork falter in a way that sent his heart into his throat. He chanced a look down, tensing up and nearly screaming at the sight of the drop below. The log gave a sickening creak, rocking in place again.

Varian was forced to windmill his arms to keep balanced, stopping so that he could regain balance. Bile rose as the log settled, but he choked it down.

“Don’t look down,” he muttered, “Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down-”

He looked down.

The makeshift bridge shuddered again. Varian chanced a look behind him, and saw Cerise step up and onto his little platform. Shit. The alchemist was only halfway across. Cerise was still for a second, seeming to gauge how good of an idea stepping fully off solid earth was, before looking up at him with a scowl.

“Are we really going to play this game?” she asked, “This seems like a hell of a gamble, crow.”

The log swayed again, but Varian stood his ground.

“Worth a shot,” he replied, already cautiously taking a step backward, never breaking eye contact with her. Cerise responded by taking another step, mirroring his movements. They went like that, back and forth, until she was fully onto the log and over the gaping maw of the gorge. She was putting up a brave front, but Varian could see a tenseness of her shoulders and the way her eyes darted between him and the drop below them both.

They reached another stalemate, both of them waiting for the other to make a move. Varian knew she wasn’t out to kill him- she’d had enough chances to murder him and every time she’d aimed to get him back to Corona, just like her brother. Why they wanted him alive, Varian didn’t know, but he was willing to bet it was important enough to keep her from sending them both down to a watery grave.

He wasn’t sure what to do, barely able to think over his racing heart- he’d wanted to knock the log away after crossing but Varian wasn’t sure if he was capable of doing so while someone, even someone out to hurt him, stood on it. The log wobbled under him again; both of them swayed a bit to keep their balance. The wood under them let out a terrifying groan, and began to shake.

Varian hissed when the shaking didn’t stop, and with horror he looked behind himself to where their bridge was connected to the stone. With a sinking feeling he saw the ivy begin to snap, and the whole structure begin to slide.

“Oh no,” he gasped, stepping back. Cerise looked around him, her stance going horrified when the log slipped down a level, jostling them both.

”Shit!” she yelped, ducking down on her knees to grab at the log with her hands. Varian mirrored her, lost as to what to do, trying to slowly scramble toward her- he had to get the hell off this thing before-

Snap.

Varian shrieked as the one end of the log dropped, sending their bridge pointing directly down into the chasm. He felt his stomach swoop out from under him as his side of the log fell, swinging like the worst pendulum in the history of man. He clung to the bark with all the strength left in him, his aching fingers surely bloody with how tightly he was clinging.

Cerise wasn’t faring much better, having slipped a bit down the log until catching a foothold closer to Varian. He could see the way she gnashed her teeth against the pain. The log swayed, held up only by a series of clinging vines and a dash of terrified prayers.

Varian was the first to move, raising a shaking hand up to grab onto a branch above him. He managed to snag it, hesitantly pulling himself up a little more. Cerise seemed to get what his plan was, the woman spitting out a curse. Varian flinched when she too grabbed another branch, reaching into her boot with her free hand.

His heart sank as she pulled out a small dagger from her boot, the metal shining in the weak sun.

He nearly fell when she swiped at him, forcing Varian to grab onto another branch. His sweaty hands almost slipped, his gloves the only thing keeping his grip on the rotting bark of the tree. Another gust of wind sent them spinning, their log twisting and swinging in a way that made Varian motion sick. Cerise seemed unaffected as she took another swing with the dagger, narrowly missing as Varian shuffled his way onto another branch. Her blade sliced through a vine cleanly, causing it to fall away from the tree.

He chanced a look behind him, seeing the insane glint in her eye. A line of ruby red blood dripped from her temple down into her eye, coating nearly half her face and pasting whisps of hair to her face.

“I’m donewith this,” she snarled, moving after him like a hunter after prey. She took another swing when she was close enough, the blade of the knife catching Varian’s arm. He shouted at the burning pain of the slice as it cut cleanly through Quirin’s cloak and into his skin, but the cry was cut off as he saw her knife go through another vine.

The tree gave an unhappy groan, sinking a bit. Varian felt ice cold fear creep up his spine, looking up towards where the other vines were keeping them attached to the cliff were taut and strained with the weight.

“Stop,” his breath was a whisper, choked as he tried to push air past the knot in his throat. “Stop!”

Cerise raised her blade high, either unaware or uncaring of what he was saying. Varian scrambled for a higher foothold, grabbing a branch higher up and tucking his knees up against his chest to keep the blade from him. The cut in his arm burned, his fingers ached, but all of that faded to the sound of another swishof a vine being cut.

“You’re going to kill us!” he gasped, scrambling higher along the tree. Cerise followed, snarling like a beast. Varian felt another cut, this time on his leg, and screamed again. He kicked at the woman, wincing when his boot connected with her nose. She fell away with a yowl, catching herself on her branch as she held her nose. Her knife dropped, disappearing quickly into the water forty feet below. Varian took the chance, moving away while she was distracted.

He was close to the top when he heard another long groan from the log, followed by a small snap. Blue eyes widened in horror when he saw another vine give way, not cut, but snapped under the pressure of holding them up over the long drop. He watched with terror as the vine fell, following Cerise’s knife in dropping into the raging water.

Varian scrambled for the top safety and caution thrown to the wind, just wanting to get out. He was nearly to the top when he felt a hand grab at his boot. Blue eyes frantically looked down, seeing Cerise clinging to his ankle with a steel grip.

He swung his foot again; Cerise let go to avoid another kick to the face. Varian pulled himself up another foot- the edge of the cliff was right there- and managed to get a hand on the uppermost branch of the tree when another vine snapped.

Varian grabbed hold of the rockface, the breath in him leaving with a huff of relief as he finally grabbed something solid. Another vine let go with a horrifying groan; the tree began to slip, falling a good few feet down. Varian felt a pulse of terror at that, his feet leaving the wood as the tree dropped away from under him. The tree swung away, spinning once more as a few more vines let go.

Varian twisted to look down, swallowing bile at the sight of the drop. He caught site of glowing green eyes through the foliage of the tree, wide and furious. Before he could think, Varian was reaching down with his free hand, his shoulders straining and his feet digging into the stone wall.

“It’s going to fall!” he screamed, stretching as far as he could push himself. Even if she was out to kill him, she was still a person-

Another vine snapped.

And the tree dropped.

Varian shrieked as the broken vine smacked his hand, hard enough to surely bruise. He winced and drew his hand back, eyes slamming shut against the pain. In that split second things were nearly silent, save for a small whoosh but then- with a noise like snapping bone- a massive crack of wood against stone.

When he opened his eyes again, the tree was shattered against the rocks. Wood splinters littered the water, which had turned a sickening red; the colour spread like an illness, changing white and blue to ruby without preamble.

Varian was unable to tear his eyes away, scanning the wreckage for any sight of Cerise. She’d just- not even a scream- dropped like a stone-

Varian felt his chest hitch roughly as a body floated to the surface. His heart stopped. The boy’s arms were shaking not from exertion, but from primal horror. He watched Cerise’s corpse float a few feet from the wreckage of the tree, coming to rest on the bank. Blood, fresh and deep red, flowed freely along the water, staining the white sand crimson.

The alchemist bit at his lip, forcing himself to turn away. He bullied his aching arms to pull himself up and over the edge of the cliff, the wave of panic only just slowing when he had solid ground under him. He lay flat on his stomach for a second, forcing himself to breathe his way through the adrenaline rushing through his system.

He trembled, rolling onto his hands and knees, unable to shake the image of the corpse below from his mind. He retched, though nothing came up from his empty stomach. His whole body shook violently, harsh tremors that rattled his entire frame. She was dead, and he was to blame for it. He’d killed a second person.

The river below continued to rush by, loud in the deathly silence that surrounded him. Varian’s trembling fingers gripped the stones under him, a tight hold that surely turned his knuckles white under the gloves. The shock of it was immense, a wave of terror that refused to abate no matter how long it had been since the danger had passed-

“Varian!”

Eugene.

Varian didn’t look up at the familiar voice, his eyes locked onto the dirt. He didn’t move when hands fell on his shoulders, shaking him lightly, nor when Eugene’s voice grew more frantic. Varian felt like he was underwater, the noise around him filtering away and the world smudging- everything spun, his soupy thoughts unable to make connections with anything. His head nodded a bit… oh, Eugene was shaking him. Varian blinked slowly, looking up to the man with a blank face. Eugene’s face was pale, obviously shaken. He said something, but the words filtered through Varian’s mind without sticking.

The boy focused on the direct center of Eugene’s face, not registering. The man shook him again, slightly rougher, but still Varian did not respond. Something in him couldn’t, wouldn’t; if he opened his mouth, he’d surely vomit. His stomach rolled again, but Varian forced it down- Eugene surely wouldn’t appreciate sick on his jacket.

The man finally seemed to give up, releasing Varian and pushing to his feet to peer over the edge. Eugene made a disgusted noise when he saw the corpse Varian had put there. The boy gagged again at the thought, spitting into the soil to rid his mouth of the foul taste.

Eugene moved back to the boy, spreading a hand in between his shoulders in a move that was probably supposed to be comforting.

“Varian,” he said, soothing, “Buddy, we should go. This isn’t a good place to be.”

The boy shuddered, shaking his head. His knees were like jelly, trembling and weak; if he weren’t already kneeling, they’d surely give out from under him. Varian spat the taste of bile from his mouth.

Eugene was in front of him again, his voice swimming in and out of comprehension.

“-go, get away-”

“-Rapunzel-”

“-Varian.”

That caught his attention.

Varian forced his eyes up from looking at the dirt, blinking dazedly as Eugene’s hands came back to rest on his shoulders. The man seemed disturbed, eyes wide and frantic. The man shook him gently, but Varian still didn’t reply. Eugene switched tactics, holding his arms out and wrapping Varian in a gentle hug, his movements slow, like he was approaching a spooked animal. When the alchemist didn’t pull away, he tugged the boy closer, holding him tightly.

Varian forced a hand away from the dirt, grabbing onto Eugene’s coat with a sudden purpose. His fingers dug into the fabric of the jacket, a vice grip that trembled as Varian sank into the man’s hold with a sob.

“Oh, shit, hey kid,” Eugene murmured, “You’re okay, it’s over.”

Varian could feel hot tears trailing down his face, the adrenaline and fear leaving his body and leaving only a hollow feeling. He gasped for air, burying his face into the front of Eugene’s jacket and refusing to look up. Varian felt arms wrap around him, supporting and calm.

“Let it out, bud.” Eugene murmured, placating.

Varian barely registered when Eugene scooped him up off the ground. If it were any other time he’d be surprised- Varian may be short but he didn’t think he was that light- but for now he only felt a strange numbness. It was similar to how he’d felt after Barviel Keep, but less intense.

Less biting.

He buried his face into his friend’s chest, letting himself be carried for a while. It felt… nice, to be honest, to be wrapped up and held tightly, to not have to think, to run, to work. Thick arms around him, ones he knew wouldn’t let him fall, safe and warm. Varian’s breathing began to even out, shuddering gasps relaxing into deep sniffles.

He drifted, adrenaline leaving as quickly as it had come. Varian shuddered, pressing closer into Eugene’s shoulder. He didn’t notice as the scenery changed, the cliffs disappearing and slowly filtering back into forest, only to thin once more. The sound of waves were audible, a gentle lap that was in sync with the rocking of Eugene’s footsteps. Varian kept his eyes closed, letting his shaking hands relax from their death grip on his friend’s shirt.

He was nearly asleep when Eugene stopped.

Varian cracked his eye open, wincing at the bright sun. They were out of the forest, on a sandy beach. There was a large body of water in front of them, one that Varian knew eventually connected to Corona’s bay. He sniffed again, the fresh air helping to clear his head. Eugene’s arms hugged him a little tighter, not constricting, but solid.

“Rapunzel?” he called down the shoreline, and his grip on Varian tightened marginally when the boy tensed up at the name. Varian shifted, moving to look down the sand. He blinked away the sunlight, noticing an approaching figure.

“Eugene,” Rapunzel’s voice filtered through the buzzing in his skull. “Varian! Thank the Sun, you’re okay!”

“We’re fine,” Eugene soothed. Rapunzel’s figure came closer, her hands lifting up towards Varian’s face only to stop when the boy flinched away. Varian began to squirm, pushing at Eugene until the man set him down on wobbly legs.

“Sure,” he sighed, “Fine. Let’s go with that.”

Rapunzel was pale, frazzled. Her arm was still covered in blood, ruby red; Varian shuddered at the sight of it. He stumbled a little when his feet hit the sand, boots sinking into the earth. Something in him felt almost numb. Cold.

“Is she still following you?” Rapunzel asked, clearly talking about Cerise. Eugene grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“She’s dead,” Varian said bluntly. Rapunzel blinked, rapid and confused, but when Eugene nodded, she turned her focus back to Varian. The alchemist refused to meet her eye, instead turning out to watch the waves.

“It was an accident.”

Eugene, ever the mediator. Varian slowly blinked as the waves continued to pound at the sand, pushing and pulling with the tide. The water rushed over the tips of his shoes before receding, a hypnotic ebb and flow. The numbness in him did the same, slowly washing over the remaining horror. The noise of his friends faded away, taken out with the tide. Little bubbles crept up from under his sinking boots; he wondered if he stood here long enough if he’d disappear completely beneath the waves.

“Varian?”

Varian looked up at his friends, finding them both looking at him. Eugene rolled his shoulders casually, before clapping his hands together.

“Well, goggles,” he said with a false cheer, “This is your circus, what’s the plan?”

Rapunzel’s face soured, but Varian elected to ignore it. She could be upset if she wanted; he knew what he had to do, with or without her. Varian pulled Aisha’s note from his pocket, looking down at it once more. He nodded once, more an assurance to himself than anything, before looking back to his friends. A tentative grin crossed his face, weak but obvious.

“We’re going to need a boat.”

>>>><<<<

When Arianna heard Merrick scream, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

The war room, the same one that had been in use by the Bayans since the start of this whole thing, echoed with the wail. All heads snapped towards the front of the table, Coronian and Bayan alike. Merrick’s lieutenants, a group of men and women about the same ages as Rapunzel and Eugene, all looked to their leader in concern as he doubled over, the scream ripped from his chest in animalistic agony.

Arianna watched in unsettled curiosity as Merrick dropped like a stone, his metal hand catching the edge of the wooden table. The two Bayans closest to their leader stood to help him, but stopped when the shriek cut off with a terrifying silence. All Arianna could see was Merrick’s metal limb clutching the table, the grip tightening with every second until the wood finally gave way. Metal claws sank into the softer surface before finally tearing a fistful of oak from the edge, as easy as one would a handful of snow.

She could hear clicking gears and whining steam- a spark of something fizzled through the air. Arianna didn’t seem to be the only one perturbed by the sudden change, everyone in the room holding their breath as Merrick pushed himself to his feet. The queen shuddered, forcing herself to maintain a blank look on her face even as a cold feeling sank into her stomach.

Merrick had gone pale, a sickening white pallor crossing his face with reckless abandon. His eyes were wide, bloodshot; his chest heaved as if he’d just run a marathon. He pressed both palms to the table, slumping over it with tenseness in both shoulder and spine.

There was a brief second of tense hesitation, no one in the room willing to make a move, until one lieutenant got brave.

“S-sir?” her voice shattered the silence, leaving the air oddly empty save for Merrick’s still heaving breaths. “Sir, are you alright?”

Merrick’s wild eyes snapped from the table up to her, the blonde woman shrinking in her chair at the manic grimace that crossed his face.

“Cer- the general,” his voice actually broke; the room’s atmosphere seemed to break with it. “She- I felt her-”

“Sir?”

Arianna watched that metal hand grab into the table again, Merrick sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He pushed himself upward again, forcing his gaze forward. Arianna noted, from her place to his left, that his eyes were strangely bloodshot and red. Almost like-

“Our general is dead,” he said bluntly, loud and strong and oh no, Arianna recognized that voice. She’d heard it from Fred, from Rapunzel, from Eugene, seven hells she’d even used it herself; it was the sound of someone trying to be strong in the face of tragedy. Someone pushing down tears to seem infallible to the people under their command. Arianna was grateful for the lieutenants all exploding into a cacophony of questions, demanding to know what he meant, the noise covering her own shock.

Merrick sucked in another breath, and held up his metal hand. The room went deadly silent.

“We can only assume she found the crow-” The words rang out, accusatory. Arianna caught a few of the Bayans flinch at that; one lieutenant covered his mouth with a hand. “-and that she wasn’t able to best all three of them.” Merrick paused then, swallowing thickly. “She is- was, a brilliant general. One of the best. She will be remembered in the light of the new Bayangor, just as any of us will be.”

Arianna felt sick- she couldn’t see her children murdering the woman, but Merrick certainly seemed convinced she was gone. The queen couldn’t help but think back to Varian, just a child, in a mechanical monster, grabbing at her, crushing her, blinded by rage-

“This meeting is over.” Merrick’s voice snapped her from the memories. “I… I have to think over our next steps.”

Arianna had never seen a room empty so quickly. One of the Bayans, the one who had asked when Merrick had fallen, took a second to approach her leader, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. Merrick caught her eye, nodding to her. She patted his shoulder once before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

The room was quiet, save for Merrick’s thick breaths. It was just Arianna, Frederick (or what was left of him in the obedient shell that he currently was), and the Bayan man who had done nothing but cause them misery. Once his underlings had left, Merrick slumped like a corpse, falling back into his chair without any of his usual bravado.

Everything was still.

Until it wasn’t.

Merrick began to shake his head, quietly mumbling to himself. He wiped at his face with hands on flesh and metal, pushing and pulling at his skin in rough movements. Arianna tried to ignore the small sliver of pity in her heart at the sight of tears in his eyes. Suddenly the person in front of her didn’t seem like a brutal separatist who had attacked her home and family- if Arianna didn’t know better, Merrick almost reminded her of Varian, right after he’d lost Quirin for a second time. A young man, barely into adulthood, in mourning.

The Bayan in the chair shuddered, his shoulders shaking with some kind of emotion. He brought his knees up to his chest, shrinking into himself- and he truly did seem small. Merrick brought a shaking hand- the human one- up into the air, quietly drawing the shape of some kind of rune into the air. Where his finger traced, he left a small flaming line, as if drawing with chalk on a board. When he was done, Merrick leaned back, curling tighter into the chair.

“S-show me,” his voice cracked with the command. The pity in Arianna’s gut began to grow at the absolutely devastated look on her enemy’s face. Merrick didn’t even seem to notice she and Frederic were still in the room with him, instead looking at the rune a little more intently. “Show me!” he snapped, waving his hand in a rough motion.

The rune gently spun in the air, flat like a disk, until an image began to appear in the very center. Arianna couldn’t help but feel fascinated by the casual show of magic; Corona had always been less inclined towards the arcane arts, so she couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacle.

The image solidified.

The first thing Arianna saw was Varian. Her heart stopped at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised and filthy but alive, a hand splayed out towards the viewer. Varian looked terrified, pale and wild. The image moved, almost like it was from the point of view from someone- Cerise, if Arianna were to take an educated guess- dropping down from what looked like a cliff.

Merrick watched with focused eyes, scanning the image as it ran through. Varian’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and the image began to shake and twist in a disorientating way. The last thing it showed was the rock face rushing past, a river drawing close at an alarming rate- Cerise was falling- before suddenly going black.

Merrick flinched when it did. The Bayan huddled tighter as they watched what must have been his sister’s final moments, from her eyes. He waved a hand again, reversing the images until they were back at the top of the cliff, Varian scrambling to safety and kicking at Cerise to keep her from grabbing him. Merrick made a growling noise when the boy’s boot slammed into her face, the vision snapping to the side with Cerise’s head.

Arianna focused mostly on her boy- Varian looked rough, and where was Rapunzel? And Eugene? The fact that it was just Varian holding his own made her concerned over her daughter and son in law, a wave of dread coming over her at only seeing one of her children safe-if-not-sound.

Merrick waved his hand again, pausing the image. He had stopped it on a view of Varian’s face, scrunched up in anger as he kicked at Cerise. Merrick stood from his chair, leaning forward.

“He killed her,” the Bayan breathed into the silence of the room. Arianna paused her own thoughts, turning attention to Merrick as he leaned closer and closer to the image of Varian’s face. Something furious took over his face, locking eyes with the still image of Varian. “He killed her.”

Arianna felt her heart stop.

Merrick leaned into the table again, palms down once more, but this time was different. Where before he had been shaking in misery, now… now it was very obviously rage. Arianna jumped as a nearby candle’s flame burst, the fire growing to five times its original size. A quick glace showed all the candles in the room growing, the flames rising towards the ceiling. Nearby, one of the bayan banners lit up as well. Arianna could feel the heat on her face, silently counting down until the moment she’d have to give up her ruse and run for her own safety.

The nearby hearth, once only embers, was spilling out from the stone, eating at the wooden mantle and floors, singing everything nearby. Merrick hunched over, jerky and uncoordinated, before letting out a guttural shout of pure, feral rage. He brought his arms up, swiping at the table in front of him and sending the contents scattering, papers, pens, and inkwells flying across the room.

The flames grew, wild and uncontrollable- like an animal prowling through the air. Merrick’s shout cut off into a snarl, the man slamming his hands onto the table with a loud BANG and the fire around them growing even higher. He seemed to be scanning the image of Varian, searching for something. His eye seemed to catch something, leaning closer.

“Oh,” his voice was deceptively small. “Oh, I see your game, crow.” He nodded to himself, and Arianna heaved a sigh of relief as the fires all puttered out, trails of smoke floating through the air.

Merrick pushed himself from the table, walking toward the door his lieutenants had left from. Though Arianna ached to follow, she kept herself still as he kicked the door open. She caught site of the Bayans, the group waiting outside. Merrick paused when he saw all of them waiting, but the queen watched the façade spring back up in the way he threw his arms wide.

“Time to pack your shit,” Merrick declared, “We’ve got our heading.” The Bayans cheered at the declaration. Merrick’s arms dropped, the man making his way from the room and into the hallway beyond. The meeting room was plunged into a silent darkness, the fires snuffed out and filling the space with hazy smoke. It was a false peace, like the eye of a hurricane.

Arianna couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking.

#Varian #Tangled the Series #fic #tts

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 4 years ago

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 11th, 1995

Emile was exhausted. Maybe staying up all night at the sleepover wasn’t a good idea. He had been talking to his friends, and his friends kept laughing when he tried to say something and his words got tangled. He was so tired that he could barely speak straight.

The worst part, though, had to be that he had lost his filter around three in the morning and everyone was suddenly asking him personal questions, that he didn’t know how to answer. After all, how did you tell a bunch of teenage boys that you were bisexual? How did you explain that you were a bit shy around the topic of sex and a virgin? Certainly not easily.

Emile inwardly grumbled and waited for his parents to come pick him up. He just wanted to sleep at this point. Maybe he’d get his filter back and he could avoid more awkward questions come later.

November 12th, 2001

Emile sat in the back behind the stage, catching his breath. He had to do a lot of moving around the stage even if he didn’t have a lot of speaking lines in the play. So when all was said and done, and his one performance that he was called upon for occurred, he was so breathless and his nerves were so shot that he nearly passed out the second he got backstage.

When his ears finally stopped ringing and he felt like he might be able to stand without throwing up, he saw a familiar hand enter his field of vision. He looked up and saw Remy standing there, a smile on his face. “The play’s over, mio amore. You did wonderfully, but I want to take you home now, if that’s all right?”

“Yeah,” Emile breathed, standing up shakily. “I don’t think I’m made for theatre, Rem.”

“Maybe not,” Remy allowed. “Or maybe you’re just not the acting type. There’s more than one way to participate in a theatre performance, mio amore.”

“You keep calling me your love a lot more frequently recently,” Emile said, eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?”

Remy turned a light pink. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“So there’s no reason that you’ve suddenly been a lot more loving?” Emile asked. “I’m not complaining, I’m just confused.”

Remy shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re lying, Rem,” Emile said softly.

Remy flinched. “I know. But I don’t know how to describe it properly.”

Emile squeezed Remy’s hand and they moved out of the theatre. “Can you try?” Emile asked. “Because I’m starting to worry that you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying. Not to my knowledge, at any rate,” Remy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I...just...want to make sure you know. That I love you, I mean.”

“Rem, I know that even if you never say it,” Emile murmured softly. “Do you think that I doubt that?”

“Nn...no. No, I don’t think you doubt it. But like...for a while, we were just...loving, all the time, and nothing could stop us from loving each other. Now, though....now, I don’t know. It feels different.” Remy shook his head. “I really don’t know how to explain it.”

“The honeymoon phase is fading,” Emile filled in. “You’re used to there being big declarations of love, and happiness all the time, and everything looking and feeling great, with no downsides. Or if there are downsides, they’re easily solvable. But now...time continues to pass, right? And the declarations seem fewer, and the problems seem bigger. And the relationship is, in general, weird.”

Remy turned a darker pink and looked away. “Why do you always have to hit the nail on the head?” he complained.

“Because psychology is a lot more than head-shrinking,” Emile said with a grin. As the grin faded into a more serious expression, he continued. “Honey, you don’t have to recreate the honeymoon phase. Firstly because it’s near impossible to do, and secondly because we still love each other. I love you, no matter what problems happen. It hurts like hell when we hit a bump in the road, but we’ve made it through the bumps before, and we can do it again. And you’ve shown that you love me. Even when trying to do the impossible, you put your all into it, because you believe it will make me happy, and in turn also make you happy.

“Fact is, though, Rem, that no one can be happy all the time. We’re going to have low days where a simple word can’t cheer us up. We’re going to have days where we can barely stand to look at each other, for whatever reason. The honeymoon phase isn’t coming back. But that’s okay, because what happens after the honeymoon phase is deeper, and so much better. Because when we hit the downsides, we’ll have each other to lean on and get through them. I don’t doubt that we’ll have our fights. I don’t doubt that there will be days where we wonder if getting serious, and staying together was the right move. But I also don’t doubt that we can work our way through that, and love each other no matter what.”

Remy looked at him for a long moment, before he huffed and crossed his arms with a smile. “You’re annoying when you’re right.”

Emile grinned and kissed Remy lightly. “So are you going to stop trying to bring the honeymoon phase back? You can say you love me, still, and I don’t mind the pet names, but I want you to mean them, too.”

“I always mean them,” Remy said, frowning.

“Poor word choice,” Emile corrected himself, “I don’t want you to constantly remind yourself that you have to say you love me, call me pet names, or anything like that. I prefer when you say it because I did something cute in your eyes, or because we’re both tired and vulnerable and want to sit on the couch together and cry over one of my cartoons. Rather than it just being something you say as a tacked-on ending to a phone call, or say to try and bring back something that won’t be able to return. That’s not to say I don’t love it when you call me pet names or say you love me, it’s to say that not doing all of that all the time is healthy, and expected in any relationship.”

“Oh,” Remy said simply. “That makes sense, actually. I guess I can try to let it go, but that doesn’t mean I won’t worry that the spark is dying occasionally.”

“Hey, if you’re worried about it that’s a good thing. Because you want it to stay. And so do I,” Emile said, putting a hand on Remy’s shoulder as he nearly collapsed onto the asphalt. “I need to go home.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to pass out still,” Remy said. He paused in walking, grabbing Emile under the armpits and knees and picked him up bridal style.

Emile made an eep noise in response. “Was that really necessary?”

“Oh yeah,” Remy said with a laugh. “Can’t have you passing out on the way to the car, Emile. I’ll drive us home, sound good?”

Emile grumbled. “I could have handled myself,” he groused.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, honey,” Remy laughed. “Come on, it has to be nice to have someone to care for you.”

“I mean, sometimes, yeah,” Emile said. “But not all the time.”

“Honey, the last time I helped you was with a juice cap two weeks ago. I do not help you ‘all the time,’” Remy retorted.

“I could have gotten the juice cap on my own!” Emile protested.

“With the rubber gripper is not ‘on your own’!”

Emile groaned and let his head loll backwards towards the ground. “You are. The worst.”

Remy just laughed. He squawked, however, when Emile started to tickle him. “Honey, I’m going to drop you! Stop!”

Emile giggled but let his hands drop, and he sighed. “That was not smart. I don’t have any energy left now.”

Remy snorted and carried Emile to the car. When he put Emile’s feet on the ground, though, he swayed and his legs buckled. “Woah!” Remy exclaimed, putting steadying hands on Emile’s shoulders. “Honey, no more theatre for you, okay? Not as an actor, at least. Not if you’re this close to passing out and getting hurt.”

Emile groaned and nodded. “I wasn’t sure I was cut out for the actual stage...and I was right.”

Remy laughed as he opened the passenger side door of the car and helped Emile in. “Can you strap yourself in, or are you too shaky?”

Emile sluggishly strapped himself in and gave Remy a thumbs-up. Remy shut the car door, got in the driver’s side, and started the ride home. “You know, I’m glad you put me on the title of the car,” Remy said. “Because now when you do stupid stuff that makes you almost pass out, I’m able to drive you home, or to the hospital if you’re really hurt.”

Emile just grunted, draping an arm over his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, honey, you are so out of it,” Remy laughed. “You really shouldn’t push yourself this hard, you know. We have Thanksgiving and then you’ll have finals before you know it.”

Emile whined, “Don’t remind me.”

Remy just shrugged and offered Emile a smile when he let his arm drop. “Hey, tell you what, though,” Remy said. “When we get back home we can cuddle all you want. That was an amazing performance.”

Emile offered Remy a weak grin. They got back to the apartment, and Emile felt slightly guilty that Remy had to help him out of the car, into the building, and up the stairs to their apartment.

They got to Emile’s room and he managed to toe off his shoes and collapse onto the bed with a groan. “Cuddles?” he asked into the blankets.

“Sure,” Remy agreed, climbing into Emile’s bed and pulling him close.

Emile hummed and buried his head in Remy’s chest. He wanted to take in everything about this moment: the way Remy smelled, like that cologne he was trying and slight sweat from the heat of the theatre. The way that he could hear Remy’s heart beating in his chest, and how it slowed Emile’s own heartbeat. The way that Remy would sigh into his hair and pull him a little closer, until they were pressed up against each other. Emile lazily put an arm on Remy’s shoulder and used his thumb to stroke Remy’s shoulder.

Eyes growing heavy, Emile just continued to savor the moment, the quiet sound of traffic outside and the ache of his bones, but the warmth of another body right next to him, willing to love him until the end of time. The darkness of the room, with only light from the kitchen moving in through a sliver of the door.

Remy took Emile’s glasses off and Emile blinked owlishly up at Remy. “Wha’ was tha’ for?” Emile asked, words slurring together.

“I thought you were asleep, honey,” Remy said. “And we can’t have you breaking your glasses.”

Emile nodded, burying his head in Remy’s chest again and sighing.

The silence stretched between them, before Remy shifted and Emile frowned, eyes squeezing shut tight as he whined and grabbed onto Remy’s shirt. “Emile,” Remy said. “Emile, I have to go to bed.”

“Here is a bed,” Emile said, weakly patting the mattress.

“Here is your bed,” Remy replied. “My bed’s in the other room.”

“Want you to stay,” Emile mumbled.

Remy blinked. “Why?” he asked.

Emile looked up at him blearily, and said, “‘Cause I love you,” like it was obvious. Because it was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, you love me all the time, but you never insist that I stay with you through the night,” Remy said. “Why tonight?”

“I want comfort,” Emile said. His filter was leaving fast, as was most of his waking thought process. “I want to feel safe with you. I want to...to...know that you love me through more than words. I love your words, but I want to use more than just words. I wanna cuddle and show that I love you, and want you to love me back.”

Remy ran a hand through Emile’s hair, murmuring, “It’s okay, I can stay, but you know I love you so much anyway, right?”

Emile mumbled, “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you and your love,” he said. “I’ve done so many things wrong about us, and you, and everything...and I don’t deserve the chances you’ve given me.” Tears were in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t deserve you, either,” Remy said. “You’re smart, and kind, and incredibly cute, and I could see myself spending the rest of my life with you, which is terrifying. I...I love you, Emile. Just...just rest, okay?”

“Mmm...‘kay,” Emile mumbled, quickly falling asleep.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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vegalocity · 4 years ago

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Starrosefics, asking for 23/42 for Spicynoodleshipping and 72 for Mabifica, please? (All are from the 76 Kisses.)

Prompt meme || @starfics

Shorter Mabifica because longer spicynoodles Both under cut because i respect your dashboards

72. When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead

The epic highs and lows of competeitive gaming

“WHAT?! OH COME ON!”

“Oh wow I won? Interesting. I thought you were the Gravity Falls Smash bros champ!”

“Rrrrrr Best two out of three!”

“NONONONONONOOOOOOOO”

“Oh! Win to Northwest again! Do you maybe want to switch characters? I know the princess is an intimdating foe. I can play the little pink blob if you'd like.”

“Don't mock me Paz.”

“OKAY HOW DO YOU KEEP BEATING ME?! YOU DON'T PLAY SMASH!”

“Maybe you're losing your touch.”

“RAAAAGGGHHH”

“....You've been training with Dipper in those discord calls you guys don't let me crash so I don't 'derail the conversation with lovey dovey talk' haven't you?”

“He plays different than you, but if you've beaten Mario you can beat Princes Peach.”

Mabel moaned in agony, sliding down in her seat until the majority of her legs were hanging off the couch and her head was the only thing on the backrest. “You hustled me! You hustled me just to humiliate me. And Dipper helped you! I am betrayed, I am bereft. None shall get past my stone wall again. I'll never love another again.”

Pacifica began to laugh because really, how could she not? Mabel treating a video game like a deeply important telenovela event that had things riding on it beyond pride was too good.

“Oh come on, I've been practicing basically since last summer, if anything it shows how good you are!” Mabel scrunched her face up into a pout. And Pacifica laughed again.

She watched Mabel's out wobble, no doubt she wanted to find the humor in this too, but wasn't done pouting yet. So Pacifica leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. She finally smiled back up at her.

“I guess I'll see you in the next Gravity Falls Tourney in a couple of weeks huh? May the best player win.”

“Oh, I will.”

Mabel squawked in outrage.

23. Exhausted Parents kiss // 42. Sated Kiss

I still don’t have a name for this kid so you’re just gonna have to bear with me (Content warning for more internalized abelism)

It wasn't exactly a secret that Red Son was a doting father, if he were the type to carry one of those 'picture laminate' wallets he'd have filled it to the brim with pictures of their little girl from age six hours to current day and would take them out to gush about her regularly, possibly even to their enemies. But thankfully he kept all of THOSE on his phone and that would inevitably save their baby girl some grief when she grew up a little more and entered her teens.

Honestly, it was literally one of the best things about him because Xiaotian could NOT get enough of watching how his husband—whom had entered his life shreiking with fury and intent on nothing but destruction and his own untimely death—would happily sing along to the cartoon opening theme songs with their little rascal or blow raspberries into her belly as she squealed with laughter.

Neither of them really got stuff like that in their childhoods, so it was rather important to both of them that that sweet little bundle of energy and crayons got as much affection as they could possibly give her without smothering her with it entirely.

There were some hiccups of course, how could there not be? She couldn't stand anyone touching her from her shoulders up, so her hair was oftentimes messy as she could only sit through one hairbrushing in the morning and one at night. Though her arms were too short to be able to brush her own hair yet she kept asking.

She'd only recently started speaking actually, apparently she'd decided she didn't want to talk until she could spew out full sentences, which was certainly something when it happened. Heavens knew when she was three and hadn't spoken a word, everyone had been trying to coax her to talk. Usually just trying to prompt simple words, but everyone had been taken aback when Tang was slowly pronouncing the name of the hero of the story he was telling her, and she responded with her first word “Why” followed quickly with “-are you talking so slow?”

Most problematic was that she had very sensitive hearing. Which could be a problem not only in this city, but also in this household, granted Red Son could go from talking at a normal volume to borderline shouting without being aware of the volume shift at all, and he was always extremely distressed when he thought everything was normal, didn't see Xiaotian trying to catch his eye to tell him to tone down, and get blindsided by his darling baby cry out and clap her hands over her ears and curl up as though she were in physical pain. Xiaotian ended up taking a pair of headphones that had gone dead in an ear, yanking out the wire and adjusting them to her little head. It didn't get rid of the days where their baby would curl up in the far corner of her bedroom, hands clasped over her ears because everything was too loud for her, and those days were always guaranteed to end with Red Son spiraling into the idea that he was a terrible father and wasn't meant to take care of people, but they were less frequent.

And then there came today. Red Son was sitting in the chair he favored most, scribbling into a notebook about some project or another, and their daughter was sitting on the floor, happily coloring one of the characters in a cartoon she loved. And as she concentrated on the crayon drawing, she began to rock back and forth. It was adorable, and Xiaotian didn't want to interrupt his two favorite people while they were both in the zone by announcing dinner time—though Dinner was ready—so he was planning on just lingering in the doorway for a few moments longer. But Something about it had caught Red Son's eye.

“Sweetie? What are you doing?”

She yelped and stopped, both drawing and rocking.

“Nothin' just drawin'.”

“I see that, You were also rocking in place, did you know that?” She seemed to shrink and Xiaotian probably should have cut in now, but something held him back. Let it play out.

“s'okay I'm just weird.” She didn't see Red Son flinch, but he did.

“Who... who told you something like that?”

“They say it on Alice's Adventures. Weird is when you do something that other people don't do and it makes you stick out. Right? And I never seen nobody do it. So I'm weird.”

Red Son took a moment, long enough for their daughter to turn back to her drawing, and stood up from the chair, striding over to sit across from her on the floor, notebook propped up on the coffee table. And as she started to rock in place again, he joined her.

Xiaotian almost wanted to cry.

He gave them a couple more moments. “Okay gremlins, dinner's ready!”

Thier daughter leaped to her feet and made a small happy squeaky noise as she raced to the dining table. “Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!”

Red Son was slower to join, realization hitting him and reflexively he began to fluster. “How much of that did you see?”

Xiaotian met him halfway across the room and tried not to look too giddy. “Enough that you are getting so laid tonight once she's in bed.” for now he settled for a quick kiss. “But only if you stop calling yourself weird and acknowledge the real word for it so that shit doesn't rub off before we can get her tested.”

“Fine.” Red Son looked away, gaze now fixated on the little girl already happily rocking back and forth at her space at the dinner table. “She's probably Autistic and she probably got it from me.”

“Which means...?”

“Don't push it Noodle Boy.”

Red Son stopped rocking only when he was alone, and it was great to see, the stim was doing more to reign in his temper than even Xiaotian had thought, and of course, it was an unequivocal delight to watch him and their baby side by side sitting on the floor, either of their projects laid out on the coffee table, and rocking back and forth in rhythm with eachother.

Send me stuff!

#Mabifica #Spicynoodleshipping #Vega writes stories too #Letters to vega #Starsfic #Anonymous #no beta we die like men

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silverwhiteraven · 5 years ago

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Borne of the Stars - Chapter 2 - MLB Kryptonian AU

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 3 ]

[A/N: Okk, so this was SUPPOSED to be a 'Kara is like a Big Sister/Mentor' fic, but unforeseen influences have caused me to swap out the intended Kara from the Supergirl TV series for the Kara in the DC Super Hero Girls 2019 cartoon. Basically... I've become a Karanette shipper and it's now the current shipping goal. Don't worry, it probably won't become the main focus of the fic, likely a slow-burn, and the endgame ship MIGHT change depending on how things go. And Marinette still gets her mentoring from Kara, just, a lot more awkwardly at first. Now, onward!! ]

[Summary: There they are, the Soups! Supes? Eh, sounds the same. Either way, it's time Marinette meets them, and a little progress is made. ]

Marinette fell back against a corner of the wall, the ground shaking under her feet and causing her to lose her footing. The large piece of debris she had taken refuge behind shifted as more pieces of cement and stone fell against it, creating a makeshift lean-to that protected her from the rest of the falling chunks of building. Unfortunately, as the ground settled and the rain of Daily Planet rubble ceased, it left her buried and swallowed in darkness.

She held her breath, waiting, listening for her shelter to start collapsing in on her, but it held. She sighed, and when she took a breath, coughed as the grainy dust filled her lungs. As she fully collapsed to the ground, she quickly shrugged off her outer-shirt and held it over her nose and mouth, tying it in place behind her head. A few more clear breaths, and she settled down fully.

Now was not the time to panic, she knew that, but it didn't stop her heart from hammering in instinctual fear of potential injury. Or worse…

The reverberations of a yell knocked her from her panicked musings, and she looked up, though there was nothing for her to see but more darkness. The voice was rather clear, though, as though it was being made to travel far and through any obstacle, even the broken pieces of a building.

“Kal! Did you get the bastard who hit the Daily Planet?”

The voice was feminine with a hint of a husky tone, and Marinette automatically pictured them as someone who would fit well with combat-style boots and a jean or leather jacket. Though something seemed a tad familiar about the name Kal.

“Language, Supergirl, but yes. They’re currently in D.E.O. hands, they can handle things from here.”

Supergirl? Now that was a name she recognized a bit more. Alya had raved about her the moment she finished explaining who Majestia was after she first transferred to their school almost a year ago. The hero was a fresh new mystery by all of half a year at that point, appearing both on her own as well as alongside Superman. The reporter had gone on a tangent about seeing signs of Supergirl not getting the credit she was due, her accomplishments often credited to the more well known Superman.

Yet it explained why she recognized the name, ‘Kal’. It was what Supergirl was often heard calling the other hero. ‘Kal-El’ was the full name, if her memory of Alya-brand hero-rants was correct, revealed some years back by other aliens of his same origin hellbent on attempting world domination.

“Oh, goodie,” Supergirl declared. “Then we can do a final sweep for anyone in need of saving, right?”

“Of course. Did you already clear this area?” Superman questioned, and there was an answering scoff.

“Yeah, I was just getting to it. All the civilians seemed to have cleared out when the planet started falling, I don’t-” She cut off, and there was a moment of silence when Marinette realized she could have been calling for help.

No, scratch that, she thought as she took another breath that smelled of gravel. Supergirl called out once more, “Superman,” voice now laced with a newfound urgency, “there’s someone trapped under there.” No calling for help, Marinette’s internal musing concluded, damaging my lungs when the heroes are already here is a stupid idea.

“Where?” Superman’s voice was instantly attentive, clearly ready to take action.

“Up against the building,” Supergirl answered, just as ready. “Do you see her?”

A pause, and then, “Yeah, I see her, let’s move, we need to get her out.”

“Already on it,” came Supergirl's proclamation, accompanied by a loud, metallic creaking.

“Need any-”

“Nope, I got this baby cousin!” There was a loud sigh in response to that, though the scrape of moving concrete made it clear that the banter wasn't getting in their way of working.

“I’m older than you,” he grumbled, not as loudly as before, but it was closer now to Marinette, and still said clearly enough for her to hear.

“Not according to our birthdays back home!” Supergirl sing-songed, though clearly much further away now, and it was punctuated by another dulled clang of metal. Marinette assumed that the hero had just finished moving the large decorative brass planet over into the open area of the park, out of the way.

A grunt is Superman’s response to the tease, and more stone grinds together loudly as it’s moved. It only takes a moment before the noise is joined by more from another section, and Marinette relaxes just a bit knowing that both superheroes are working to free her. She wishes she could help them, but she knew the best way to do that was to stay put and not touch anything that could collapse her shelter onto her head.

Marinette coughed again as a dusting of debris sprinkled down on her head, and the external digging from Supergirl’s side seemed to get just a bit faster, closely followed by Superman’s.

A crack of light split the darkness from above her on her right, and Marinette couldn't help but crack a smile at the excited whoop Supergirl let out as the hole grew a little larger. It wasn't long before the area around the main piece of concrete shielding Marinette was clear enough for the big chunk to be shifted from above her and completely uncover her little space of safety.

A head of shoulder length, ruffled blonde hair popped up from behind the slab of concrete, grinning triumphantly down at Marinette. The accompanying steel blue eyes shone just as brightly. “Why hello there, cutie,” Supergirl greeted, “need a hand?”

Marinette barely had time to comprehend what the other teen said and blush brilliantly through the dust in embarrassment before the slab was once more moving. It tilted away as Supergirl released it, and a slight grunt could be heard from Superman, most likely now the one supporting all its weight. It continued to shift until it was fully lifted up, and Superman, indeed carrying it, was moving it away to the edge of the debris field.

Supergirl, floating in the air, flew closer to Marinette, smile more toned down but still warm and welcoming. The hero reached out a hand towards her and elaborated, “Let’s get you out of all these rocks, darlin’.” Her voice has a brief accent on the last word, and Marinette bets it to be a picked up trait. “It really can't be all that comfortable, yeah?” the hero finally adds.

With a hesitant nod, Marinette reaches back towards the hero. She can’t help but yelp as she’s tugged up to her feet. Then she yelps once more as Supergirl dips down further and pulls Marinette forward even more, straight into the hero’s arms where she's held securely against Supergirl as she floats back upward.

She clung tightly to the hero, and Marinette’s eyes widened as she looked down, staring at all the destruction littering the once clear street. She looks upwards, and can see the damage to the Daily Planet’s upper levels. She’s drawn back to the debris as Superman rejoins them, giving a cursory glance to his cousin and her charge before making quick work of the remaining mess that sat in the way of the main doors to the Daily Planet’s lobby.

“Uhm,” Marinette spoke up hesitantly, glancing at Supergirl, still holding her and flying above the mess. “Should we-?”

“Help? Nah, Soup’s a big boy, he’s got this; I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, Buttercup, I doubt he would let you help anyways, after being trapped like that. I sure wouldn't. And if I was in your place, I wouldn't be wanting to, either.”

Gods, what's with all the nicknames? Marinette couldn't help her continued, everlasting embarrassment at the whole situation, and the nicknames didn't help much. She at least found solace in realizing they were likely just a force of habit in the hero, seeing as how she was calling Superman by various ones, too.

She went back to watching the older hero working below them, clearing a quick path from the doors into the clearer areas. Her brow furrowed just a bot, it seemed like they had dropped back down a bit in the air, but not by much.

Superman was quick to join them in the air once done, and they flew higher as though it was the superheroes’ unconscious instinct to do so, just to get some distance from the civilians. Marinette held tighter to Supergirl just in case.

“This was the only area with substantial damage from the fight,” Superman finally declares to Supergirl once they’re comfortable. “I’ll do a quick sweep of the city for any more trapped civilians, but we should be good from here on. Think you can handle her?” He gives an acknowledging nod to Marinette, and she shrinks a bit at the unexpected attention.

“Oh, yeah,” was the confident reply as Supergirl held her just a little bit closer, and Marinette hoped it was just her imagination that the hero’s hold on her had been looser than it had started before the grip tightened. The closer hold still elicited a soft squeak from Marinette, and she was grateful that they either didn't notice or didn’t mind enough to point it out by saying something or looking at her. “I can handle this little sweetheart, no worries! Go do your hero thing.”

“Are you sure?” He checked, looking skeptical, but in a cautious way rather than one that was actually doubtful. It made sense, if Supergirl really was still green behind the ear with superheroing, he would need to make sure his mentoring was sticking.

“Did you check her for injuries?” He asked imploringly, clearly covering the bases he was used to.

“Oh! Right! Sapphire!” The addition of yet another nickname to the growing collection was giving the situation an odd sense of normalcy, and Marinette gave Supergirl a questioning look in answer. “We want X-Ray you to make sure you aren't hurt or anything like that. May I?”

Marinette nods, “Oh, sure,” she confirms, “I don't think anything hit me, though, I was pretty quick and I feel fine.”

“Mhm, mhm, yeah,” Supergirl absently acknowledged, already giving her a glance over. “Yeah, you look good to me, I’d even say pretty darn fi…” The almost flirtatious comment fades along with her grin as it transforms into a confused frown.

Tag List: @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @captainartsypants @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes

#Kryptonian AU #Borne of the Stars #Karanette #crossover au #maribat #miraculous ladybug #supergirl #dc super hero girls #dc superman #marinette dupain cheng #willowbendt

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romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years ago

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Chapter One - Origins

We Could Be Immortals

Words: 1,945

Ship: None

Warnings: Dead animal, swearing, caps, sex mention, sex jokes, asthma attack

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @madly-handsome @strickenwithclairvoyance @limitededitionsanderssidesblog @ab-artist @because-were-fam-ily @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

- - -

Logan kept bouncing his leg. The clock was ticking. The fans of the computers next to him were whirring. All three were almost in time. Almost. Almost. It was almost enough to drive him mad.

“Hey,” Virgil whispered, leaning across the gap between their desks. “Wanna get into some trouble tonight?”

“Absolutely not,” Logan said, bouncing his leg even faster.

“I’ll cover for you,” Virgil said. He smiled brightly and his eyes seemed to sparkle against his dark skin. “You can sleepover, it’ll be fun.”

“Your idea of fun involves sneaking into the forest late at night and getting drunk with Roman Duke.”

“Excuse you, only Roman was drunk that night,” Virgil said. “And this time we’re going into a cave.”

“No way!”

“Pleeeeaaaaseee,” Virgil begged. “I’ll give you the answers to our English test next Thursday.”

“I’m not going to cheat on a test,” Logan whispered. “And I’m not going to any caves. Just let me finish this assignment, please.”

“C’mon, please?”

“How did you even get the answers, anyway?”

“I have a cousin who owes me a few favors.”

“Oh no, is it-“

“Shush!” Virgil exclaimed dramatically. “We do not speak his name!”

The bell rang and Logan sighed, quickly putting away his binder and pens. Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, quickly pulling his attention away from getting ready. “Just think about it, okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Just think about it.”

Logan let out a deep breath and nodded. By the time he grabbed his things, Virgil was already far from sight.

Logan wasn’t one to fall for the idea of “the fear of missing out” or whatever it was advertisers said to guilt consumers into buying their products. He fully believed that if he kept looking forward then one day he would be successful, and therefore happy. He was always looking forward.

Which is why having a friend like Virgil confused him so much. Virgil was always so present. He lived in the moment. He has adventures in the woods and caves simply because he enjoyed the adrenaline rush. He and Logan were like yin and yang.

This is why, at 7 o’clock on a school night, Logan almost couldn’t believe that he was at Virgil’s front door.

“Logan!” Virgil said with a smile, his hair pulled back into dreadlocks with purple at the ends. “Glad I’m not alone with this nerd,” he teased and Logan noticed a shorter boy waving from behind him.

“Ah you didn’t mention there would be any company,” Logan said awkwardly, tensing up as Virgil pulled him inside.

“Oh, uh, yeah, Patton dropped in sort of last minute,” Virgil said, before murmuring, “Remy dropped him off here so now we’re on babysitting duty.”

“I see.”

“Sorry about that,” Virgil said, his voice soft but thick like a warm blanket. “I’ll warn you next time.”

The three of them sat down at Virgil’s kitchen table, talking and snacking on bowls of pretzels and popcorn. “So, uh,” Logan mumbled awkwardly, unconfident in his ability to make small talk, “how do you know Virgil?”

“He’s a friend of a boyfriend of a cousin,” Virgil explained. Patton sat in silence, putting more popcorn into his mouth.

“He who shall not be named?”

Virgil laughed. “Yeah. Him.”

Patton only glanced between them in confusion, clearly missing out on a joke. He ate more popcorn.

There was a noise at the door and all laughter quickly came to silence. The noise repeated. Over and over again. “Is that rocks?” Patton asked.

“It’s in three to five-second intervals,” Logan said.

“You counted?” Virgil asked with a laugh.

“Counting calms me down.”

Virgil grabbed a metal baseball and headed towards the door. When another rock came towards the door he quickly swung the bat and hit it back.

“FUCK!”

“Talk shit, get hit, you little bitch!”

Logan and Patton tried to see outside but neither of them recognized the voice outside.

“YOU HIT MY EYE!”

“You hit my door.”

“YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and dropped his bat. “Just get in here, dumbass.” He turned to Logan and Patton. “We have a full cave hunting crew now.”

“Hi!” Patton said with a bright smile and a wave. It was almost disgusting how quickly he could turn cheerful.

Roman held a hand over his eye and dramatically muttered expletives at Virgil. “Guess it’s a party now.”

“Shitty party,” Logan said.

“Just get some ice on your eye, Ro,” Virgil said. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“It’ll be sunset in five minutes,” Patton said.

Virgil smirked. “Isn’t that the point?”

Logan bounced his leg under the table. He was starting to get anxious. What if they got lost or separated? What if something bad happened? What if-? What if-? What if-?

“Good thing you have a handsome knight with you,” Roman teased, jumping up on the counter with a smile.

“Who? Patton?”

“Virgil, I will fight you.”

“I’d like to see you try, you asthmatic hoe.”

“Excuse you! ¡No soy una azada, tu perra!” Roman yelled in false offense.

“No swearing in front of the baby,” Virgil said. “Patton is only 15. He’s so young. So innocent. You’re tainting him.”

“Virgil, you’re 16,” Logan pointed out.

“Exactly. I am much older and wiser than this toddler.”

“And you’re swearing,” Roman rebutted.

“Prove it, fucker.”

Logan sighed, burying his face in his hands. Roman threw a frozen pea at Virgil. “You’re a dumbass,” they both said.

“Yeah, we’ll you three are the dumbasses I’m going to sacrifice to the old cave deities.” He grabbed a couple of flashlights and buried his keys into his pocket. “Now let's go.”

The sight of the four of them walking together seemed so foreign yet so familiar to Logan. He and Virgil had always been close, just as Roman was close with Virgil. And Patton? He was just one of the many poor fools strung into Virgil’s idea of a good time.

“I feel like we need a dog,” Logan said quietly, shrinking his flashlight at the ground in front of him.

Patton gasped with a happy smile. “We do!”

“I call being Fred!” Roman yelled.

“Sure thing, Daphne,” Virgil teased.

“Daphne?! How dare you- uh- Shaggy!”

Virgil spun around and shone his flashlight under his chin causing his features to look sharper as he blended into the shadows. “An all-powerful god who is simultaneously a cultural icon as well as mysteriously unknown to the feeble power of the human mind?” He laughed. “Nice insult, Roman.”

“Besides, Shaggy totally tops Fred.”

“No way,” Patton said.

“Shaggy tops Fred and Velma bottoms to Daphne,” Logan continued. “So the day we get a dog, Virgil and Roman have to fuck.”

“Guess that makes you Velma,” Roman said.

“Definitely.”

“So by extension,” Virgil said with a laugh, “you and Patton get to have spooky, ghosty sex when we get a dog.”

Logan cringed, desperately avoiding looking in Patton’s direction. “I take back everything I said.”

Virgil laughed, falling back into the group just enough to wrap an arm around Logan’s shoulder. He shone his light on a pile of rocks. “Almost there, lads.”

Just enough light shone towards Patton to show how he beamed at the word. It was just enough for Logan to notice how young he looked. Despite being a sophomore, he would have barely passed for a freshman. Logan wondered if he ever skipped a grade.

“Be careful,” Virgil said as they walked into the cave. His grip around Logan tightened protectively. Is he worried about me? Or am I a puppet to hide his own fear?

Patton screamed, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth. The other three froze before turning to see what his light was pointed at.

“Is that a dead rabbit?” Virgil asked, moving closer to it. “Cool!”

“NOT COOL!” Patton squeaked. He mumbled under his breath, “Why couldn’t I just watch cartoons with Emile?”

“I’m gonna steal its foot,” Virgil said.

“Strip a naked man of his foot?” Roman asked. “Really?”

“Naked?” Logan questioned.

“Yes, Logan, named. As in not wearing clothes.”

“What would a rabbit need clothes for?”

“A very important date, of course!” Roman whined out. “Have you no sense of wonder?”

“Have you no sense of proper grammar?”

“I’m gonna steal the foot,” Virgil repeated, touching the animal’s decaying flesh.

“That is absolutely disgusting.”

“Stop!” Patton cried out, squeezing his eyes closed and holding his hands over his ears.

“Are you okay?” Roman whispered. Patton shook his head and Roman could see a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks. “Virgil, stop,” he ordered, pulling the younger boy into his arms. “You’re upsetting Patton.”

Virgil and Logan froze, Virgil’s fingers brushing against the rabbit’s fur. He pulled his hand back quickly when he saw Patton’s face. “Pat, I’m so sorr-“

“What the hell is happening to your hand?” Roman blurted. He shone a flashlight on it. “Violet, you’re turning violet!”

His fingers were turning purple as the hue began to spread down his skin. “Holy shit,” Virgil breathed out. “I- uh- I think we should go home.”

“No shit,” Logan murmured, his eyes growing wide with fear.

“It’s fine we’ll just turn a-“ Virgil stopped in his tracks. The entrance was completely blocked. “No way. No fucking way.”

“Are we going to die here?!” Logan shouted, his breathing growing frantic to the point where he was nearly hyperventilating.

“We’re not going to die,” Roman said. He heard growing behind him and came face to face with a faceless monster made of smoke and fog. “I TAKE IT BACK, WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”

“What do we do?!” Patton screamed.

“RUN!” Virgil yelled before punching the monster in the face, shocked to find that his hand didn’t go through the fog. It was like punching a brick wall, only he felt no pain. He figured he could buy his friends some time to escape.

Roman had scooped Patton and Logan into each of his arms and ran further into the cave. “You are ridiculously strong,” Patton commented.

“And I’m ridiculously scared for my life!” Logan yelled.

Roman turned behind a wall and let Patton and Logan to their feet before collapsing on the ground. He was panting for air, clutching his chest with each breath and wheezing with every exhale.

“Is he okay?” Patton whispered.

“He has asthma,” Logan explained. “And I’m guessing the dumbass didn’t bring his inhaler.”

“F- uuuck y- ooouu,” Roman wheezed, with a gesture to emphasize his point. He went into a coughing fit before trying to take a few deep breaths. “I didn’t think we’d be fucking running.”

Virgil caught up to them after a moment without even a drop of sweat on him. However, the same smoky black that made up the creature now seemed to cover his cheeks and the skin under his eyes. “Is Roman okay?”

“Are you okay?” Roman asked, his voice still weak and strained.

“Is my hand still purple?”

“Your whole arm is purple.”

“Then no,” Virgil said. “Definitely not.”

“Oh hey shiny rock,” Roman said, weekly trying to pull himself from the ground.

“I think we’ve touched enough weird cave things,” Patton said cautiously.

“This isn’t Virgil’s evil zombie rabbit, though,” Roman said. He picked up the rock and turned it towards Patton. “See? It looks like an eye.”

“I wish you would put that away,” Patton mumbled.

“And I wish we were home, but-“

The cave filled with a cloud of green smoke coming from the rock. They all found themselves stuck in a coughing fit as they choked on the smog. In only a matter of seconds, they were all fast asleep.

#Sanders Sides fic #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton

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northernwinedregs · 4 years ago

Text

Truth Or Dare

Date night. You grab a bite to eat together and head to one of your favourite bars, some subterranean dive with red brick walls and comfy leather booths. The kind of place that even in the early evening pulses music so you can barely talk and be heard; they want you to talk less, drink more, parting with your money and inhibitions. Before long the homemade halloumi fries and mozzarella dippers start looking good, and your bank account's a tenner lighter and your stomach's greasier.

You both like this place because it's pretty and unpopulated at this time. There's no queueing at the bar, you have your choice of booths. Later, when the door is guarded and the place fills up, the heat and noise coats everything, like a film of sweat on the walls. When low conversation turns to raucous shouts, when the speakers gargle bass like a heart palpitation, when every minute is a summer Friday night. But for now, it's a place for people who want to take photos of their food, who want to chat idly over a few games of pool, who want that rarest of things – a discreet corner table. The bar staff have the relaxed luxury to make cocktails well now.

You get the door and head in, down the industrial staircase. A thought occurs to you.

“Truth or dare?” you ask her.

She looks at you for a minute, weighing up not the question but the possibilities it entails. It's a game, a menu for the evening. Previous dates have taught you her competitive streak: the way she thrashed you at bowling, the ungracious card game victories, the pub carpet lap of honour after hitting a bullseye. She had to be – and was, inevitably – the best even at throwing cashew nuts up and catching them in the mouth. An arched eyebrow tells you enough, that she's playing to win.

“Dare,” she says.

“When we order at the bar, I dare you to put on a fake accent.”

“Pfft, easy.”

So you reach the bottom of the staircase, cross the deserted expanse of hard wood floor, the sound of heels muted by a throbbing bass line from the speaker, and approach the bar.

“Well howdy,” she says to the barman, in a thick and entirely unconvincing Southern drawl, not quite sure of its origins. In two words she manages to straddle the border between Texas and Louisiana, settling down in neither state. “Gee, this place sure looks swell,” she adds, re-locating decidedly northward, and spinning back in time to a sterilised trans-Atlantic voice.

The barman blinks in surprise and decides not to question it. You can't help but smile, at her willingness and gumption, if not accuracy. Not that you could do any better; your own voice is a soft mud of glottal stops and incapable of anything else. “What can I get you?” he asks.

“I'll have a Guinness,” she says brightly, accent taking a trip back across the ocean to Dublin. And then, glancing over the cocktail specials chalked on the board behind the bar, she says, “I dare you to try that.” Her well-travelled accent, having moved from the north-east to the south goes west to California, and she's pointing at a cocktail called the Barroom Blitz.

A dare's a dare, so you order the Barroom Blitz, and double down on the decision even after the barman questions the time and its strength. “Okay,” he says like a warning. “I'd stick to one of them though.”

He busies himself with the cocktail. She gets her Guiness and sips it, while you chat and her pseudo-American accent travels from state to state, never quite finding a home. “Well, shucks,” she says at one point and cocks her head to the side when you laugh. She's taking the game seriously, even if her accent is an unconvincing nomad.

Your drink is ready and only when it's presented on the bar that she laughs. An oversized martini glass holds a sloshing neon green, with a fluorescent umbrella and a bright straw. Like nothing occuring in nature. A sci-fi sort of drink, the kind of thing that'd get dispensed from a machine called an Inenbriator3000. The insides of a cartoon alien. You thank the barman for this luminescent monstrosity, pay, and find a corner booth at the back of the bar away from prying eyes and the intrusive music.

She takes off her leather jacket and sits in the corner so as to watch the rest of the bar. You take off yours and sit across from her, with only her and the corner to look at. Not that you'd want to look at anything else: without even a sip of the bright green Blitz you are already intoxicated, the shadows welling around her, the brightness of her lips in the darkness, the white of her eyes in the semi-gloom.

“Go on, try it,” she says with a smile, accent now moved back home for good. You do, and it's strong and unbearably sweet, like a romantic bodybuilder or a sledgehammer made of gummy bears. Like a lime on steroids with the attitude to match. Like a psychedelic apple from a liberal-minded orchard. You ask if she wants to try it – not a dare, just want to share – and she does, leaving a lipstick impression on the rim, and in one pulpitating moment you are so jealous of the glass.

“How's the Guinness?” She takes another sip, as if needing a reminder and shrugs.

“Good. Tastes like Guinness.”

“That's all right then.”

She leans forward on the table, arms crossed under her. Expectant, keen, anticipatory.

“Your turn then.” And, at a quizzical look, “truth or dare, your turn to ask.”

“Oh right.”

And so it begins in earnest, back and forth. The punishment if you refuse to answer, or fail in the dare is you have to finish your drink in one: a task for her, to chug a pint of what is essentially ale soup, heavy on the stomach; a task for you to glug something so sickly sweet as a viscous pick n'mix.

Truth: most embarrassing moment, the time she passed out at a party and woke to a hundred photos online of her inebriated corpse grafittied with pen. Truth: your biggest regret, the way you crashed out of university with very little to show for yourself. Dare: she slinks across the bar and asks a distantly neighbouring table if she can try one of their fries (she can, and they're pretty good). Dare: another round, another Ballroom Blitz, and this time she joins you. Dare: she goes to the bar and asks if they can change the music to classical (they could, but won't, and don't). Truth: the worst fight you've been in, when you got glassed in the face and ended up breaking a rib in the ensuing scrum. Truth: favourite childhood toy, her plush rabbit named Sludge which she once left on a school trip and cried so much they drove back an hour to retrieve it. Dare: you buy a neighbouring table a drink and wave coyly when they look over, puzzled. Truth: a pet-name she's gone by, and she is mortified to admit that during an adolescent emo phase she went by Kitten. Dare: a third round, a shot each of what the bar calls a Skullcrusher. You knock them back in unison and feel your brain compress like a grape protesting a steamroller convention.

The drinks start to float through your bloodstream, making your thoughts stretch and elongate like hot rubber, your limbs elastic, and her face is flush red with tipsiness. And so too are you drunk on the sight of her bright face, the pixelating mouth. Your mind wanders to the warmth of her lips, her smoky eyes, the dark sea of her hair.

“Okay,” you say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you got any party tricks?”

“Yes. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to show me your party trick.”

She looks around conspiratorially. Something about the way she glances, not nervously, but instead just to see you aren't being watched – and you're not, from the sheltered nook in the corner – makes the room dispappear, as though the periphery dissolves and closes in around you. There is no bar, no song playing. Only her, in front of you, with a tipsy mischief written on her face.

So she slides her arms under her t-shirt and starts to rummage beneath her clothes. You watch, suddenly breathless, and catch a tantalising glimpse of delicious collarbone; just as suddenly, all you want in this life is to sink your teeth into that collarbone. As you watch, you are being watched, a private moment between the two of you, eyes locked. This moment, perfomed for you, only pushes all awareness further away from your mind; the rest of the bar shrinks away to a dull haze of dim sound, a mere pulse in the bacgkround. And, with one final movement, she pulls her bra from underneath her t-shirt like a magic trick and throws it onto the table between you, as disdainfully as she would a used napkin.

She looks at you throughout this party trick, and it is her straightforward desire that moves you so much: that there exists a moment when someone is looking at you and that is all they are doing; they are looking in order to look at you; it is a smile for your benefit alone; an eyebrow arches suggestively purely for your reaction. You feel transfixed, bolted to the booth's leather by her gaze intended only for you, and all you can do is stare back, your heart racing, your skin prickling with excitement at the sharp turn in the game's narrative.

“Truth or dare,” she says and her voice is suddenly so much softer, and forms a sound for you alone.

You reach out, suddenly aware of your body again, its pumping blood, its moveable limbs, and pick up her discarded clothing to tuck it inside your jacket.

“Hey-” she begins, “-I'll be needing that-” but you shake your head and say, “no, you won't. Truth or dare?”

“It's my turn,” she says assertively, but you no longer care for protocol. It's not that she's so exposed right now – her t-shirt covers everything but her arms, and she has her jacket on the back of her chair – but it's the knowledge that someone is just a little more vulnerable. You don't want the bar to fade away in her consciousness, you realise, and instead you want her exposed, knowing that she's surrounded by people and voices and eyes and sounds.

“Nope, it's my turn again,” you decide. “Truth or dare?”

She eyes you suspiciously, not with any malice, but a calculating trust. She may have assumed her last dare was to assert a level of power over the competition, but you're now determined not to let her dictate the flow of the evening.

“Where are you going with this? Okay, dare.”

You lean forward and smile.

“I dare you to do the same party trick again.”

Her eyebrow arches again, this time in confusion, not pre-meditation.

“But, you've already got...” she says, before trailing off. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

She glances around a second time, now with a more pronounced concern. Deciding no eyes are upon you, she wriggles in the booth, keeping her eyes locked on you, a dare of her own. You stare back, not wanting to submit dominance. She smiles sweetly, as though she was simply rummaging for her phone, before guiding her hands under her skirt and sliding off her underwear. Unlike the previous time, when she carelessly threw the trophy on the table with the smug contempt of a victory, instead she reaches under the table and covertly passes you a fistful of scrunched fabric. She sits back, smooths her skirt and looks at you intently. You, almost lazily, add the latest item to the inside of your jacket pocket. Her arched, suggestive eyebrow raises once more.

“Happy?” she asks. “What's next?”

“A truth, I think.”

“So I don't even get to pick now?”

“No. Truth: does it turn you on, feeling so exposed now? What if someone – let's say the guy at the bar – was watching? How would you feel, him knowing how you were dressed? What's it like being someone who takes off their clothes in public? Go on, spread your legs under the table and tell me how it feels.” You say this in a low murmur, refusing to break eye contact. You're leaning in closer, so to her there is just your face and the sound of your voice.

She finally looks away, glances around the room once more. Certainly carefully. Almost nervously. She licks her lips and you watch her tongue like a predator.

“You tell me a truth first,” she says. “Does it turn you on, exposing me like this? Do you like the idea of me getting undressed in public? For you. Because of you. Do you want me to tell you how wet I am? Go on, say it. Tell me you want to hear how wet my pussy is, sat here all exposed, waiting for your next command.” Even this, she says as a dare. Like you're being goaded into relinquishing what small power you have over her. Like a predator is feigning weakness before its prey. She's introduced a new register to the vocabulary, as a test of her own.

“That's not how it works,” you tell her. “If you won't answer my truth, you can have a dare instead. I dare you to touch yourself. Touch yourself for me.”

She hesitates, if only for a fraction of a second, and that's all the weakness in her armour you need.

“What, going to lose this game so easily, are we? You won't answer the truth, you won't do the dare I set. Sounds like you're giving up and that means I win. Oh well.”

She bites her lip, not seductively as before, but in hesitation. In anticipation. She glances around, nervously now. You can see the calculation, her stubbornness that you adore so much.

“You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with,” you reminder her, but she shakes her head.

“It's not that. Fuck.”

She's flustered, and it's the first time you've ever seen her like this. Everything before now has been cool, calm, collected. Effortlessly so. Commanding, almost. It's the loosening of control as much as not winning. She who is so triumphant in every victory, she who gloats so completely when she gets two strikes in a row, or gets the question right on the television quizzes first, or is quicker to hand over her card when the waiter's produced the bill. Seeing this dissolution of her hierachy makes you adore her more, wanting to soften and immediately capitulate and kiss her. But you keep your resolve, let her squirm, and relish in it.

She offers the bar once final glance, then locks eyes with you. She touches herself. That first soft moan is so delicate, so almost inaudible, and yet is the only sound you can hear. The only sound you've ever wanted to hear. For such a tiny, quivering exhale, it extinguishes all noise from the bar and once again your focus dissolves to her in front of you. There are only her eyes, burrowing into your soul. There is only her voice, faint and breathless. There is only her skin, her face, her neck. And as she exhales, so too do you find yourself breathless, your head swimming as you watch her. The universe, in that moment, exists only to watch her, watching you. Everything else is background radiation, distant starlight.

“Hi, can I get you any more drinks?”

The voice is a sudden intrusion, and snaps you both out of this private moment. Your booth is shadowed by a friendly staff member, busying herself amongst the tables. She smiles, and it feels as though all the blood in your body has rushed to your face.

“Erm, we're good, I think,” you say, and your voice is a stranger's voice, weirdly booming and distant, like you are not wholly present but instead are some audio recording coming out of the speaker.

“No worries,” the barmaid says cheerfully, moving away from the table as swiftly as she had materialised beside you. You look across the table and see a face, whether from the drinks or the embarrassment, is glowing red as a beacon. You both begin to laugh, nervous and giddy, somehow like children almost discovered for having stolen sweets.

“One last dare,” she laughs. “I dare you to take me home.”

And you do, and the game continues. If not posed in point-for-point questions, the game certainly continues its list of demands and admissions. Breathlessly and deliriously, you trade truths and dares. I dare you to kiss this. Bite that. Suck on that. Nibble and gorge and eat and caress and stroke and enter. Dares as mere verbs; dares only as intentions. And truths are spilled out in the hallway, on the bedroom floor, on the bed itself, on your knees, against the wall. Truth as aching, shuddering, declarations. Truths as names and cries and moans and shivers and animal noises. Truths as adverbs: harder and faster and deeper. Truths as confessions, as close as we get to religion. Truths as invocations. Truths as pain and pleasure and teasing and torture. Truth in blood. Truth in flesh. Truth in sweat and hair and breath and hands and names.

It is only in the morning, when the game is neither lost nor won, but forgotten, when you lie there together in the warm, optimistic yolk of the window-strained sun, when you listen to the flightless birds and hum of reluctant traffic and shouts and cries of an innocent morning, that she raises her head from your chest and smiles to offer her latest demand.

“I dare you to go get breakfast.”

#short story #writing #creative writing #spilledink #twc

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oogieswife67 · 5 years ago

Text

The Duke of Food part 02

Nothing too much to say here. Based off some pics I've drawn. All characters belong to Toby Fox.

Story under cut.

Come oneth… Go down…

Rouxls pressed his hands down on his bloated belly, which was now bigger from eating the bucket of sweets from the other day. He thought this was all just a bad dream and he would wake up from it soon. Well… He had fallen asleep, and he found that he was still bloated and bigger. He looked due with six babies now. He was trying to get his belly to go down by pressing his hands vigorously into the large mass, hoping it would just shrink down.

But alas, it was all for the sounds of sloshing and groaning, but no shrinking. Rouxls looked down at himself and saw that he was still just as big as before. He groaned and sat down in the chair. “This is ridiculous! What sorteth trickery doth jester put on me?!” he grabbed the sides of his belly once more, squeezing it a bit roughly. “When I find him- URP!” the belch felt like it came out of nowhere and Rouxls covered his mouth as fast as he could. His eyes bolted around to see if anyone was around to hear that. He waited a few moments before he uncovered his mouth and sighed. "I'll beith the laughing stock of the castle! Whateth I-"

"Lesser dad!" A familiar child voice called out from just down the hallway. Rouxls eyes went wide in horror and he looked to the door.

"Ah-!" He looked around his shop for something to hide his belly with. Most of the items around the shop were much too small for what he needed. He then spotted the item that was perfect for the situation and ran to it.

Lancer came into the shop and closed the door behind him. "Hey, lesser dad!" He said, looking right at Rouxls as he was sitting behind his large, pink puzzle box, grinning while having his head resting in both of his hands. "What's the box for?" The prince asked as he walked over.

"This olde thing?" Rouxls asked and patted the side of the dusty box, which covered his hand in a thin layer of dust. "I waseth thinking of… Thou! I thought perhaps it doth easier to chat this wayeth!"

"Oh, sweet!" Lancer sat right across from Rouxls and pulled out his MP3 player. "I put some sweet tunes on here recently and wanted us to listen!"

Rouxls grin faltered for a moment at the sight of the outdated device and earbuds. He should've known this is what Lancer wanted to do. "Don't thou haveth other things to do?"

Lancer tapped his chin in thought for a moment. "Nope!" He grinned. "Got the servants to do what they need to do!" he picked up one of the earbuds and puts it in Rouxls’s ear, then puts the other earbud in his. He then pressed the play button and kept his toothy grin on.

Rouxls didn’t know how to take this in, and had a look of disgust as random cartoon noises played for a moment. He would never understand the appeal of hearing such sounds all day and every day with no signs of exhaustion. If he could, he would be finding an excuse to leave and wander the dungeons to clean his palette.

Instead, he now needed an excuse for why his belly was suddenly starting to gurgle. Sweat drops formed on his face and he looked down at his swollen middle. The swollen mass growled again and he watched it ripple for a moment. His eyes bolted back up and he tried to keep his cool as Lancer looked confused. “I didn’t put these noises on here…” Lancer said as he looked at his MP3.

“Ah…” What a tempting excuse to tell Lancer that he must’ve downloaded a file that forgot to mention what noises it had in it. However, Rouxls felt his stomach growling again and a bit of pain as he grabbed his middle to try to stop it. “Are thou hungry?”

“I am a little.” Lancer said, looking a bit excited. “What we gonna eat? Some roux?”

“I needeth to make more. I… Finished offeth the pot the other day.”

“Wow, you must’ve sold a lot, then!”

“Er… Yes…” Rouxls smiled nervously. “If thou canneth keep an eye on the doors, I shall maketh more.” “Okay!” Lancer turned his back to the other and stared at the door with his tongue sticking. Rouxls glanced at the door for a moment, then to Lancer to make sure he wasn’t looking.

The duke got himself up from the box and made sure his belly didn’t hit it. He kept his eyes on Lancer as he backed up to the stove and started work on making the roux. As he would make the thick substance, he couldn’t help but feel the anxiety of having eyes on him right now. His breathing was as shallow as it could be. With each ingredient he grabbed and all the stirring in circles, his hands would shake. His eyes shut tightly when he felt pain from his stomach from all the quiet growling it was doing.

Though the time to make the roux wasn’t too long, it felt like an eternity to Rouxls. He was about to pour some worms into the roux, but then he felt a hunger pang hit him hard and he dumped the whole jar’s worth in the pot. “Is it almost done, Lesser Dad?” Lancer asked, still keeping an eye on the door while listening to his MP3 player. “It smells really good!”

“Almosteth.” Upon hearing that it smelled good, Rouxls couldn’t help but take a quick sniff of the roux. His eyes widened a bit and he felt his belly rumbling once more. He took a quick glance at the prince. Lancer was still looking at the door. Rouxls quickly scooped some of the roux into two bowls.

It was as if the hunger gave him a newfound strength. Rouxls couldn’t stop himself as he took hold of the pot handles, but then pulled his hands back when he realized how hot the handles were. “Ooh…” he quickly pulled out a couple potholders and was able to pick the pot up with ease. He put the edge to his lips and took a sip before pulling it back. “Oweth.” he muttered, before taking another sip and pulling it back to say “Oweth.” once more. He did this a few more times before he could finally keep the end of the pot high while he chugged down on the roux once he got immune to the heat.

Rouxl’s newly bloated middle was now pressing against the counter and stove, with a bit of it being squished and poking against the edge. He set the pot back down onto the stove and sighed in content. “Thateth better…” he said quietly. He was about to pick up the two bowls when he felt dread hit him like a brick wall.

“WOAH! YOU ATE THAT ENTIRE POT BY YOURSELF, LESSER DAD!” Lancer said in shock, looking right at the duke.

“L-Lancer?!” Rouxls cheeks started to flush a light blue while he tried to hide his belly. “I toldeth thou to watch the door!”

“I was, really! Then I wanted to see if you were done and watched you chug that pot down!” the prince replied. “Did you save some for me?” “Of course! Be rude of me to not serve thy sire.” Rouxls felt pure embarrassment as he picked up the two bowls and came over to the box.

“How is your middle so bloated?!” Lancer watched as the belly went into hiding once Rouxls sat down.

Rouxls felt his belly getting squished between his legs. He sighed, setting the bowls down onto the box. “I’m figuring thateth out as welleth…”

“You don’t just suddenly start eating though!” Lancer said. He stood up and tried to see the belly over the box. Rouxls quickly responded by leaning forward to hide it, but got his belly more squished in the process. “I wish I could eat so much! Maybe without a belly… But still! Eating a lot would be neat to have to scare off the heroes!”

“You would not liketh it! It’s awful!” Rouxls sat on his legs and looked down at his belly, while it was squished slightly to the box and quite squished between his legs. “This keeps… Growing! I shant knoweth what to do!” He puts his hands on his belly and lightly squishes it.

“Why not stop eating?” Lancer questioned, sounding quite genuine.

Rouxls would’ve snapped at that if it was anyone else. For Lancer, he gave the prince a small sigh. “I hunger… Like earlier. I hath no control over it.”

“Well… You can’t control hunger anyway, right?” The prince’s tongue stuck out a bit as he showed a bit of concern for his lesser dad.

“That is trueth… It doth end after eating.” Rouxls thought a bit into it, then shook his head. “Doth not worryith for me, Lancer! Tis but another puzzle for the Duke of Puzzles to Solve!”

“Yeah! You’re the best puzzle master ever!” Lancer said, hitting his hands on the box hard, which caused some dust to fly up. He coughs a bit while Rouxls fans the dust away quickly.

Rouxls couldn't help but smirk a bit at the comment. "Eat thou's roux before it doth get too cold.

Lancer sat back down and started to eat the roux. Rouxls looked down at his bowl for a moment, before just picking up the bowl and eating it all in one go. Lancer watched quietly, clearly impressed by what he was seeing. "You must be really hungry!" The prince said.

"At least not, for noweth…" Rouxls set the bowl down and looked down at his swollen belly. It was still an unsettling sight for him. "How much bigger-" his thoughts were interrupted by a cartoon belch when he looked back up and saw Lancer next to him with an earbud next to his head. Lancer grinned while his tongue was sticking out. "Alright… foreth a few minutes." He said, sighing. Lancer sat down and the two put the earbuds in their ears, returning to the activity while seeing if anyone else would come to the shop.

End of part 02

#oogiesart #male stuffing #male belly

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leefelixs · 7 years ago

Text

boyfriend han jisung • stray kids

genre: fluff

pairing: han jisung & you

word count: 1464 words

summary: dating jisung and all the quirks/aspects of your relationship

notes: the sixth part of the boyfriend series with our sunshine jisung! our cute hardworking ace...also are you guys craving to see him do more girl group dances like i am?

dating jisung is like being close to the sun, it’s warm and makes you feel at ease

there’s never a dull moment between both of you and you’re not entirely sure if it’s due to the fact you’re just both so in sync or it’s the fact that he’s just such a wonderful person to be around

he’s always dragging you to go eat at a restaurant or cafe because it’s nice to listen to the soft music they play and because food

sometimes you wonder what he loves more...you or food

but that’s okay

and you take turns feeding each other a little sample of each other’s food everytime

“is it good?” hes trying to be a cute good boyfriend but he forgot his mouth was full and nearly chokes

did someone say picnics? he loves those too

on the walk there he’s just dancing around and singing bits of songs with you and his hand is holding yours and swaying it around with excitement

plucks flowers every time you guys on a picnic date and puts them in your hair or behind your ear

and you do the same to him and he just puts his hands under his chin and winks and giggles like a little girl to make you laugh

“am i pretty enough for you?” jisung teases while he keeps the little flower from falling

always ends up falling asleep on you accidentally when he puts his head against your shoulder but it’s okay you don’t mind

every night is movie night...this kid has a full netflix watch list of horror movies ready for you (of course he goes to changbin for recs on what to play for you)

if you get scared he pauses it and takes time to talk to you so you can calm down

matching beanies? matching beanies

“look, i got us the same one so you can stop taking mine.”

“jisung?”

“yeah?”

“i’m still taking yours.”

you can’t listen to any music because he’ll always try to sing along and bother you by dancing around really ugly

so to be even whenever he plays rap or hip hop you’ll rap along with it and do the gestures he did in the runner’s high video

your first kiss is in a movie theater because you were being too noisy and kept trying to whisper to him throughout the movie

“it just doesn’t make sense. like the clown is hiding under the sewers and taking all these kids and no one is doing anything about it? where are the adults?

“(y/n) i already told you in the book the adults are under a spell. just watch.”

not even four seconds later you’re tapping him again

and again

and this goes on for a good four minutes before he sighs and puts down his popcorn and just kisses you

“just watch the movie, okay? i’ll explain after.”

and you just shrink into your seat and nod

LOTS OF CUTE KARAOKE NIGHTS WITH THE OTHER BOYS

you guys always win (okay sometimes jeongin does cause the kid has soul) but most of the time it’s you guys

one time signal come on and jisung had you do the choreo with him and it was actually really cute you guys are so cheesy it hurts

even with all the goofy young love you guys get serious when it gets to the music

you know jisung puts a lot of effort into everything and is very easy going but sometimes he slacks off because he’s not overly worried

you keep him on his feet and have a little harsher force on him kind of like chan because well, he needs it sometimes

he has a seat for you next to him in the studio so you can watch him work on things and keep him from getting distracted

“but look! i’m almost done. a little break doesn’t hurt. i just want to cuddle.”

“we can cuddle after, because i know you’ll give up for the night if i let you.”

“but it’s my music come on...”

he ends up listening anyways and keeps working

winter season for you guys means watching those cheesy horror films with like...winter season villains

you know what movies i mean those where santa claus is the killer or like elves kill people yeah those

“i am trying so hard to stay awake but this is so bad. why does something so good love things so bad.” you groan and lazily drape yourself over his lap

“bad? are you kidding me this is really good. i knew those elves were always creepy for a reason.”

has you help him practice his vocals with him

“bubs, try hitting this high note with me.” he passes you the sheet and helps you warm up your voice

but it doesn’t help

you sound...less than wonderful

“it was cute, it’s okay. with practice and time you’ll get better.”

can’t watch any cartoons together because he’ll instantly be trying to imitate the characters and get their voices down

goes on instagram live with you a lot when there’s nothing else to do

whenever exam season comes by for you he makes sure to keep you eating well and put a little light at his desk so you can study there and he takes his stuff to write somewhere else

there’s not really any conflicts in your relationship as jisung is well balanced with his emotions and who he is

there’s only moments where you get displeased with his lack of focus and him trying to take things too easy

and he gets displeased with you trying to get him to be more serious but it’s never anything big

will always apologize after with his arms wide open for a big hug and probably tickle you after

he’s best friends with your family, he loves them like they’re his own and is always telling them embarrassing little stories about things you do

when he can’t sleep he has you tell him stories because he loves hearing them and sometimes he’ll use your experiences for music

“hey. guess what” you’ll look up from what you’re doing and look at him while he has his face resting against his palms

“i don’t know, what?”

“i love you.”

ALWAYS does that out of no where. like it’ll be quiet and he’s like hey. hey. hey. hey i love you

it’s cute though

jisung makes you watch unpretty rapstar with him and especially makes you rewatch the episode where zico shows up (and like...you can’t complain..you love him so you persevere)

his favorite form of skinship is hugging you!! he doesn’t know why but just having you safe in his arms is really nice and you wrapping around him is even nicer and he always has a hard time with letting go of you

like his hugs last so long and eventually he’s squeezing the air out of you

“i don’t want to let go of you. you smell too nice.”

he lets you borrow his flannels and does not complain one bit

sometimes he buys them bigger than they should be just so they fit way longer on you because,, it’s cute to him leave him alone

if he’s feeling extra cheeky he calls you his love

you know that little noise he made when changbin made that weird face? he’s always making that noise because of you

fills his cheeks up with air a lot and whenever he does you peck a little kiss there for him and he instantly stops

jisung loves midnight snacks he knows he shouldn’t but like..he’s a growing boy..y’know

so he just tip toes out of bed and goes to get a little bit of food and you always follow right behind

and you both end up talking for hours while chewing on something light

those conversations are always the nicest because the sleepiness is making you both a lot more open and genuine than usual

always texts you the weirdest things at the weirdest hours

usually some weird fight video or those short instagram videos that make no sense

“i’m sure they’ll like this...wait. it’s like 4 am. it’s okay they can see it tomorrow.”

whenever he tries to kiss your cheek you just scoot over a little and he’s left puckering up to nothing but air and he chases after you until he is successful

back to my first point, he’s like the sun and being with him is so nice

there’s no pressure to it and you both have so much trust with each other

he’s very thankful to have you and will make it known through little things

jisung hopes he can keep a smile on your face and make lots of memories with you

#han jisung #jisung #why am i so soft #i love...him #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #scenarios #boyfriend jisung #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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buttersbots · 7 years ago

Text

Ficlet: Grandbabysitting

Rating: K Words: 1,301

I was sprucing this up and realized I had never posted it on tumblr in the first place! Have some good family fluff.

Also, for anyone who’s interested, I’m thinking about holding a design contest for Mel! She needs a new look to better reflect her parents.

Fletcher led Two into Mel’s nursery, a room full of pastel colors and streaming sunlight. The door to the balcony, carefully padlocked, was covered in scribbled pictures of trees and animals. The crib against the back wall looked more like a basket of stuffed toys, games littered the colorful carpet, and a short desk next to the holo console on the left held a huge drawing tablet covered in digital finger paintings. Fletcher shuffled around the room, straightening things out as he went. He and Asteri were leaving town for a friend’s wedding, Nos-4-a2 was gone on an assessment, and Toby was away at camp, so Two was taking time off work to watch Mel.

“Okay, this is her favorite book, and these at the top of her crib are her favorite stuffed animals. She likes to make sure they all have even amounts of play time, so leave them all exactly the way she does so she can swap them out. This is her favorite movie, and this one always puts her to sleep. Once she falls asleep, make sure to leave this music on ‒ if she wakes up without it, she gets really scared. If she asks for candy, just distract her ‒ she saw Toby eating and thinks all food is ‘candy,’ and she hasn’t learned that she doesn’t have a digestive system yet. She can’t be convinced so just gently remind her for now and try to give her a brightly colored power cell. Her journal is in the same file as Toby’s, so just make sure to record naps, walks, electrical intake ‒ ”

“I think I have it, Fletcher,” Two grinned.

“But I still need to show you ‒ ”

Two took her son by the shoulders. “Honey, I know. I see her every day, and if you’ll recall, I raised you, too! You never seemed this worked up when we babysat Toby.”

Fletcher frowned. “We never had to leave Toby when he was so young... and Mel is... different.”

“Mel’s barely a toddler, Fletcher. They can’t know that she has any sort of irregularity until she’s more stable, but I’m proud of you for worrying so much. The most important thing is that we treat her like she’s just a normal kid ‒ which she is ‒ and trust her to let us know how she’s feeling.”

Fletcher nodded solemnly. “It just scares me when she shuts down... it’s like she’s afraid of us. I’ve never met anyone who guards their emissions so carefully.”

“You know she loves you, darling, and she’s the fifth Energy Vampire ever. Of course there hasn’t been anyone like her before!”

Fletcher smiled sadly. “...That’s what I’m worried about.”

Two cupped his cheek. She had to hover a bit higher to look him straight on, but it wasn’t an assertive move. Her eyeforms were soft and understanding. “No matter what, you’ll love her the same, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“That’s all she needs! You can trust me to take care of her, too. I’m just excited to spend some time with my grandbaby!”

The hybrid sighed. “Thanks, Mom.”

Two smiled and kissed his cheek. “Now, where is she? You need to get going!”

“Yeah, it is getting late... well, come on, Darwin has her downstairs.”

They exited the room and followed the hallway to the third floor common room, taking the stairs down to ground level. They crossed the last hall to the den and found Darwin standing next to his and Fletcher’s luggage, Mel on one arm and his mobile in his free hand.

“Fletcher! I was about to come find you, the car’s going to be here in a few minutes.”

“Perfect timing!” Fletcher smiled, coming up to their luggage and lifting a bag over his shoulder.

“Gram!” Mel reached her hands out as Two hovered closer, making Darwin laugh.

“Mellie! Here, dear, I’ll take her,” Two reached out, but Darwin hesitated. He put his mobile into his back pocket and gave Mel one last hug, nuzzling the top of her head. Mel tucked her arms around Darwin’s neck in response.

“I miss you already. Promise you’ll be good for Gram?”

“I promise, Daddy!”

Darwin kissed her forehead and handed her over to Two. Mel smiled and put her hands on Two’s visor, giggling at how it made the white probe squint.

“We’ll call you as soon as we land, alright?” Fletcher lifted the handle of their rolling bag. Darwin nodded, fidgeting as he lifted his carry-on. They seemed to struggle more as they came closer to actually leaving their daughter.

“Don’t worry, you can take your time. Try to have some fun! We’ll be here all night, right Mellie?”

“Yeah! Can I sleep over with you Gram?”

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” Two laughed, bouncing Mel in her arms to make her giggle again. Darwin relaxed a little bit ‒ at least Mel wasn’t stressed about them leaving.

“We’ll certainly call to say goodnight,” Darwin smiled, stepping close and thumbing away a bit of dirt on Mel's cheek. Two began to hover out of the den toward the main hall, not sure that the couple would make their own way to the front doors. They followed behind her like puppies.

“We’ll wait to hear from you then,” Two hummed.

“And you can call us whenever you want, too!” Fletcher added, “Just ask Gram for our numbers.”

“Yes, even if it’s the middle of the night,” Darwin agreed.

“Mellie, are your Papa and Daddy being silly?”

“Yes!” the probeling giggled for the sake of calling her parents silly.

They all stopped at the front door. Darwin opened it with his free hand because it was the only thing left to do.

“Won’t you at least miss your silly parents?” Fletcher asked.

“Yes! Miss you, Papa.”

Fletcher stooped down to kiss Mel’s forehead. “Miss you too, little angel. You’re going to have a lot of fun here with Gram, though.”

She nodded vigorously and bunched her fists in Two’s cloak. Fletcher stepped over the threshold, and Darwin swooped in for one last kiss before following him.

“We love you so much, Mel!”

“Love you too, Daddy!” the little robot waved.

Fletcher walked backwards down the gravel path to smile at them as long as he could, his hands too full to wave. They all called out their “goodbyes” and “I love yous” until the couple left hearing range, shrinking toward the gate in the distance.

Two closed the door and looked down at Mel. “Alright. We have this whole place to ourselves, so what do you want to do first?”

Mel’s eyeforms opened wide as she considered the world of possibilities. She turned serious before leaning close, cupping her hand to Two’s audio receptor. “Can we watch the good cartoons that Papa and Daddy don’t like?”

Two pretended to deliberate for a moment. “You know... I think I might be able to allow that only if we make a pillow fort in the theater.”

Mel’s wings sprung out of her back and gave a few excited flaps as she shrieked in delight.

“You go pull all the pillows off the couches and I’ll grab the blankets from the den!”

Two tossed Mel like she was releasing a bird, and the little robot caught the air accordingly before hitting the ground running on her pointed feet. They split at the end of the hall, Mel turning left into the theater and Two turning right toward the den, both filling the house with matching giggles.

Two is hooking Mel up with some of that good sh*t. Like, her parents only really let her watch the equivalent of Disney Junior, and Two's whipping out Nickelodeon, maybe even some of that Cartoon Network. (My Grammy always let me watch the Good ShowsTM that my parents thought were "too mean.") So, sometimes, Mel will sort of shut down out of the blue. She becomes hypersensitive, can't be around loud noises, stops talking, stops making visual contact, and won't let anyone touch her. She actively avoids people during these times, which really concerns her family at first. They don't know if they're doing anything to make her react like this. However, they learn that it's just how she is, there's nothing wrong with her, and it isn't seriously affecting her quality of life. They all just learn to respect her space until she feels comfortable again.

#nos-4-a2 x eve two #energy vampire #darwin harley #fletcher harley #mel harley #eve two #robot rights propaganda #fletchwin

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themarginalartist · 7 years ago

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TWO PUNCH

HEY SO WHO WANTS MORE CREAMPUFF ANGST????

@spudinacup

Bendy launched forward in his bed, small eyes opening as wide as they could go, tears starting at the corner of them. He breathed heavily, trying to still himself, shaking something fierce. It was just a dream, only a dream, right?

There was a sudden flash of light that illuminated the room, followed but a slowly growing rumble that turned deafening. Bendy clutched the sides of his head to cover his ears. It was so loud! He scanned his bed trying to find the teddy bear that Henry had gave him when he had first brought him home. Though the plushie was nowhere to be found. Maybe it had dropped off the bed?

Bendy quietly removed the blanket, realizing he was a bit big having grown in his sleep, and shrunk down to the child size he generally stuck to. He looked over both sides of the bed, but found nothing. Had the bear somehow moved under the bed? He hopped off, and got on all fours. Another flash of light with the loud rumble that followed caused him to cover his ear again. Spotting his bear he quickly grabbed it and stood up, however, moving a bit too fast he bumped his side table and the lamp that was set on top fell over, shattering nearby as he jumped away from it.

Nothing had hit him, but with everything going on he curled in on himself and shivered. Suddenly his main light flicked on, causing him to blink rapidly. Upon spotting Henry in the doorway he ran over and hugged his leg gently but tightly.

“Hey hey are you alright what’s wrong?” Henry asked. The light in his room flickered, followed by another resounding crash. Bendy hugged Henry a slight bit tighter shivering from the loud noise. Henry looked down at the muscular ink demon attached to his leg for a moment before his sleep addled brain put two and two together. “You don’t like the loud noises do you?” Henry asked out loud. A small nod from Bendy was all he needed to confirm this.

Henry looked over to the shattered glass nearby the bed and back down to Bendy who was clutching his bear. Henry blinked when he realized the bear’s arm had a small tear in it, not enough that the arm was threatening to come off but enough that it needed a repair. He knelt down to Bendy’s level.

“Hey how about you sleep in my room tonight. It’ll be less scary in there. And it looks like we are going to have to repair your bear tomorrow, good thing I have a friend in town that can help us. But for now, let’s get some sleep okay bud.” Henry gently picked up Bendy who was looking sadly at his bear and pulled him into his room. Shutting the door gently behind himself, he placed Bendy on the bed and the teddy bear on the bedside table.

“Just so we don’t accidentally tear him more okay bud, but he’s gonna watch over us to make sure nothing bad happens.” Henry answered to Bendy’s confused look. Bendy nodded and patted the bear before turning back to the bed and watching Henry climb in. “Alright goodnight Bendy.” Henry said as he turned out the light. Just then another flash of light and rumble filled the room causing him to cling to Henry’s chest. Henry chuckled slightly before rubbing his back. Eventually the two drifted off to sleep.

They had finished a light breakfast not that long ago and as Henry promised they were heading out to see his friend in town about fixing his bear. Henry had given up on the idea of trying to disguise him as soon as he had realized that Bendy’s permanent smile was going to give him away.

It was only a few minutes longer before they pulled up in front of a store called ‘Dan’s Toy’s and Games’. Climbing out of the vehicle the two entered the toy shop, Henry leading the way to the desk where a grizzly, muscular man sat behind whittling a chunk of wood into what was surely to become a new toy.

“Welcome to Dan’s, what can Dan do for you?” The man asked without looking up.

“Hey Dan, it’s been a little while.” Henry greeted, Bendy stayed close to Henry, while excited by all the brightly painted toys he was focused on getting his teddy fixed.

“Ah Henry! It’s been a while friend. I would not have expected you to visit us here!” The burly man put down the knife and wood he was working with and stood up leaning over the counter and tightly wrapping Henry into a bear hug.

“Ah it’s good to see you too! And Dan’s still working here too?” Henry asked after he was released.

“Yes yes, he’s taking care of his children today though, Danielle and Danny. My brother has been busy since we last saw each other” Dan smiled as he laughed.

“And how’s your cousin, Na-“

“We don’t speak of him.” Dan frowned.

“Oh sorry.”

“It is not your fault Henry, he just, has not been welcome in the family for a while now… But that’s another issue. What brings you in today? And… Who is this little fellow?” Dan finally noticed Bendy, who shuffled behind Henry’s leg.

“Bendy meet Dan. Dan, you remember that cartoon I used to work on? Well somehow this little guy was brought to life. But uh, don’t get used to him being that small. I don’t know how it works exactly but he grows and shrinks in size sometimes… But Bendy you wanna show him?” Bendy looked up at Henry and then to Dan before lifting the teddy bear to the man.

“Ah I see. I can fix him up for you.” Dan smiled gently at Bendy who handed the teddy bear to him. A few minutes later the bear was handed back to Bendy, tear in the arm gone. Bendy jumped up and down excitedly before suddenly growing and pulling Dan into a very tight hug.

“Ah I see this is what you were talking about Henry.” Dan laughed as Bendy released him and shrunk back down, holding the repaired teddy bear tightly.

“Yep.” Henry chuckled. “Alright Bendy let me just pay for the repair and we can head out.”

“No need friend it is on the house. Curtesy of Dan.” Dan smiled.

“Ah thank you so much Dan!” Henry smiled back. They left the store with one last wave back to Dan and stepped back outside. Henry instead of leading Bendy back to the car Henry headed towards one of the other shops nearby. Upon entering the shop it turned out to be some sort of diner.

“Hello what can I get for you?” The lady behind the counter asked, somehow glazing over the fact that Bendy was definitely not human.

“Two mint ice cream sundaes with a order of creampuffs please.” Henry asked pulling out his wallet. The transaction was completed quickly and their deserts were in front of them within a few moments.

Bendy was just so happy! His teddy bear was fixed, his favorite flavor of ice cream was in a sundae that was bigger than his head, and they had a huge platter of creampuffs sitting nearby. He was just so happy!

“SQUEAK”

“Huh?” Henry looked up from his ice cream and realized that Bendy had just made a sound. Equivalent to a squeaky toy. Henry stared a moment before chuckling. Bendy was just full of surprises.

So this was an elaborate prank that I set up, it was always gonna be cute, because Creampuff is a sweetheart and I love him and all his adorable shitpost self.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #Creampuff #my writing

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thedropkickmessage · 5 years ago

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Fisticuffs

I’m writing this not for any one person, especially that insomuch every one person that knows me thinks me insane. I can merely speculate on their thoughts of me, but with an educated guess I would think that they would consider me a madman, a drunk, or a drug addict. I am an addict, insomuch that I am chasing something with every hour of day and night, this I want them to know; but moreover I want someone to understand, if at all possible.

The first fight I was involved in, when I categorize thoughts and memories, was at a get together involving my old church. My old family church. But before I describe that, this thing I chase showed it’s face during a small accident. Such a small thing that bloomed into this madness that I can’t stop chasing, half in fear and half in fearful splendor.

In seventh grade, we had lockers at school like most. My locker number was 1137, and next to mine was a girl named Hannah. One day either I or she was running late, to hard to remember now, and as whichever one of us were scrambling for our papers and books, as she closed her locker door, struck me in the cheek with all her force of slamming it. It was not her door that hit, but rather her knuckles. I suppose I exclaimed, and furthermore I suppose she apologized for such an event, But I didn’t hear myself or her at all. Instead of hearing, I was seeing. It was as if some burning, terrible liquid had gushed into my eyes, causing prisms of wild color, and quadrupling every image I could see. Only, I wasn’t seeing the hallway of the school, but glimpsing what I could only comprehend (or poorly fathom, rather) as a wild void of images that seemed like some red negative, where Hannah seemed to be a sort of creature with an impossibly deep voice, and my hand wasn’t on the locker or clutching my bag, but was no longer there at all. I shook my head, and my vision was back, and Hannah looked very apologetic. At the time I supposed that I had blacked out, sure that no minor blow could cause a concussion of any kind, water had probably just teared up in my eyes. I think cartoons present this feeling as seeing stars.

Unlike any comedy or romance, I did never marry Hannah or fall in love with her, in fact I have no idea what even came of her. What I do know is that a couple years later, one Easter after church, my pastor told me I should come to his house, because a fight was coming on. I had no love or appreciation for boxing at the time; I had never stopped to think about such. But seeing as that was a time in my life where I was searching for and finding and defining my masculinity as every young man does in time, I sought as every young man does in time, to surround myself with with men in whom it was already defined.

I do not remember the match on television much, and it’s contents are not important to this writing. What is important, is that during either a commercial, or an intermission or for whatever reason or another there was a moment where the idea of sparring was brought up. Now, I was not the only young man or person at this get together, if memory serves well, there were quite a few. Somewhere along the line, a couple pairs of boxing gloves that were bigger than regulation size were brought up from a downstairs area, and soon there came the laughing and ha-ha-ing of the “boys will be boys” nature.

In all the laughter and excitement, mixed with the overall ruggedness of a boxing match and such, I easily got caught up in it. Some of the boys were older, and in so bigger than me, and I think pastor Jerry could tell what I was thinking, so he put the gloves on and told me to put the other ones on. There was a bit of cheering, and so happily enough I did. I want to be clear, pastor Jerry never tried to sock me. He would bat my hands away as I tried to jab. He also did this thing where he just held out the glove, and I would throw hooks at it, or knock it away. I cannot recollection why, as we rarely can with such silly things, but as he held his hand straight out, I darted forward, and in doing so ran right in his outstretched fist.

What came next was more pure and ecstatic than any addict’s plunge of the needle, any nymphomaniac’s orgasm, any gambler’s win. I never kept up with anyone who was there that day, and pastor Jerry is long dead by now, so no one could say what they saw me do. But with such vigor, and sweet taste on tongue, I can tell you what I saw, the best that I can.

I was shown something. I don’t know what allowed me to see it, or who, or whatever. What was shown to me bends all sense of reality, it shatters what we know about life, and shrinks even the largest earthly problems into infinitely infinitesimal iotas.

I felt my spine, from the base of it up go cold, and in incredible ecstasy travel up into the base of my skull, into my brain. The world that we reside spilt, or ripped rather, and I saw inside it, the inner workings of it. Large, rubbery pegs turned and churned like clock works, and I realized that this place was just right behind our life, our existence. Realization dawned on me furthermore, that I had been shown this before, in a feeling that I simultaneously felt for the first time and had forgotten. Time seemed to have stopped completely in this swirl of moments and and images, thousands of prisms danced dances and twirls all around. I reached for anything remotely familiar, and saw what looked like a bookshelf with several books upon it. As I reached for them, even they came forward as a wall, and I realized what was behind everything all over again. I saw faces, dozens or more that didn’t look like faces, perhaps faces wrapped in rubber or some bright silica, nodding approval at my presence, seeming to welcome me into this new knowing. These faces, attached to tubes, wobbled left and right as they walked, like Russian Matryoshka dolls. I had time to understand that these beings were the keepers of this where, when I began to see images that weren’t prismatic, images that weren’t new, but images I already knew. I blinked, and in so doing cried, asking, begging to stay, while I heard cluttered noises, voices from the outside, and a strong, warbling from from inside here say “Not your time. You shall know in time. We are time. We are time. We are…” and suddenly, the only voice I remember hearing was pastor Jerry’s, telling his wife Lucina to fetch a glass of water.

For weeks after this event I strained my mind in every way possible to remember what I saw and felt, through meditation mostly but also trying lucid dreaming. However, as more and more time went by, I began to forget what I was striving for; instead of conjuring any vision or focusing on a feeling, it became more of trying to remember anything that happened at all, like a man who remembers that he had a dream while halfway through his day, and then eventually not at all. When anyone mentioned the get together at pastor Jerry’s, which was sparsely mentioned, my mind absorbed whatever was being said and that became the only memory as like scar tissue. A road being paved over a pothole in the mind and memory; forgotten.

In this I exercise my right to anonymity, fearing that anymore detail than necessary will put anyone at risk for ridicule. I doubt very much that with as little detail as I have given in this strange account that one could or even would try to seek out these events. Suffice it to say that I continued life in some poverty, focused almost solely on my education, and in turn spent two years at a somewhat podunk community college, where I graduated with honors in English education, and moved on to a better known university with considerable less honors, in a sordid kind. I myself am not too much a victim to a party sort of lifestyle, but was not impervious to its pleasures at all times. This aside, I managed to graduate a completely average student, but graduated nonetheless.

Even so, for a few years there was still a bit of a struggle to make ends meet. There were no immediate teaching positions waiting for me with open arms, and so I managed as a tutor for barely more than the minimum wage. I had no family responsibilities so to speak, but still lived on a paycheck-to-paycheck basis. After around four years I was offered a teaching position for eleventh grade, however in a different city. After learning that they would pay for me to move, I accepted the position. The school was located inner-city, where the success rate was low and the crime rate was high. Still, I thought there with some success for two years before my world was once again ripped at the seams and everything changed for good.

It is at this time, where I can explain, as best of my abilities, how things came to be. As before, I had no family responsibilities nor ambition, and still did not make too much money. So like any struggling person with little responsibility, I set a fair amount of my funds aside for alcohol. I have never been a drunk, in the sense of an alcoholic way; no, it’s relevance is that to pass time, I would frequently visit a bar that was located right outside of town, as so to cut down chances for any unfortunate run-ins with any student’s parents. Like any normal person, I tried my hand at getting laid, but there were times where I would go just to have a few drinks and listen to music, as a band would play a few times a week.

One day, instead of a band there was a solo show, a middle-aged man with an acoustic guitar. For one reason or another that I’m still not sure of there came some bad sound suddenly, the guitar stopped and there were raised voices. The man with the guitar was standing, chest raised at another man near a table. I barely had time to recognize any curses when there was the sound of glass smashing, men grunting and a woman yelling in that shrill, dumb way when she’s caused a problem that got out of hand. Others got up, and I realized with dull, growing amazement that there was a sort of brawl transpiring. When I saw the bartender jump over the counter, my stare broke and I started to help pull people apart, as I didn’t want the establishment to get into any trouble for selfish reasons. I managed to pull two couples apart, and while attempting to pull a man off of another, his elbow smashed into my nose. I had a chance to barely register the pain as I stumbled backwards, and reached back to brace my fall. Instead of hard floor though, there was a rush of wind blowing my hair forward with force and the gut-lurching feeling of rapid momentum. I wasn’t just falling backward, it was as if I had fallen of the face of the planet with weights attached to me. In my view, I saw the bar with its neon and bodies shuffling stretch grossly long, the white cinder floor stretched so that it was an infinitely-long stripe in both sides of my eyes. I moved with such maddening speed that the air was being sucked out of my lungs like a vacuum.

Just as I had time to think that my lungs would deflate and fold upon themselves, my mind implode and my vision go black, I suddenly and completely stopped moving, every molecule instantaneously halting. If anything moving with such speed on earth stopped as abruptly, it would surely be ripped to shreds or flattened. Instead, I simply floated without moving in blackness, and my inner-monologue was gone. I was unable to form any thoughts. As I stared forward like a movie-camera, there was a sudden burst of purple light, that pulsed upwards in a tube, and moved quickly through to the tips of hundreds of dozens of sprawling branches, and again, pulsed from base upward to branch tip hundreds of impossible miles high. With each climbing, sprawling pulse my spine pulsed also, in tandem with the tree. Suddenly, I was allowed one thought, that I should not be allowed to see this. With this, a warbly, wet, metallic voice spoke, “There was always room, for you are you, and we are we.” I understood this voice to be taking up the entirety of every space of every universe imaginable and on, and also in my heart and mind. I was not allowed any other thought, and only heard once more, “There was always…” and suddenly I was rushing forward, past the impossible neon tree, past everything that has ever been named and everything that has not, with such speed I was able to squeeze my eyes as my spine and mind threatened to explode, I lurched forward with someone holding my hand. It was the bartender, pulling me up, thanking me. Some overhead music was playing and there were considerably fewer people inside.

I know that my words cannot explain or paint even a fraction of what I mean to tell. At best, you can only barely imagine through my details of these encounters. What I can express better, I think, is the importance I understood this to be. Because after this last encounter, I remember the feeling I had forgotten, this underlying knowing that I had been shown something like this before, that something had chosen me, from an entire universe of life, only because I am I. I simultaneously understood the insignificance of our day-in lives and strifes, and the purpose of my entire existence and the importance of it. I can only speculate why I was able to remember, perhaps it was my age, I cannot be sure, I only knew that I had a separate revelation: every time these Others had shown me the gift of their existence, it was due to being hit or struck in some way. With this, I moved ever closer to where I now am. Where I’ve met with you.

I did not go back to work. I knew now my destiny, and knew that children will always be taught, in one way or another by someone or, maybe even each other. I had no fear of lack of funds, simply because I knew that where I needed to go, where I had been invited, there was no need of such. First, however, there were a few mistakes made.

I know my tone will sound different here, but I’ve been writing this for some time now, and I’m desperate. After I realized that it seemed to me to be blunt force that allows me to visit, I tried many things. Do you know how hard it is to get someone to hit you? Sure, at first I tried to hit myself, but it doesn’t seem to work. Over and over I would smash my fist into my face and nothing! Then, as I sat to write part of this, I slammed my face into the table, two times. It didn’t work, it must be something to do with energy from another person, it’s all I can think of. I would go to bars and try to pick fights, but people just look at you strangely when you beg for someone to hit you, they look at you like you’re some writhing, pitiful drunk. I tried to join a karate class and a boxing class, and both take money to join and I’ve tried to tell them that I won’t need money there, not once I get there, and they just shoo me off, laughing or thinking of me mad. And so I’ve walked these streets now, and did you know that there are a sort who pay for the homeless to fight, nearly to the death? Bum fights they call them, and they’ve let me fall into the presence of the ones, oh I’ve seen things that I’m trying to tell people, because it isn’t just beside this existence, no, it’s behind it, right behind it, just maddeningly out of reach, and I’m afraid that if I do not get there soon, to that where where I am destined to go, that they will no longer let me in, that my window is closing so soon and suddenly, and maybe if pastor Jerry were still around he would hit me, but he’s been dead for years and so now I go around hitting people, just so that they will hopefully hit me back and I killed one homeless because he would not hit me hard enough so that I could go back permanently. It was his fault that he wouldn’t hit me hard enough, if he would have only not stopped then he would still be alive. I feel them calling me, beckoning me and no one else can hear it, and so I’ve written this so that you know that there is something else here, and yet I know you can’t understand.

The only place that I can think of that I know the beatings will continue is a jail, a prison. That’s where I will take my leave, and feel the pulse of the life-tree, and see the Other Ones and know of my true fate, and They won’t care whatever crime I commit tonight because it is They who beckoned me, and like the students I left behind, the ones in this world, the world that you live in will care only about yourselves and take care of yourselves one way or another, while I will finally go home.

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skriklim-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Soft hands

1/6

Angela doesn’t like babies.

She finds them smelly and annoying and they break her toys with their small hands and they scream and make a mess of her books with their sticky fingers, and Angela just doesn’t like them. She’s happy she’s an only child, that her parents’ careers are more important than giving her a sibling, and she’s happy with talking to adults and dazzle them with the things she learns in school. A baby can’t understand how smart she is, how easy it was for her to learn how to count to 200 while her whole class struggled, how she’s already fluent in reading and can almost write.

So when she’s ordered to look after her mom’s friend’s child who is just a baby she pouts and crosses her arms and stomps off to the bathroom, slamming and looking the door behind her. She hears the raspy laughter of her mom’s friend as she slumps against the door, hears how small and clumsy steps grows louder and how something puts its weight against the door with a yell of “ah-gel-ah!” She doesn’t like it and all she wants is to play games on her pad and drink juice and not have to look after a baby.

She’s a big girl, and not a child.

The baby on the other side starts banging on the door and jumbles a language she doesn’t understand and if Angela was a cartoon character she would have steam coming from her ears. A shriek breaks the babble as she hears how the baby’s mom picks her up and shushes her, and the second after her mother calls for her to come out, Böhnli. Fareeha isn’t scary, I promise.

The idea that she would be afraid of the small child is stupid, so Angela stands up and throws the door open and tells her mother sharply that she’s not afraid, that she doesn’t want the baby to ruin her stuff and scream.

“Ah-gel-ah!” The child hollers happily from her mother’s embrace and starts wiggling around, her small and chubby arms reaching for the older girl, and Angela lunges forward to circle her arms around her mother’s hips and burry her face in her stomach. A soft hand pets her short, blonde hair and the same raspy laughter from before makes her angle her face slightly to look at her mom’s friend.

She has long, black hair that’s straight and shiny and silky, skin that’s practically glowing on her smiling face, and a tattoo under her eye. She’s shorter than her mother, but Angela knows she is a soldier and that she’s someone she wants to impress. The woman smiles at her and says something to her mother in English, before turning her attention back to Angela.

“My german isn’t very good,” the woman tells her as she crouches, her arms keeping her child back as she tries to move to Angela, “but what is wrong? You don’t like Fareeha?”

Angela suddenly feels sudden shame, and she puts her face back in her mother’s soft stomach.

“That’s not it,” she mumbles, “I don’t want her to ruin my stuff or scream and babies do that! They do that all the time at my school.”

Her mother sighs softly and her friend laughs again.

“I understand, but Fareeha has no dirt on her friends and she don’t scream. Me and your mom has business to deal do and since you’re such a big girl, I would be very happy with you if you could watch Fareeha.”

She angles her face to the side again and looks at the baby, who is staring back at her with wide eyes and open mouth. She is a big girl, after all, and Fareeha is a baby, so maybe it would only be right if she helped her mother out.

“Okay,” she says softly and lets her arms drop from around her mother, “I’ll help you, Miss Amari. But only if you promise she won’t scream.”

Her mother shushes her softly and apologizes for her daughter’s rudeness, and Miss Amari releases her kicking child to stand up. She stumbles up to Angela on shaky legs and fists her shirt in chubby hands; the fingernails dig into her stomach.

“Thank you, Chnpoi, you’re such a good girl for helping us out.” Her mother’s praise brings a shine and a happy blush to her cheeks, and she tells them that she’ll read her writing homework for the baby because she got an A on it and her teacher said it was very good.

Both adults thank her, and she takes the small chubby hands holding her shirts and bends them away, but takes Fareeha’s right hand into her own and tells her seriously, “I’m gonna read you something I wrote. It’s really good, and my teacher loved it.”

Fareeha doesn’t understand her, but looks at her with starry eyes and shrieks happily.

-.-.-

15/20

“The cap’n’s kid is here, by the way. Did you see her?”

Angela is hunched over a medical text as thick as her thigh, and only grunts in response without really listening to the words spoken. She doesn’t have time to talk to diligents like Jesse McCree, but she’s the only one stationed on this base in his age and he seems to think that makes them immediate friends. It’s annoying, especially when she has a big exam coming up and she doesn’t feel even slightly ready for it.

“She’s as tall as a tree now. Towers over Ana, says she’s gonna out-grow Reinhardt. I dunno about that, but she’s mighty tall at least.”

She jots down a short sentence about the possible treatments for a disease she’s never heard of before, and looks up as Jesse puts his booted feet comfortably on her textbook.

“Very interesting, I’m sure, but can you not?”

He grins at her, his smile still boyish and his beard-growth spotty on her chin.

“Can I not what?”

Pushing his boots away with a little more force than necessary, she glares at him and earns laughter in return. She tries to continue her studies as he laughs and tells her to never change, Ang.

He continues talking to her without receiving and answer, but she doesn’t tell him off since he’s feet remain off her books and she’s excellent at tuning out certain things. The droning tone of his voice melts into the background, and it’s almost pleasant. Like a white noise, like the constant sound of the engine of an airplane. Angela almost likes it, highlights a certain sentence she needs to look closer at.

“She was with us when the cap’n taught me to shoot better, and holy smokes is her aim good. Hit the targets square in the center, boom boom boom! Amazing. You just know that lil squirrel is gonna be a mighty fine soldier one day.”

“I really hope not,” a voice interrupts, clear and raspy and full of authority. The two young adults stand up abruptly to salute, and Jesse’s stupid cowboy hat falls down behind his back. Angela sees how a tall, lanky teen laughs behind her hand; brown eyes mischievously gazing at Jesse.

“Good job, McCree,” she says and accented words, her golden skin, her long ebony hair tells that she’s Ana’s daughter. Angela dimly remembers a small baby long ago, who didn’t scream and hollered happily when she touched Angela’s hair.

Jesse huffs, crosses his arms.

“Shut up, Fareeha.”

The second-in-command strides up to them with long steps – her coat fluttering behind her, her hair falling like water around her shoulders – and the lanky girl behind her stumbles after. Dark eyes look over at Angela, and the straight posture Fareeha had sported before shrinks into awkwardness. She rubs her neck, averts her eyes.

“Miss Ziegler,” Ana starts before her mouth quirks, her eyes gets a glint of mischievousness to them, “or should I say Doctor Ziegler?”

She corrects Ana that she’s not yet a doctor, that she has a few years left, and Ana laughs warmly, waves it away and says no matter, you’re better than our certified doctors anyway. They talk for a few minutes of the status of the watchpoint’s med-bay, what can be improved, what needs to be bought before the majority of all agents will arrive.

Fareeha clears her throat suddenly and tugs at her mother’s sleeve, and Ana’s mouth opens in remembrance.

“Oh yes! My daughter was practically begging me to introduce the two of you, so Angela, let me present my lovely daughter Fareeha. You’ve met before, when Fareeha was still in diapers and you were barely out of yours.”

The tan skin on Fareeha’s nose turns dark and her eyes turn panicked, and she hisses something to her mother in Arabic with eyes flickering to and away from Angela. The commander hushes her daughter and takes a step to the side, says something with a sudden and sharp tone, and Fareeha takes a step forward while clearing her throat.

“Uh, hi! I’m Fareeha, but I guess you, you know, already know that.” She clears her throat again, and Angela notices how she’s already a head taller than her. The teen continues shakily, her words rising towards the end like she’s asking a question, “and I just wanted to say that you really inspire me?”

“Thank you, Fareeha, it really means a lot.” She reaches forward to shake hands, and Fareeha’s hand is a little sweaty but firm. “Ana never stops talking about you, so I’ve heard a lot of things.”

Her hand relaxes, but Fareeha’s stays firm around her own.

“Only good things I hope. And, uh, that’s all I wanted. To say. Mom let’s go!”

Fareeha turns around and storms away, her shoulder slamming into the door frame on accident as she disappears, and Ana laughs again. Jesse grins at her, sits down again, puts his folded hands on his stomach.

“It seems our beautiful doctor has our little Fareeha flustered.”

“Yes, I suspect my dear daughter has a liking to pretty girls, and this just confirms it. She’s been bugging me all morning about meeting you, and now that she did she storms off. What a little rascal.”

Angela sits down, slightly uncomfortable of a girl so many years younger than her harboring a crush on her, but smiles kindly anyway.

“She seems nice, Ana.”

Ana beams happily, puts her hands behind her back. She’s practically radiating how proud she is.

“She’s a good girl. But this little visit was purely for entertainment, and now I have to go back to work. Fareeha’s father will soon come pick her up, so I need to make sure she has all her stuff packed. Have a good day.”

The door clicks shut behind her as she leaves and the silence that follows is just momentarily, as Jesse starts yapping about his training with Reyes and the girls he had sending him lewd pictures and his unhappiness with the way his beard is growing.

Angela goes back to her text book, says nothing.

-.-.-

22/27

The club is pulsing with life and music.

Long shadows hides the people relaxing in booths and the dimly lit dancefloor is nothing more than a mass of moving bodies. Angela puts down her drink and looks at them in boredom. It looks nothing like dancing women and more like an ocean being moved by a raging storm, as not two people stand in the same spot for more than a second.

She wants to join them, to feel hands on her hips and breasts pressed against her own, but the woman she had been taking with her refused to dance and preferred to spend their date in a booth with her mouth going constantly, her hands waving, her attention on herself.

Angela sighs, picks up her drink again, and takes a large mouthful.

Her date for the evening was beautiful, but incredibly boring as soon as she left the hospital. Their chemistry in the OR was undeniable – where they worked as a team, as two halves of a whole, where flirty words and fleeting touches felt natural – but the air between them now was so stale it was like they’ve never talked before. She’s growing older, and the nagging feeling in her stomach that reminded her that she’s alone had made her agree to a drink or two with the underlying tone of something more after, but all she feels now is boredom and regret.

“– and so the chief asked me if I could come up with a solution, which I of course did, and that’s how I landed the position of Chief of Pediatrics.” Her date stops for a second, takes a swig of her beer, and smiles. “But enough about me. Should we go home to me for some drinks?”

Angela likes having meaningless sex, but the atmosphere between them isn’t tempting or full of lust, so she hides her clenched mouth behind her glass and searches for a reason not to.

“Listen, I think we should just keep this pro–”

A soft hand presses against her shoulder blade, and Angela feels the heat of a body beside her. She looks up and thinks for a split second that Ana Amari is standing beside her.

“Angela! Hi! It’s been too long!” Fareeha has grown broader, but is still tall and slim. Her hair is shorter, her hand has a long scar on it, and on her cheek is a tattoo as black as ink.

She has grown beautiful over the years, and something flutters inside of Angela’s stomach.

“Fareeha,” she breathes and stands up. The younger woman towers over her, and she’s nice and warm and smells nice as she engulfs Angela in a tight hug. Fareeha’s breath against her ear sends tingles down her spine, and Angela shivers.

“Want me to bail you out of this situation? Say you’ll join me outside when I pull away.”

Her date looks irritated as Fareeha stands up straight; her fingers tapping on her glass and her brow furrowed in suspicion.

Fareeha’s hand moves to her waist, and Angela shivers again.

“Excuse me, but we’re bus–” her date begins, but Angela interrupts her suddenly as she asks Fareeha to join her outside. She grabs her coat, greets her date quickly goodbye and says they’ll see each other at the hospital.

Her hand is taken by Fareeha’s scared one as she leads her outside, to the right, and into a small and dark alley.

The fresh air is cleansing, and Angela takes a couple deep breathes as Fareeha leans back against the brick building and fishes a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket.

As the shock of Fareeha helping her sinks away, she turns around and meets dark amber eyes and the glow of a cigarette. Licking her lips, she feels herself suddenly being nervous.

“Thank you for that,” she says and moves closer. Fareeha’s lips curls around her cigarette before she reaches it towards Angela, who accepts it.

“No problem, Doc. Saw you were looking a little uncomfortable, so I thought I’d step in.” She laughs and looks away, and the soft light that seeps into the alley highlights her straight nose, her plump lips. “At first I wasn’t sure if it really was you, since I didn’t see you a lot as a kid, but then Jesse told me that you were on a date-night so I took a chance.”

The alcohol she had too quickly ingested suddenly sets in, and she feels flirtatious and warm and nervous. Fareeha is a stranger, but a beautiful one, and she smells nice and she’s beautiful and Angela can’t help herself.

“So, taking chances means taking a risk. Did it pay off?”

Their fingers brush as she hands the cigarette back, and Fareeha’s right eyebrow quirks as their eyes meet.

“I think so, yes.”

They stand like that for a little while, just looking and smoking, before Angela feels the need to grab and pull and kiss, and she decides to move to stand beside Fareeha instead of in front of her. The building is cool against her jumper, and she crosses her arms across her chest.

“So, Jesse’s here tonight?”

“Nah, but he’s a quick texter, and I highly doubt he would fit in on a party full of lesbians.”

A laughter bubbles from Angela’s mouth, and as she turns to sneak a peek at the taller woman, she meets Fareeha’s eyes.

She swallows nervously and licks her lips. Fareeha’s eyes follows her tongue, and she mimicks the motion.

“So what are you doing here tonight? I think I heard Ana talking about you being stationed in Kairo?”

Fareeha tells her shortly that she was on leave for a week to go to a wedding, that she needed some time away from all doting couples and heterosexuals, that she just wanted to release some steam. She throws the butt of her cigarette deeper into the alley, laces her fingers with Angela’s.

Angela doesn’t notices as they lean closer until they’re almost nose to nose, until she feels a breath that smells of beer and cigarette on her lips, until Fareeha’s eyes starts slipping closed and a thumb strokes the outside of her finger.

“Why are you here, though? You didn’t seem to be interested in that woman in your booth.”

Fareeha promises a night with no strings without saying the words, and the doctor knows that what happens in the next following hours won’t mean anything. They both are adults, they both want the same thing, and Angela takes a decision, says “I want to blow off some steam,” and closes the distance between them.

-.-.-

31/36

Fareeha hushes her with a soft kiss to her thigh, and Angela writhes and feels tears leak from her eyes as the pleasure becomes too much.

Firm arms circled around her thighs keep her hips flat against the matress, lips seek out the sensitive place between her legs that pulses and aches, and Angela moves one of her hands into the soft tangle of black hair that adorns Fareeha’s head. Fareeha hums in encouragement when Angela clenches her hand into a tight fist, speeds up her tongue and moves her hands down the skin of her legs to her hips and presses her fingers softly against the bone.

A pitiful groans slips from Angela’s lips before she bites down on the knuckles of the unoccupied hand. She’s loud and always has been, and it’s embarrassing to be so vocal when her lover is so silent and still, but her attempt to stay silent is quickly ended as Fareeha lifts her head for a second to look at her, leaving her aching and wanting. Her hips pushes against the hands holding them down, seeks closeness and warmth and the mounting pleasure now slipping away from her, drawing an amused chuckle from Fareeha’s grinning mouth.

A soft hand replaces the tongue that was there second ago to keep her on the edge as Fareeha crawls up her body. Angela swallows and bites her lips and throws her head from side to side as pleas of mercy tumble from her mouth, and Fareeha leans down to kiss them away.

The hand touching her moves to take her hand instead and Angela feels pressure as Fareeha lines up the toy she has strapped between her legs to her entrance.

Their joined hands are moved up to rest beside Angela’s head, while Fareeha’s other hand gently moves a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Fareeha tells her with a low murmur as she pushes inside, her breath cool against Angela’s gasping mouth, her hand firm in Angela’s shaking one.

Words have escaped her and she begs in return; calls Fareeha’s name like a prayer, like a psalm. She’s been on the edge of release for what felt like hours, days, months, and Fareeha had kept her there with soft hands and skilled lips, and her muscles ached and her head swam and she was so close.

Fareeha’s hips speed up as Angela’s cries grow in strength and frequency, and Angela forces her eyes open to look at her lover’s face.

You’re so beautiful, she thinks as a bead of sweat falls from Fareeha’s sharp nose, I love you so much.

The following thrust is a little harder as Fareeha’s face turns bashful, and Angela realizes that she must’ve said her thoughts out loud. She doesn’t care, Fareeha deserves to know how good she is, how beautiful and fantastic and perfect she is, and Angela sees it as a blessing that she’s the one that gets to tell her.

She comes quickly and sharply, her hips canting up to meet Fareeha’s and stays close, her legs shaking and eyes pressed close and head swimming of love and adoration and images of Fareeha Fareeha Fareeha. It comes and goes in waves, feels like it’s going on forever, and she comes down to Fareeha kissing her forehead and pushing the hair plastered to her face away. The toy is discarded on the floor shortly after and they fall in each-other’s embraces, hands stroking languidly, hearts beating in what must’ve been tandem.

She had taken care of Fareeha first and knows very well that she on most nights only can take one really good orgasm, but the temptation is too great and she slides a hand down Fareeha’s flat stomach, pulls her head back to search for a sign of consent.

A kiss as soft as silk meets her lips, a large hand takes her own as her unoccupied hand meets heat and wetness, and Angela feels good.

She feels okay.

#pharmercy #quickfic #fic #original:http://archiveofourown.org/works/10853877 #rocket angel #last part is M so don't read if in public place

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