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zeldasayer · 5 years ago

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Futile Devices — Chapter 5

A Javier Peña/Call Me By Your Name AU

gif by @pascalplease

Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Everything has changed since your father’s book with Javier was rejected, just as you and Javier were getting close.

Warnings: SMUT — age gap (reader is of age), inexperienced!reader themes, gagging, praise (use of “little girl”), vocal Javi, squirting. Angst. 18+

Masterlist | Chapter 4

——

Vita Murphy was born on April 9th 1963 in Milan, Italy to American architects Connie and Steve Murphy, who met your mother by chance one afternoon at a market in town. Taking a liking to Connie, Daisy invited her and her husband to one of their legendary parties. Your mother and father loved to entertain and invite interesting people into their home for cocktails and Daisy's delicious cooking. Your parents celebrated every holiday, birthday, or life event they could think of, any excuse to dress up, string lights through the fruit trees in the back yard and drink in excess to your father's extensive record collection. As a child, you missed most of the parties, having been put to bed just as they were taking off, but when Connie and Steve arrived to your mother's 35th birthday after meeting in the market, and saw you sitting alone at your piano, Connie knew that next time she would bring her daughter.

Even at 13 you felt the pull that Vita had. You watched as she floated around your home, seeming even more comfortable in it than you were, stealing sips of wine and hors d'oeuvres before noticing you and asking if you had ever had your tarot cards read.

"It's my favourite game." You spat out nervously unaware.

Vita just smiled with a nod, "Yeah. Mine, too."

And from then on, you were inseparable.

"She didn't cry, she sang!" Connie always said about her daughter's birth. "It was the happiest day of my life."

Made in her mother's stunning image, Vita had the most incredible large eyes and long blonde hair she cut only once a year. Connie knew at a young age that her daughter was special, as a believer in the universe and the infinite lives a person could have, she knew her daughter was an old soul put on Earth to love and protect the new souls, the tired souls, those who were born somewhere and didn't know why they were born there. She knew it would be quite the burden for one girl, but she saw it quickly in her daughter that it was what she was meant to do. A healer, a listener, someone who understood what many feared no one ever could. Vita attracted those who needed her, and in that, unfortunately led to a large turnover in friendships. Vita was used to strong, short bursts of complete female unity, where she loved you undyingly and provided the support that you needed to pass through a difficult period of your life. But not with you, there was no passing through with you. Not even during your extended stays in the United States or even now that you are gone most of the year in college, could your friendship be weakened.

"It's because you were siblings!" Connie exclaimed in a tipsy state on a summer night long ago. "In another life."

"Do you think?" Vita asked, turning to you.

You believed in Vita and her mother's cosmic knowing, and relied on it more than you were willing to admit. "Of course."

"You were brother and sister." Connie said before taking a sip of her wine, and going quiet.

She always goes quiet — one moment she will tell you how your whole life is going to be and the next, just as she's about to get into the details, she switches off without any explanation, claiming she "doesn't really know this stuff, anyway."

It always makes Vita roll her eyes, because she knows that's not the case for she is just like her mother. Vita saw everything and found people she couldn't read extremely frustrating. Vita has this otherworldly understanding of people and a patience unmatched by anyone you have ever met. She knows how devastating it can be to be seen, but how crucial in life it is to not only be understood, but accepted. Vita also knew how often you spent up in your head, in your make believe world where nothing could hurt you. How your lust for life was so consuming it left you unable to move, too afraid to start because it always felt like you were doing it on your own. Your best friend once told you with tears in her eyes that she wished she knew what planet you were from so you would have the peace of mind that you weren’t completely alone, and you thanked her because sometimes that is enough.

Vita is the human embodiment of home.

So why can't you tell her what is going on? Why does your throat close up every time you want to talk about Javier in any capacity? Why does your throat close up when you think about Javier at all? A part of you wants to run barefoot straight to Vita’s house and up to her room, beg her to help you understand your own emotions. Why are you so enamored by a man who always makes it so hard to breathe? How he manages to make you so hyper aware of your movements, yet he isn't even looking at you. How he's never there when you want him but you would drop everything to be close to him once more. You would drop everything just to be what he wanted again and it makes you sick to your stomach. It's like watching yourself at 15 all over again, when you believed the most important thing you could be was desired. Hell is the mind of a fifteen year old girl, and you thought those days were gone forever.

The tension in the house doesn't make it any easier. You and Daisy tiptoeing around your father and house guest. The quiet meals, that used to be your favourite parts of the day now leave you cold even in the relentless summer sun. You spend most of the time, sitting across from Javier, staring at him. Waiting for him to look at you so you can ask him what's wrong with your eyes. To let him know that he can come to you, that you want him to. But he never does.

Christian and Javier lock themselves away in the library most days and your mother tells you they still haven't come up with anything new. You're startled every night when you're woken by their raised voices traveling through the halls and you hold your breath until you hear their roaring laughter and you know they must be drunk.

You don't see Javier much these days, but you don't see anyone for that matter. Resorting to lazy floats in the pool by yourself or reading alone in the cool living room to escape the heat. It feels as though, if you can't be around Javier you can’t be around anyone at all and sometimes you can make that make sense but most of the time you ignore the irritating notion that you may really be going crazy.

But what was supposed to happen? Javier would fuck you and realize right then and there he couldn’t live without you? It’s so embarrassing because it’s true. You can't talk to Vita because you're embarrassed to admit you wanted to be more and tonight after another lonely dinner where you might as well have been eating alone — you dumped your dishes in the sink and slipped out to the back gardens for your abandoned childhood swing set. And you finally cried.

“Fuck!” You scream up at the sky and you kick your legs back.

As you create your momentum, swinging back and forth you can’t help but succumb to your own erratic emotions and you wonder why it has to be this way. Why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Why must you always need more? Why is it so goddamn exhausting to keep yourself neutral? You’ve never felt sad, only despair. Never angry, only full of rage. You’ve never been embarrassed, you only know humiliation. And you hate to think this way because you always search for your brain for a time you were truly happy, but you always come up empty.

Something is always missing. Something is always missing and you’re always alone but you can’t even be upset because you do it to yourself.

It feels like you’re taking the world on by yourself simply because you are. Because you feel like you need to, this is your burden and yours only. You must suffer to be rewarded for one day you will be able to walk in the sun and be alright.

But to what end? When will you be rewarded?

You want it to be Javier. Just being close to him feels like the reward. The energy you feel just sitting next to him, those eyes you want to swim in, the perfect angle of his nose and the voice that drips from his lips. It must be him, but he won’t even talk to you.

You spend the evening locked in this thought, the concept of the reward — you can convince yourself it isn't real but your heart aches for it knows it is the truth. Which is why Javier is so difficult. He is the one and it makes you dizzy with excitement, but you’re not sure if you can trust it. There is this pull of doubt at the corners of every thought because he still doesn’t know you. Though he could. If he just said the word, you’d spill every story, every thought, every idea you’ve ever had. How you long for more. More life. More love. More sex. More understanding. To truly be alive, not just living. Who could understand that better then him?

——

You like the way the cold ground feels under your bare feet as you walk back up to the house in the darkness. You feel lighter, now that you’ve cried and the house that sits quiet and empty is suddenly comforting. This is your life, your home. Javier is just a tourist and he should be so lucky to exist in the same space as you. But maybe this is you just channeling arrogance as to not be so sad, focusing on what he’s missing instead of your desperate need for him to actually see it.

“Claude?” You hear from the living room at the first creak of the wooden stairs.

You tiptoe through the corridor and into the living room to find Javier taming his fluffy hair with a yawn. Your jaw tightens.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I fell asleep.” He says and you just stand there, crossing your arms over your light blue summer dress. “Can you come sit?”

Shit.

“I don’t know Javi, I’m tired.” You shrug.

“Look, I just want to apologize.” He says, standing up and turning toward you, “We had sex and I haven’t spoken to you since and that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t see because he looks down like he’s ashamed. You believe him. Gliding across the living room, you watch him in his usual ensemble — tight black t-shirt, soft cotton pants and his thick black framed glasses, and sit back down with him, on your side.

“It’s just everything with this book, I’ve never felt this kind of anxiety.” He says, his eyes cast down, resting his head on his fist propped up by the top of the couch.

You nod for you understand, but it hurt. “You didn’t even look at me this week.”

“I know.” He sighs, “I know, but I really am sorry. Please believe me when I say I’ve missed you.”

You look up at him, biting your cheek to contain your excitement.

“I miss you even while we live in the same house.” He says, looking away. His hand fidgets against his knee. “If you’re not at breakfast, or you spend your day here, reading in the living— I miss you when you aren’t around me.”

You wish there was a way to burn these words into your brain so you could have them at any time, to hear his voice say these things to you. This validation that he has felt the same after these long, horrible days of practically ignoring each other.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you turn Javier’s gaze back to you, and study him as you feel the fine hairs of his beard under your fingertips. He looks tired, even behind his glasses you can see the deep longing for rest in his eyes. You don’t think he’s used to rejection either.

Javier leans into your touch with a soft hum and you could almost lose your breath from the tenderness. You want to hold him, bury your nose in his hair and tell him to rest with you. Just laying together, his big body between your legs and head on your stomach, until the inevitable rising of the sun. You can hardly bring yourself to imagine how beautiful Javi must look by the light of the morning.

“Come here.” You whisper, though it’s barely audible, as you rise up on your knees so you are flush against his side, looking down at him. Before you kiss him, Javier kisses you, and your hand floats down from his cheek to wrap your arms around his glorious neck.

Javi wastes no time, his one big hand dragging up your spine to squeeze the back of your neck, holding your against him. And with the other, letting his thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel the desperation in his skin, and you want all of it, this exquisite juxtaposition of feeling both safe in his arms but that he could also crush you with his desire.

What was life before this? Before Javier’s thick moans into your mouth, his heavy wet finger tips tracing. He takes up all the air in the room and you don’t stop him. He is everything.

You break off the kiss for a moment and remove his glasses. “I missed you too.”

“I’ve only touched you once, but I have spent every day thinking about you. Kissing you. Having you.” He says, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “It’s all I’ve wanted, every day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me.” You ask, and you can’t help the confused look on your face but Javier doesn’t respond. You search his face anyway longing for something heartfelt, like he was locked up in his head, consumed by his feelings for you, like you were. Instead, he kisses you again. Swallowing any upsetting feeling you’ve had since you’ve touched him last.

Kissing Javier is a soft pleasure all in its own, but you want more. More skin. More contact. To ache around him again. To show him how much you truly missed him.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper, your palm trailing flat down the man’s chest. You get lower and lower, kissing along the beautiful exposed skin of his neck, dragging your hand down the soft black fabric until you reach the drawstring of Javi’s pants.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you feel his body stiffen as he looks around.

You nod, pushing your legs out from underneath you so you’re laying flat on the couch, your face practically in his lap. “Just relax.”

Javier lets all the air escape from his chest as you pull on the pants and he lifts his hips so you can get them down his thighs.

He watches you with heavy eyes, his mouth falling open as you kiss up the underside of his length, hardening under your lips. Swirling your tongue around the tip, you rest your head on Javier’s lower abdomen lazily, feeling him grow even more in your hand as you stroke him.

“Shit..” He says through his teeth, smoothing your hair back out of your face for you.

You continue to take your time teasing him. Humming in delight as Javier can barely contain himself, thrusting up into your hand shamelessly. He keeps his eyes closed, hands in your hair and you can feel the relief radiating from him. He was desperate for touch.

“Oh, Javi.” You coo, as his head falls back on to the couch, fucking up into your hand and you swear you can hear him whimper. This feeling of power over Javier is absolutely intoxicating, to feel so disconnected from him all week then to have him almost pathetically trying to relieve himself with any bit of human contact you’ll allow him.

“Look what you do to me.” He growls. “Fucking your ha-and...”

Javier reaches around, taking his length from your delicate grasp and pushes you lightly into his pelvis.

“You’re so fucking — soft.” He grunts, tapping his throbbing head against your lips before dragging his cock along your face.

You smile, letting him. Revealing your tongue for a moment to tease him once more.

“Thought you wanted to take care of me.” He says, his voice tight and you feel his hand in the back of your hair as he continues to run his length along your face. Grinning as his grip tightens, he doesn’t hurt you, it’s just about the control.

“I do.” You moan, as Javi softly pushes and pulls your head in a rhythmic motion, just hovering over him.

“Open your mouth.” He mumbles and you do what you’re told.

Javier motions your neck down, pulling you slowly over him, taking just his head in your mouth. “Is this okay sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You whimper around him, your thighs involuntarily rubbing together, searching for some kind of relief from the arousing pull of his voice.

“Yeah? F-Fuck your pretty mouth.” He grunts, thrusting up slowly, stretching your lips to accommodate his thickness. You close your eyes, focusing on the fullness, calming your breath to take him.

“Stay just like this.” Javier sighs, his other hand tangling into your hair to keep you in place and you hum in agreement. Then he thrusts — quickly like he’s actually fucking you and it comes as a surprise but the moan that drips from his mouth almost instantly is enough to make you squeeze your thighs tighter. You have never felt a high like this, being exactly what Javier wants.

You dig your finger nails into his thighs as he takes you, a blunt, bruising force to the back of the throat and you can’t help but gag.

“That’s a good girl.” He says, “Taking my dick in your hot fucking mouth. I love that sound.”

You gag once more and Javier pulls out to you gasping. Spit suspended from your mouth to his cock and you watch it for a moment before grinning up at Javi.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the saliva from your mouth.

“I’ve never done that before.” You smile, looking down slightly embarrassed as you wonder if you were even any good.

“You keep saying that...” Javi’s voice trails off as he pulls your dress up to knead your behind. You love having his hands on you, playing with you. “But you’d never know...”

You try to suppress your satisfied smile, flattening your palms around the base of Javier’s shaft, you take him back in your mouth.

“Fuck...” he exhales long and slow, grabbing a rough handful of your ass before pushing you down on to him, taking him completely down your throat and keeps you there. Your eyes water, and your leg kicks out before he lets you breathe again, coming up for air with a cough you look up at him and he looks down at you like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

——

Javier pulls you back up against his side, and he looks up at you as he’s slumped down into the couch. You wrap your arms back around his neck, fluttering your fingers through his hair and he nuzzles your chest, pressing his lips into your skin. You wish he was like this always, soft in your arms.

Javi hooks a finger into the top of your dress and pulls down, freeing your breasts, nipples hard in attention and he takes one in his mouth. Your cradle his head as he sucks on the buds and you let your own fall back slowly, relishing in the feeling of his tongue and his lips, the brushing of his moustache and the digging of his nose and how sweet he looks in your arms. This is too much, you’re going dizzy.

Javier helps you pull your dress over his head and his lips quickly return to your nipples. His big warm hands squeezing your bust harshly, alternating with his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh and completely pressing his face into your chest. Even as you climb into his lap, on top of him completely nude, his tongue doesn’t give up until you pull his face up to yours for a kiss.

He tastes like everything you want to drown in and it’s heady, like a force you must fight before it completely consumes you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck.” You gasp, grinding your hips along Javi’s length, desperate for more.

“Oh, god.” He chokes, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me this time, sweetheart?”

“Yeah..” You whine, reaching between your bodies.

“Yeah? You’re gonna bounce that wet little pussy on my dick?” His voice shakes into your neck, and it’s such a contrast from his stern “Get on your bed.” from days ago.

You nod, kissing up his jaw in this sudden codependency, his need to feel every inch of you as you both fall back into the couch.

“Relax, Javi. Let me do this for you.” You coo, sinking down on to him. You hum from the incredible stretch and Javier groans right into your ear.

“That pussy is so fucking tight.” He says, out of breath. “Don’t move.”

You obey him, stilling in his lap and Javier lifts his head from the safe space between your neck and your shoulder and he looks up at you.

“What if I just held you here like this.” He says, almost to himself, his hands coming up to your ass. “Stuffed full of my dick and I didn’t let you move.”

“Javi...” You whine.

“Would you still be my good little girl?”

“Javi...” You whine louder, your chest feeling like it’s going to collapse, Javier’s fingers digging into you and he gives you two small thrusts.

“You love being my good girl, don’t you?” Javier whispers, pushing your hair behind your shoulders.

More than anything.

“Yes.” You gasp.

“I know you do.” He says, guiding you slowly up and down. “Just sucking my dick made this pussy a dripping mess.”

“I love it.” You groan as the sound of your skin against his gets louder as you work your hips for him.

Javier looks a moment away from possession and it just fuels you, for you have him where you always want him and you want this to be the death of him.

You still again, but only for a moment to steady yourself as you get up on your feet.

“Shit..” Javier sighs, before he turns you both with your arms wrapped around him, his back now against the arm rest and his legs straight out along the couch. “There you go, baby.”

You reach behind you, finding your balance with your grip on his knees and you pull your hips up.

“Oh my fucking god.” Javier gasps, running his hand down his face and you push your hips down slowly, watching him and in this moment he is really yours.

Fighting through the burning in your arms and your legs, you give him everything you’ve got. Mewing in the pleasure of seeing him underneath you like this, needing you like this. Submitting to the grinding of your hips and the wetness that aches around him. You wish you could see yourself on top of him, your chest bouncing, skin glowing in sweat so he knows exactly what he could have, whenever he wanted it.

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” Javier says, his thumb dragging across your mound and down to your clit, that is begging for attention and the moment his fingertip grazes the sensitive nerve your legs clamp together. But he doesn’t stop. Even as his length falls from your body from the increased height of your hips, Javier’s hand doesn’t retreat from the soft thighs it’s wedged between. Circling your clit over and over, your arms buckle and you hold your breath. You thought you had the power but even on top of him you’re just putty in his hand and he knows exactly what to do to make you sing.

“Are you going to squirt for me again?” He rasps, his other hand pushing you down into his lap. “I want to watch this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

“Put it back.” You gasp, trying to force your legs open.

“Yeah, baby? Do you need my dick?” Javi teases, pushing at your thigh to open up for him again. He finally eases his dizzying pressure on your clit and holds you just above his pulsing head, slick with you. Running his tip along your folds, you try to sink down on to him, but he keeps you suspended.

“Beg me.” He demands. “You know I love the way you say my fucking name.”

“Please, Javi.” You whine, grinding your hips into nothing. “Please, I love your cock so much, give it to me.”

You push yourself up and fall forward so your hands are on his chest, “Please, Javi. Make me squirt again. Only you know how to fucking do it”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, pushing up into you sharply despite your yelp. “Anything for my good little girl.”

Javier pulls you down, flush against his chest, still clothed against your’s nude and he wraps his arms around you. He smells like amber and fresh linens as always. Summer. A sunset. The breeze off the ocean and wine. Safe.

His grip around you tightens as you inhale him, pounding up into you as he finds your ear, and his voice is like syrup, “I’m going to take care of you sweetheart. Going to make this pussy cum. You tell me okay? I want to see it. Want to see you fucking soak me. Don’t by shy, my good little girl. Give it to me.”

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You’re so fucking incredible. Taking my big dick in this perfect little pussy. Let go, Claude. Cum for me, angel.”

You groan lewdly and Javi’s hand comes down on your mouth.

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” He warns, and you sigh into his palm. Angel.

This pace is overwhelming, and as he’s restricted your limbs there really is nothing you can do but take it, trying to keep your thighs from clamping together every time Javier brushes that incredible spot within you. Your moans getting longer, from an even deeper part of your throat every time. Your core twists and tightens as he brings you there, unlike anyone else ever has.

“Javi, now!” You exclaim, barely recognizing the screech in your voice and Javier pulls out. His lap wet with you.

“Oh that’s a good fucking girl.” He says, kissing the top of your head as you fall to his side. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your house guest’s impressive length twitches in his hand as he strokes himself, his nose buried in your hair as you nuzzle his chest in hazy delight and he keeps whispering, “Fucking you is such a dream. You make it so hard not to just nut in that tight fucking pussy.”

You hum, lifting our head up and kissing him softly. “Cum for me.”

“Yeah?” He swallows.

“Please, Javi.” You sigh.

“Where?” He asks, stroking himself harder.

It takes all your strength, but you slip silently off the couch and on to your knees. “On my face.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He says, getting up quickly.

Javier takes your chin delicately in his hand, stroking himself with vigor with the other, and you display your tongue for him, feeling the weight of his cock on it instantly.

“Such a good girl, letting me cum on your pretty fucking face like this. I don’t deserve you. So fucking— pretty.” He groans, with everything left and in this moment you have him, again.

——

You wake in your bed, and you know it’s late because you’re hit by a wall of heat followed swiftly by disappointment when you realize you are, once again, alone. With your arm spread out at your side, you know you are going to be met with nothing but empty sheets and you still feel it at the pit of your stomach anyway.

You sit up with a sigh, back to normal you suppose. Another day of existing separately, but together with only your lost puppy sense of self and a fascination for this man to sustain you.

Then you see him. Javier leaning up against your balcony door with his coffee, wearing only his pyjama bottoms. He hears you stirring and looks back with a smile, “Good morning.”

——

Tags: @pascalisperfect @thefinalgurl @we-are-like-a-timebomb @ssppoorrkk @headsindreams @kehrite @nerdyknightwritersblog @tangledlove27 @chipotle-pour-moi @jokersdoll @zea-is-amazing @someplace-darker @kaylaylaylayla @spacenerdsebby @forever-rogue @fionnthebandersnacc @colourmeinblue @longitud-de-onda @dogsinspace @spitmillk @staellula @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @leo-moon @mandoandyodito @bonkybaaarnes @sadthotsonlylove @ah-callie @astrolo-galaxy @lockedoutofmyotherblog @hayley-the-comet @boybalm @casjason @mrsparknuts @blushingwueen @ignimbritetcax @benakenalove @fioccodineveautunnale @exrebelshocktrooper @pascalisthepunkest @sav-a-nna @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @solarwars @cumberbitching @rae-gar-targaryen @tabalugax @lokiaddicted @roxypeanut @ezraslittlebirdie @thisainttheway @none-of-your-bullshit @mand0-l0rian @assaultsofthought

Love, Zelda

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #au #call me by your name #cmbyn fic #cmbyn aesthetic #narcos

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wittykitty21 · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Together

//Shanexfarmer HarveyxFarmer Sebastianxfarmer??

TW !! Talk of self harm, suicide, drinking, abuse, death!!

Chapter Two; Warm and Cold Welcomes

As I walked into the Stardrop Saloon, Emily immediately ran over and hugged me.

“You’re here!! You’re really back! I knew it was you the second I felt your energy hit the earth here.” She beamed. I hugged her back, I felt so accepted and warm here. She began introducing me to everyone, including a hot lean alternative guy with black swooped over hair, grey eyes and dressed all up in black along with a girl with purple hair and dressed in a black shirt with a frog printed on it. I assumed he was Robin’s son she had previously told me about.

“Heyyyyy Guns n Roses, nice taste. I’m Sebastian and this is Abigail. Abigail smiled and waved a little shyly at me. Sebastian continued,“ Sure mom’s told you about me. What’s your name?” he looked flirtatious towards me, but before I could tell him, a flash of blonde hair ran over to me and i was immediately lifted at least two feet off the ground into a hug.

“EVIEEEEE!!!!! I can’t believe its you!! We have so much catching up to do since we last made mud pies together. ” He smiled and put me back down. Me being slightly startled from his energetic golden retriever personality. Sebastian was laughing at the startled expression I had.

“Awww Sam, missed me pushing you over and you crying when I beat you in video games? “ I smirked.

“You know it! I’ve gotten pretty good over the years, you owe me unlimited rematches. And - Hey, I don’t think you’ll be able to push me over anymore, short stack. “ Sam was around 6′0 ft, and I had stayed at a measly 5′3 and a HALF since I was 13. I was happy Sam was the same overly optimistic ray of sunshine he had been since a kid.

“Jeezzzz Sam give her some breathing room. Sorry about him, he’s always like this” Abigail chuckled.

Sebastian slid back into the conversation, “So, Evie, is that your real name or is that your nickname?”

“Oh, yeah. I just go by Evie. My full name is Evangeline Eliza Jones-Destriu. I hate how long my name is.... and the fact my parents chose to hyphenate my last name.” I smiled weakly.

“Well a cute name to match a super cute girl with awesome fashion sense! “, exclaimed Abigail. “You have to show me where you get your clothes from.”

“As long as you show me where you got that frog shirt from, frogs are like one of my favorite animals.” I said excitedly.

After playing a little bit of pool with my new friend group, everyone else from the town started pouring in. I went up to Marnie, who was talking to Lewis. As I approached she immediately recognized me and hugged me.

“Evangeline!!!! Oh my goodness. You’ve become quite the beautiful young woman. You look so much like your grandpa. I’m sure hes so proud of you for taking over the farm. I’ll be here to help you as much as you need getting started. When Shane gets here you should say hello to him.”

“Shane? “ I squinted a little, confused.

“My nephew, you two were best friends whenever you spent the summers here.” she said a little worried. She noticed the bruise too, I tried to hide it behind my hair but I was starting to think it was inevitable.

“I’m sorry Marnie, I have memory problems. I’ll talk to you more about it in private when we catch up, but if you point him out to me I’m sure I’ll remember his face. I’m just not good with names. “

Marnie seemed a little sad that I hinted at the fact life hadn’t been very easy for me. “He’ll be here in a bit, he’s almost always at the saloon after work. He’s usually over there near the fireplace and bar. If you want you can come over for dinner on Sunday, I’m sure you havent had a good home cooked meal in a while since living in the city.”

I smiled widely “I’d absolutely love that. I was just telling Lewis today about how much I missed your cooking.”

As I said that, a man in a tattered up hoodie, dark black-purple hair, who was quite broad shouldered and had a dad body walked inside the saloon. He looked void of emotion and tired. Emily wasn’t phased by this, she smiled and treated him like everyone else in the warm happy way she did. He looked almost angry at her for her being nice to him. That’s when Marnie said “Well there he is, that’s my Shane.”

Maybe he just had a bad day, I thought. I thought about getting him something to eat to maybe cheer him up a bit. After all, I knew all about having bad days. So I walked over to Emily, and he peeked up at me, seeming annoyed. This built up anxiety in me, but my therapist said I needed to overcome my fear of upsetting people after all I’d been through. So I asked Emily,

“Hey what’s Shane’s favorite food?”

“Oh, he loves pepper poppers. Um.... Evie, hes a little..... rough around the edges.” she smiled “but he has a good heart. He has a goddaughter named Jas, and he took her in.”

I nodded, and she handed me a plate of the spicy food. I walked over cautiously to him, he smelled like beer and whiskey. I slid the food beside him and he looked up at me kind of dazed, probably from the alcohol.

“Hey, I’m new in town, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m-”

“What the fuck do you want? I don’t fucking know you, so piss off and leave me alone.” He spat at me and didn’t even look me in the eyes. I stood back shocked, feeling tears well up. Emily went pale, Marnie, Sam and Sebastian saw the look of hurt on my face. I immediately turned around and went back to Emily.

“Hey you okay? I’m sorry, he’s not normally that harsh. Here,” She said as she handed me a bottle of wine. “its on the house. I should’ve told you he’s uh, an angry person.”

I couldn’t speak, the feeling of panic and tears welled up in my throat and I knew it was visible on my face. I just looked at her and nodded. “I’ll be alright, thanks Emily. I just wasn’t expecting that. I’m gonna head home.”

I took the wine and Marnie tried to stop me and talk to me, she saw the tears starting to come down and gave me a quick hug. As I turned to leave I felt like i was being watched, and I locked eyes with him. A sudden wash of recognition and regret hit his face. He saw he made me cry and i knew now he knew who I was. He put down his beer and looked like he was about to walk over. I almost ran out the door, and started sprinting towards the forest with the wine in hand. As soon as I knew I was out of earshot, I broke down. I looked for the pond my grandfather used to take me to when I was sad.

---Back at the Saloon while Evie is in the woods, Shane POV--

Marnie walked over to Shane. “What has gotten into you? You grew up with that girl!!!! You made her cry after she wsa just trying to be nice to you.”

“I-I didn’t recognize who she was until she left. I’m going to find her and apologize, I’m sorry Marnie. I’m just--” he sighed. God. I always fuck up. He thought.

Marnie patted him on the shoulder “I know Shane. Just-- try to remember you’re not the only one who’s been through a lot. Okay?”

He nodded and left the Saloon to find and apologize to Evie.

--Back to Evie in the woods, Shane POV--

I sat down at the edge of the pier and downed the entire bottle of wine. I hadn’t imagined something so small would make me relapse. The alcohol made me feel warm so i took off my long sleeve shirt and kept on my large band tee. The bandages and stitches itched with my mistakes. So I took them off. They probably needed a little air anyways. The vertical cuts that were held together with thread still looked pretty bad and they bled a little as I unraveled the wrapping, but they were at least mostly closed up with scabs. Around the wounds were bruises from Daniel, my ex -fiance. I could still see the finger marks were he had grabbed me on my arm. I cried somewhat loudly and just laid and looked up at the stars for a while. I started feeling dizzy, and tired. And the comforting numbness washed over me as everything faded into darkness. I thought I heard someone walking towards me but I didn’t care. They could kill me and I’d die happy right there.

--Shane’s POV finding Evie--

I knew where she was going, the same place she went when she snuck out of her gradfathers when she missed her dad. I heard loud crying, like someone was in pain. It had to be her, I was already tipsy and quickened my pace towards the loud cries. Suddenly it stopped. Oh Yoba. Oh no. Why did it stop?

I didn’t want to frighten her, so I tried to walk a little loudly. I saw a figure laid out on the pier, close to the edge of the side, she was about to roll off into the pond. “Evie? Hey.”

No response. Oh fuck. As i got closer I saw the empty wine bottle, and i felt a pang of guilt and worry.

Wait. What the hell? I turned on my phones light and shined it on her, she passed out from drinking. But- what was......

I saw cuts on both her wrists that were obviously a previous suicide attempt, they were stitched together, but she also had dark bruises of all colors on her arms, and she had cried off her makeup, revealing a darkened eye as well.

I felt like I had just walked in on a crime scene. I never thought I’d meet someone more messed up than me, much less a childhood friend. What the hell happened to her? I tried shaking her awake and calling her name but she didn’t wake up. More panic and anxiety came over me. I picked her up gingerly in my arms to bring her to the clinic, she was so small and soft. She smelled like strawberries and vanilla. Shane studied her features. She had the same freckles, same button nose, same long eyelashes and dark hair as he remembered her having as she had when they were little. She was gorgeous too. How could anyone hurt such a beautiful fragile girl? What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking this way? Get a grip Shane.

I called Harvey, “Hello?” A groggy mans voice answered.

“Hey uh Harvey, the new farmer girl, she’s actually a childhood friend of mine. I found her passed out drunk on a pier and she looks like she’s already been in bad shape. I can’t wake her up, I’m bringing her as we speak. She already has stitches and-- She’s just in a really bad way.” Shane’s voice quaked a bit at the end of his sentence.

“Okay, oh Yoba, thats not good. Hurry here as fast as you can okay? I’ll get things ready for her so I can immediately work on her. Is she breathing? “ The words Harvey said made me panic more. Fuck. I didn’t even check to see if she was fucking breathing. I looked down and she was breathing gently and normally.

“Yeah she is, I think she’s just really drunk. I’m not sure.” I said back.

I carried her in, set her down on the hospital bed. Holy fuck. I hadn’t noticed how bad she really was hurt. She hid all of it with clothes and her long hair. She looked like she had been beaten over and over again over the past month. Even her eye and jaw had small bruises that had healed. Who did this to her? Then I saw the cuts. They were worse in the florescent lighting. Those were definitely on purpose.

Harvey looked pale at the sight of her. “Okay, here, see if she has any emergency contacts on her phone. I’m going to get fluids into her. Aside from that, looks like all of this was from previous incidents.” and he closed the curtain leaving shane in the little area next to the room. She didn’t have but a few contacts saved. One of them was Daniel, as I selected his contact I noticed the number had been blocked. The picture of him was a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, the athletic type. Looked like a general douchebag. A text came in from a random number.

“What the fuck? You think you can just run away from me? Restraining order is just a piece of paper. I’ll find you. I know you’re probably shacked up with some scumbag, you whore. Not even your father wanted you, your mom died and its your fault. You’ll never find anyone better than me.” It read. That had to be him. The whiskey helped fill me with rage, I typed the number into my phone and left to the lobby to call it.

It rang a couple of times before a condescending voice answered,

“Come crawling back already psycho? You should’ve done a better job at trying to off yourself bitc-”

I cut him off, “Don’t contact her ever again. Or I’ll fucking kill you.” I hung up. And blocked the number. Why was I doing this? She was practically a stranger to me now.

I shook my head and left her phone with Harvey. I needed to sleep. I’d have Marnie call Harvey tomorrow to check on her. I looked at her one last time before I left, I remembered we’d have sleep overs, and she still slept curled up on her side.

I went home and told Marnie, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Shane. I should’ve told you. Her father deserted her, he mother fell into drinking and killed herself. Evie found her when she was 18. Her grandfather died the same year. She has no one. I don’t know why she has bruises, but I suspect thats why she came here so far away from the city. Please be kind to her. ” She looked worried.

“I-I...... yoba. I had no idea. She hadn’t-” I said then Marnie interuppted me.

“She didn’t come here probably because I wanted to run away from whoever hurt her that bad.”

I hardly slept that night, I got up for work in the morning and looked at the clinic on my way.

I’m so sorry Evie. I need a fucking drink.

#sdv #shane x farmer #stardew valley fanfiction #stardew valley #stardew #shane stardew #shane fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #series #writer #stories #angst #TW #read with caution

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

Note

You what would be hella? An angsty-ish fic with the ice prompt. Your work is so lovely and well-written, I cant wait to read what ever you next produce!

Thank you so much for that, I’m glad people are excited to read my stuff! Since you didn’t specify a pairing, I went with Sternclay. Angst ahoy (but with a happy ending), along with me playing fast and loose with arctic geography.

He’s one of the lucky ones.

Joseph Stern, scientist aboard the HMS Erebus, is a fastidious man. He is also, unfortunately, prone to bouts of seasickness meaning his meals have been scant, even before the ships became locked in.

But it also means he was not eating food tinned in cans laden with lead. And his experimental water system, with which he occupied himself on long days, meant he drank more filtered sea water and ice than he did from the stores tainted with the same blasted material.

So when he and the remainder of the skeleton crew left the Erebus and her sister the Terror, his mind was much clearer than most.

And that is why, when the bulk of them turned a direction that likely held only more ice, more death, carrying a writing desk while leading freshwater behind, he refused to follow, insisting their best hope of civilization laid the opposite way.

They left him and his supplies, unwilling to listen to his case. And so he has walked, then trudged, then barely moved, across the ice.

When he hits water, cursed sea water, he contemplates stepping into it. But drowning would be worse than freezing, or so he’s heard.

A head surfaces in a hole through the ice. A mans head.

Stern blinks, confused. Then he laughs.

“Maybe I should take to the sea after all. You look well fed.”

The man frowns, “You look nearly dead.”

“I am.” He sits down, knees hugged to his chest for warmth.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry.” The man emerges from the ice, and in place of legs he has a spotted and strong tail, like that of the seals Stern used to watch from his cabin window.

“Unless you control the weather, I don’t think you need to be.” In any other time, the sight of a legendary creature would send him into a frenzy of delight and curiosity. Now he simply stares.

“Why are you here?”

“The Northwest Passage.”

“That’s, um, that’s a trade thing, right? Your kind wants to move the things you sell more easily across the waters.”

“You’re well read for a merman.”

“My home isn’t that isolated.” He shrugs.

Stern stares at the water, peeking through cracks in the ice, “So many dead. So many more will die, I’ve no doubt, and all for a quicker route for spices and gold.” He can’t even weep, his body won’t let him use the energy, but he shudders in distress.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. “ The merman slides to him, cups his cheeks, strokes his beard, and his hands are warm, warm and real, and Stern presses against them, “I mean, it sounds fucking awful, but that, um, that doesn’t sound as comforting.”

“I don’t mind the comfort.” Stern rests his hands on the man’s chest, then his mind gets a moment of true clarity, “wait, your home. You said your home is not that isolated. Is it near?”

“Um, I can reach it in a few hours but” he points to his tail, “that’s the way I can. On foot it’ll take longer. And unless the humans I know have been really wrong about some stuff, I think if you try to swim with me you’ll die, like, right away.”

“I’ve walked lord knows how far. I can manage a little more, if you point the way.”

The merman looks torn, then takes Sterns hands, “I can do one better. I’ll be your guide. If you’re closed off from the water’s edge, look under the ice.”

He slides back the way he came, surfaces a few moments later to Sterns right. So Stern follows him, sometimes no more than shape to his right, other times a ghostly shadow swimming beneath and in front of him. When night falls and Stern manages a paltry fire and shelter with his supplies, Barclay, as the mer calls himself, promises to return at sunrise, and does so without fail for the next two days.

As he trudges across the icy ground, the best moments are when his path allows Barclay to swim right beside him, head above water so they can converse. It’s worth the effort, the inhaling of cold air, to converse with another being. Better yet, Barclay is bright and friendly, curious about Stern’s research in a way none of his crewmates were. Barclay tells him stories of merfolk and sea monsters, even makes him laugh, in return for Stern telling him about life in England and his research into undiscovered species.

“They offered me the chance to study far off lands, discover creatures thought only to be legend. Silly thing to die for.”

“Doesn’t sound like you were the one who got the ships stuck. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn about the world.”

Stern’s rations have run out, and when he stumbles, Barclay doubles back, concerned.

“I, I need, food, I’ll-”

“Wait right here.” Barclay disappears. Stern counts snowflakes, heartbeats, anything to distract from the pain in his belly.

A fish hits the ice in front of him. Then it flops and wiggles across the slick surface, back into the water.

“Damn it.” He giggles, near hysterical.

The fish lands again, head now gone.

“Sorry, forgot humans aren’t great with live prey.” Barclay says sheepishly.

Stern eats five more fish Barclay brings him, manages to get to his feet and continue on.

Night falls, colder than the last few, and Barclay disappears with his usual promise to return.

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

“He’s not going to last the night, Barclay.”

Barclay turns, finds his friend Indrid in his human form at the door of his house on Amnesty Island. The seer gives him a sad smile.

“No. No he can’t. I won’t let him.”

“Barclay-”

“Indrid” Barclay grabs his shoulders, “do you remember when you found Duck? How frightened he was, how he was certain you were death coming for him?”

“Yes.” Indrid says, pain flashing on his face. He’d found the human, left behind by his research expedition. Duck had volunteered to stay behind and freeze, in hopes of his team having enough rations to make the nearest town if they were a man short. Indrid found him, brought him back to Amnesty, cared for him. Fell in love with him and Duck, after a few weeks, returned the sentiment with gusto.

“I can’t let that happen to Joseph. I can’t, Indrid, please, the last week, I, he’s unlike any guy I’ve ever met. I can’t let him suffer that way.”

Indrid’s face goes blank. Then he gives Barclay an unusually severe stare, “You have very little time, and you must follow my instructions to the letter.”

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

He’s going to die. It’s too cold, his body too weak. He is going to die alone, his family will never know what befell him, and he will never even get the chance to thank Barclay for his kindness, for making his last days bearable, at moments almost enjoyable.

Lord have mercy on his soul. Let it be painless.

All for nothing, for trade and money, is this end in the ice.

Have mercy.

He can’t see. His heart seems to slow. In the distance, something crunches on the snow.

Mercy.

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

“So this is the fella you took my boat and my dogsled for?”

“Yes, Mama, I’m sorry.”

The woman’s voice has a laugh in it, “You always did have a big heart. Guess it was only a matter of time before you brought some hard-luck human in.”

“He’s not just any human.” A warm hand brushes Stern’s hair, “I’ve never felt this way about a human before. A few other mers maybe, when I was younger.”

“Uh, Mama? Indrid says we got a ship comin in soon and we might wanna buy more’n normal.”

Why in the lord’s blessed name is hearing a southern accent?

He tries to ask this question, gets a groan out instead.

“He’s awake!” Barclays’ voice gets closer, and when he manages to open his eyes he finds familiar, deep brown ones looking at him.

“How...where?”

“Amnesty Island. My home.” He supports Stern’s head, helping him drink blessedly clean water.

“That’s...that’s not on any map I’ve seen.”

“And for damn good reason.” A woman with graying hair stands behind Barclay, “only those who need to know can find us, on account of the northern mers wanting some islands that were safe for them. Barclay decided you needed to know.”

“Thank you, Barclay. And thank you Mrs, um?”

“Cobb. But just call me Mama. Now, rest of you get, we need to haul supplies off that boat and Barclay needs some time with his fella.”

When the door of the small cabin closes, Stern reaches out, stroking Barclay’s coppery beard, “Why did you save me?”

“Because you’re a good guy. And, well, I care about you a lot. I like you even more. I couldn’t just leave you to die.”

This time, Stern weeps, with relief and exhaustion and the ghosts of his fear. Shivers even as tears dot his pillow.

“Shhh, shhhhh it’s okay, I mean it this time. You still cold?”

Stern nods and Barclay tosses another blanket on top of him in bed. When the next wave of tears clear, the larger man is down to long underwear.

“May I?” He points to bed, and Stern weakly lifts the covers. Barclay climbs beneath them, wraps Stern in his arms, body flooding him with warmth and safety.

“Been wanting to do this since that first day, but mer bodies aren’t great for keeping humans dry and warm. Kinda damp.”

“All-” Stern yawns, “all the same, I would like the chance to explore yours in more detail some day.”

“You got it.” Barclay hesitates, then kisses Stern’s temple, “but right now, time for you to rest. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Raw, decapitated fish aside, I’m a damn good cook. Any requests?”

“Eggs. Good lord I’ve missed eggs.”

“Think I can rustle something up. Heh, that tickles.” He chuckles when Stern rubs his cheek against the exposed patch of dark-haired chest.

“It won’t for long. I’ll be clean shaven as soon as I can hold a razor without shaking. You think I’m handsome now, just wait til you see me well fed and groomed.”

“Looking forward to it.” A kiss on the cheek, then snowflake-light on his lips, “ goodnight Joseph. You’re safe here, I’ll see to it. And I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

“Just like old times.” Stern says, only half-joking.

Another, tender kiss, “Yep, just like old times.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #angst #hurt/comfort #mermay fills

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hellofaer · 4 years ago

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sugar daddy! mario x cat boy! @shinsouplays

(not proofread)

mario used to have a happy life. keywords used to. he missed his best friend for life, luigi, who literally got scared to death. mario had told him he was concerned about his obsession with the haunted mansion but luigi just didn’t listen. his companion yoshi mysteriously disappeared after a big argument with his girlfriend at the time birdo. toad and toadette were tired of being in the kingdom all the time which resulted in them running away together. Mario missed all of them, but who did he miss the most? his wife- well, ex wife peach. he thought everything they had was genuine. until he found out that she was sleeping another man- that man was bowser. apparently peach was too scared to reject mario and was seeing a man in a lizard costume behind his back. she had used the “kidnappings” as an excuse. and he believed it. once he found out about her backstabbing he banished her from the kingdom, never to be seen again. he didn’t want to do it, because deep down in his heart the fire still burned aflame for her. but he knew he had to let her go, so he did. mario spent his time dwelling in the kingdom, a lot of the time being seen either crying or eating a lot of comfort meals. but because toad and toadette ran away, no one was there to check up on him. except for his old friend waluagi. it had been years since waluagi had seen his old pal and wanted to check up on him.

little did he know, that call would change his friends life.

brrrring! brrring! brrring!

mario ignored the ringing, his face smooshed down into his dirty pillow. he had cried the night before again, and felt absolutely no energy to pick it up. until it rang once more.

brrrring! brrring! brrring! brrr-

mario fiercely grabbed his phone and answered it without looking at the caller id.

“what the hell do you want?” mario asked in an annoyed tone. no one ever called him, why now?

it was silent for a moment and mario was about to hang up before he heard a gruff voice from the phone. “ah, hello? hello? is this, er, mario?” the gruff voice asked. wait a minute. mario recognized that voice. “WALUAGI?” he asked in surprised, sitting straight up so the blankets uncovered his hairy chest. again, no one had ever called him. he thought waluigi retired and lived at a nursing home.

a loud laugh erupted from the phone, causing mario to slightly pull the phone away from his big ass ear. “yeah! mario, how’s it goin? haven’t seen you, since.. er, the uh, peach days.” waluigi said, the enthusiasm in his voice going down at the end. even though mario was still sensitive about that topic, he was focused on his old pal calling him after years of no contact. he cleared his throat awkwardly. “er, yeah, i think so.” he said with a fake chuckle. “Why don’t i stop by the kingdom so we could chat huh? bring some of your favorite pasta, how about that?” waluigi suggested. he wanted to see how mario turned out honestly. people always spread rumors about how mario let himself go and became a downer but waluigi wanted to see that for himself. mario wasn’t expecting the offer though. mario usually wasn’t a self conscious person- again, until the whole peach situation- and he admits he got bigger and his mustache has gotten a bit wild. mario didn’t want his friend to see him like that, he wanted his friend to think, “wow, mario hasn’t changed since i’ve seen him!”

“Er, how about next week? I’ve got, uh, a lot of.. cleaning up to do! rabbits trashed the place.” mario said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. he feigned annoyance as if waluigi could see him. waluigi sensed that mario was lying, but shook the feeling off. “Heh, good luck with that bud. See you next saturday?” “next saturday, mhm.” mario confirmed, swinging his legs over the bed to slide his feet into his house slippers. “Got it. See you saturday, mario.” waluigi said gruffly, hanging up before mario even got a chance to respond. hearing a small beep, he threw his phone beside him and sighed. “It’s gonna be a long week.”

and he was right.

he worked out and got back into shape (listen ik that’s not realistic but it’s fucking fiction about mario and cat boy kouda alright) and even cleaned up a little bit. his mustache was trimmed and shiny again, and plus he fight into his old overalls and red long sleeves. he had a bit of brightness and life in his big blue eyes again, feeling new and improved. he had even made a little meal for him and waluigi. pancakes, bacon that was a little burnt, and some scrambled eggs with fresh orange juice. mario tried as much as he could to cook, as he was used to toad making his food. mario was just finishing setting the last glass of orange juice down when he heard a knock at the door. “coming!” mario said, hurrying to the kingdom door. he open it, revealing a hunched over old man in purple long sleeves and some overalls. even though his mustache pointed down instead of being high and pointy, you could still tell it was him.

“Waluigi!” he gave the fellow old man a hug. Mario would never admit it, but having arms around him felt nice and warm. “Long time no see, huh?” waluigi joked. they both chuckled, until mario pat waluigi on the back. “come on in, come on in, i made food!”

- time skip 🤩 -

“a what baby?” mario asked waluigi, confused. “a sugar baby. I think it’ll be, er, beneficial to you.” waluigi grumbled. Mario sighed, facing the computer in front of him. He was on http://SugarHoney.com, a website for sugar babies and sugar mommies/daddies to find each other. “How will giving someone my money benefit me?” waluigi laughed. “you won’t be the only one giving. they’ll give you love and support in return.” mario didn’t seem convinced, waluigi could tell by the “what the hell” look on his face. waluigi sighed. “Just look at the profiles, lots of cute boys and girls there yeah?” he suggested, leaning back into the chair. Mario sighed. “Alright.”

and mario scrolled and scrolled and scrolled. “There’s no one interesting enough here.” mario complained.

“Give it here!” waluigi said in annoyance, tugging the computer away from him. “That’s because you’re not looking at the premium people.” waluigi grumbled after looking at the profiles. “here.” waluigi clicked on the premium tab. the premium tab was exclusively for the, how should i say it, *interesting* people on the website. mario sighed, grabbing the computer to search profiles once again. a few minutes passed, and mario still hadn’t found anyone that interested him. his eyes were still glued to the screen though. “waluigi, i don’t think that anybody- mama mia!” if the 😍emoji was real, that would be mario’s face.

arkouda chisaki.

major.

loves pasta.

cat boy.

he had just found the perfect one for him.

——

arkouda was sitting in the drivers seat of his car with his friends, waiting to be next in line at wendy’s. “soo why did you decide to be a sugar baby again?”

sisi asked. “do you see how much money they make sisi?” even though the question was rhetorical, sisi shook her head. kouda rolled with it anyway. “a lot. a whole lot.” he answered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “I wanna be a sugar baby.” jailani announced randomly, obviously intrigued. Kouda sighed. “Lani, you’re a minor. You can’t do that.” “No no no, but what if i just support them from a distance with encouraging words and they give me money!” “I would much rather get frog stuffed animals than money.” Khloe added, holding her own giant stuffed frog. Kouda only laughed. He pulled up to the drive thru of wendy’s, putting his car in park. “Alright, what do y’all want?” Kouda asked everyone, scratching his cat boy ears (🤩). “A strawberry lemonade!!”sisi answered with a warm smile on her face. “Just a sprite please!” khloe said, poking her head in the middle of sisi and kouda. “Baconator!“ lani responded.

After he ordered everyone’s food along with his chicken sandwich and a cherry mello yello, he drove by a little spot in the woods he knew of. kouda got out of the car, holding the bags of food while sisi and khloe held their drink and lani held a pink and white picnic blanket. They all headed towards their usual hang out spot in a comfortable silence, nearing closer and closer the clearing. lani set down the blanket, mumbling about how if she feels a bug on her she’ll sob. sisi and khloe laughed, setting their drinks down where they were going to sit. “Bugs aren’t that bad lani!” sisi said, sitting down behind her drink. “Yeah dude, they’re adorable.” kouda said, setting the bags down in the middle. Lani rolled her eyes, ignoring the twos words.

soon everyone was happily enjoying their meal/drinks, talking about trauma, character anons, memes and shit about each other. yknow, the normal stuff. until someone’s phone goes off.

Sisi looks at everyone like 👀 because she put her phone on silent. khloe took out her phone and checked her notifications, but quickly put it back away. “nope!” lani shook her head without even caring to look. “my ringtone isn’t boring like that.” she huffed. kouda rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. he got one notification.

http://SugarHoney.com: You’ve got (1) daddy request! From: papamari0

#i love it here #do not steal!1!1!1!!1 #this took 3-4 hours

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mmjjbbaannkkss · 5 years ago

Text

2019 Dec 29 - 2020 Jan 4, Happy New Year

“The objective of cleaning is not just to clean, but to feel happiness living within that environment.” Marie Kondo

Week 4 (all slow)

Food requirements have changed, by muscle recruitment have exhausted myself. Friday was an insulin related shock, either physically induced or recovery insufficiencies. Or both. Having low-fat mornings is my way of trying to remove bloodfat before workouts, to avoid overheating, regulate body temperature, and focus/executive mental function. The low-carb evenings are a game of mental balance, which under two weeks became body shock. It’s similar to losing a minute of sleep per day, then the insomnia triggering paranoia, whereas night owls hit that wall decades sooner. So, before workout has become things like vegan chili, yams and fruits, greens ect, but forces a waiting window one hour, carbs can make me sleepy at the gym. Feeling better getting out of bed, but getting motivated could stand for a bit more coffee, or (ikno i’ve been hocking vit-b a lot) some pre-workout, just for ‘peak mornings’, but that could be a (dopamine) high expectations issue. Can’t be peeled everyday, just doing deep tissue or fascia work, in prep, to Work for results. The mirror is a reflection, depression is a projection, so be in charge of what you can control. And easy on the cologne, cubs.

#19 Heavy Push /lbs -

Treadmill 10 > Shldr Press *6/103050 > Rot incl press *6/(2)203040 > Facepulls htl *6/2025303550~ > BB Flat Bench *6/100*3~ > Incl DB Bench *6/404550 > Pec Deck *8/!*6/85100115? > Dips *8/888- > Pullover/down *8/303550- > Tric Pushdown *8/355065- > Abs *8/rev row 60708090- > Stairs 10 (last min knees) > Treadmill 10

Should I watch the new Rambo; this new active resistance workout is hard, why they mentioned long carbs well. Do not skip brekkie.

#20 Slow/Light Pull +pos

Treadmill 0/ stairs 5 > Lat Pulldown *6/LR25404040 > Palms-In Pulldown *6/100*3,120- > 1-Arm Row *6/35505050 > Pullover/down *6/203040- > Row *6/low 100*3 > Smith Shrug *8/50,100*3 > Delt Deck *8/facepulls 20253035 > Straight Bar Curl *8/2030*3 > Preacher Curl *8/3045*3-! > Alt DB Hammer *8/202530- instant? > Treadmill ? Stairs mainstay.

Boots, good. Make sup.

/notes/ A diagram of stairs, to indicate plateau effect. Normalizing cardio and acclimation, when your body is used to cardio, small changes in diet have major metabolic effect. Any point or level of cardio from gym-goers, using carbs to fuel cardio, eventually dumping carbs into high intensity long distance constant speed cardio. Not having sufficient time for the body to convert fat to carbs, your body might use protein and convert it to the carbs’ purpose of energy. Slow cardio/resistance allows the body to burn fat and raise metabolism, but if you’re hungry after a walk, just like in childhood you’ll gain muscle endurance rather than size. A 30k runner is smaller than Mr Olympia, you do the math. Savory oatmeal? Watch what you eat, but don’t skip meals, if you’re bored of the same old same old, have fun snacks, cheat meals so small only cats would feel full, pretend you’re a giant at a tea party ffs.

If your hobby isn’t real, you’re a fake. #antisocialmedia; does high row = chin-ups? The other day mentioned Wednesday, today reminiscent of the bear movie one; friends we look into their general direction, family we look in the eyes.

#21 Heavy/Slow Legs - Jan 1st, Enero 1ro.

Treadmill one set, make resolutions in new year, not before, only when ready, grasshopper.

Stairs = 22 + 22; done, HNY’s.

Paid as much was stolen, due and granted savings going forward, considering, sick a policy would be unhealthy if the next were to replace anyone dining out again. Need = rope hoist center mass. Peck kettlebell or plate pinch?

Forgot closes at seven is five, boots truly helping ankle to rehab, likely by not letting heel roll in, ankle buckle out, and boots need the knees like uphill ergonomics, out by six no bother; solo en caso, always apologize when warranted; as to be expected, refraction of scars within the wound #metalsongs \m/,

This new way to lift with the positives and negatives takes a lot of recovery time. Remember to do it with push ups. "You make your year". Tomorrow is today. Keep going, now is before tomorrow, so don't think yesterday can help if you don't begin. Now am I going. It is time to begin anew. I will make the resolutions as King, you will make plans of your own. Do begin plans now. You are a genius, but we can be proud when steps succeed.

#22 Lite/Slow Push +

Treadmill 15 min > Shldr Press *6/10305050 > Incl BB Bench *8/60*4 > Chest press *8/30507090110- > Lat Raise *6/551010- > Pec deck *8/709011130150 > Arnldprs *6/ null? > Crossover *10/15202525 > Pullover/down *10/20253035 > Tric Pushdown *10/35,50*3 > Abs *12/tricep-lock press-curl > Medicine ball 20lb hoist *10/101010 > Rope hoist *10/2025303550;65- > Treadmill /null

Take break intra set.

IDK if you're supposed to stretch, but if you do, this article says to warm up a little firstly so

https://www.wellandgood.com/good-sweat/stretching-cold-muscles/

Stretch your calves and not your back, don't fuzz your back use a chair or sit on the ground. Feel the stretch behind your knees, not your waist or back. We’ve all seen ballerinas lift their legs, flexibility without back strain. Strengthen gradually your back, then range of motion?

#23 Heavy Pull - sick day?

Stomach soured from something, woke up nauseous. Sleep. Second nausea, reflux in lungs, shallow breaths until pass out. Sugar isn't food. Acid gasps burning, ache to left side the only sleeping position. 7am thoughts of a younger wake me primal, coffee made the writhe worse so just full body shock, freezings and wrenching. Winter clothes and turn on heat, took an energy drink and meat sammich; NOON better but taking day off, all support muscles sore, primaries in knots.

Volume positive reps slow, mass moving negative reps slow, this isn't enuf food. My AM just 2x'd and my PM just keto'd, hands down. Good to feel hungry like the living, instead of mountains winter and mystery fire. Had considered lying still for 24hrs. Everything good if not a bit bearish. 👍 Could be nerves, new years crowd bug, cold sleep, wet hair leaving gym (tho 50F). Would like to think it's too much stress, but maybe it's an overdue heat. Summer by April. If you can't be productive, be creative? Picnics in the northern spring green grass away from the cities.

https://newsnetwork.mayoclinic.org/discussion/mayo-clinic-q-and-a-lactose-intolerance-can-develop-at-any-age/ "ANSWER: Lactose intolerance isn’t a true allergy, and it can develop at any age." … "When those people eat dairy products, the body has no way to break down the lactose. This leads to fermentation of the sugar in the intestines and triggers symptoms, such as diarrhea, nausea, abdominal cramps, bloating and gas."

Emphasis around nausea.

#24 Lite/Slow+ Legs

Treadmill 10 > Horiz 1-leg *6/101010 > Horiz Press *8/101030 > Side Bends *6/cable 355050 > Leg Ext *8/101030 > Leg Curl *8/305050 > Cable Bends *8/LR355065 > Heel Raise *10/305070 > Crunch *10/tricep press crunch, (+15)507090,110130150- > Rev Crunch *12/null > Body Squat *6/skipped > Treadmill 6

Open tabs hard to consider that insulin diabetic shock, had plenty to eat and am not one, didn't workout that much.

https://youtu.be/Yqr0iPC6uoQ

Needing to have carbs for intensity days, cardio burns some muscle, good pumps are better than sore joints, slow cardio needs some intensity, video selfies can reveal more truth/training than stills. Might do doubles instead of cardio, been talking about morning exercise for over a year.

#exercise #workout #training #routine #goal #guide #program #gym #bodybuilding #recovery #weightlifting

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serenlyss · 6 years ago

Text

Reach

(Alternatively titled: Reach (for things you thought were gone forever))

Rating: G Pairings: ritshou, very small background terumob Summary: “Are you an angel?�� Shou croaks, suddenly very sure that he must be dying, because this boy is so different from the rumors he’s heard from the people in his village that there’s no way he can be a harpy. He finds himself smiling despite the realization that his death is soon approaching, and murmurs, “You’re beautiful. If this is what dying is, I don’t think I’d mind going with you.” As it would turn out, not all fairy tales are born from imagination. Crossposted to AO3: Reach

Oh my gosh it's finally done. This AU was born from a half-baked desire to write a wings au with ritshou and I've been feverishly writing it for like 5 days now. I'm really excited to share it and super proud of how it turned out, so I hope you all enjoy it too! I had a lot of fun writing in a more poetic, descriptive style. Depending on how the inspiration hits I may write more of this au in the future as well, and make it into a little series. For now though, have this 12k+ word monstrosity.

---

Shou’s starting to regret not telling anyone where he’d planned on going.

His thoughts had started out innocently enough. The rumors of mythical creatures and terrifying monsters that lurked in the thick woods near his little village had always intrigued him, drawing his attention to the shadowy woods he’d been reminded from the time he could walk to never wander into.

Some of the stories are very obviously untrue, like the one that claims that a fearsome dragon sleeps within the shade of the forest’s tallest trees, guarding mountains of gold. They’re the kinds of fables meant to scare people from wandering off too far, but everyone is aware that dragons don’t exist. Even if they did exist, Shou doubts one would choose to live in a place as boring and uninteresting as this.

The other tales are slightly more believable to Shou. They’re stories that had probably sprung from a person’s real memories, stories spun with bravado and just a little extra embellishment each time they’d been told until they’d evolved into fairy tales in their own right. These are the ones that speak of monsters lurking beneath fishing boats, waiting to snap up any poor soul who happens to tumble from the safety of their ship, of human-faced animals that draw you in with sweet words only to lure you to your own inevitable death. Terrifying and malevolent creatures whose only interest in a person is to tear them apart.

Of all his people’s myths and fables, there’s only one that manages to pique Shou’s interest enough to draw him away from the safety of his town. These are the stories about the harpies, a horrifying combination of bird and man, a creature with the talons of an eagle and the face of a woman that could never be satisfied, always ravenous, searching endlessly for its next meal. They’re said to be terrifying, bloodthirsty, beautiful creatures, and Shou can’t help but want to meet one in person.

He knows, rationally, that he’s as good as dead if the rumors are true, but it’s not like he has anything more to go off of, or anything better to do. He’s terribly bored of his uninteresting, lonesome daily life, where the only exciting thing to come to his front door is the salesman trying ceaselessly to sell him things he doesn’t need. So, one day he packs up a bag with his sketchbook and some art supplies and a snack in case he gets hungry and sets off into the woods without a word. He knows that if he tells his neighbors where he’s going, they’ll try to stop him, and that sounds like more of a pain than Shou’s willing to put up with, so he doesn’t tell them. It’s not like he’ll be gone for long, anyway.

---

As it turns out, Shou is very, very wrong about the length of time it’ll take to reach the thicker center of the forest, and even more wrong about being confident in his ability to read his map. By the time he’s a few hours into his walk, he can’t tell what direction he’s moving in anymore, and he’s turned the map over half a dozen times trying to reorient himself. Eventually, he gives up and crumples the map into a ball, shoving it into the pocket of his backpack in frustration. Way to go, idiot, he scolds himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he continues to trudge ever forward, you’ve screwed yourself. This stupid forest is impossible to navigate, and now you’ve gone and gotten yourself lost.

The forest is like a maze, trees so close together that it’s impossible for Shou to see more than a few hundred feet in front of him at any time. It’s huge, too; Shou swears he’s been walking in a straight line since he entered the forest hours ago, but he still hasn’t reached the other side. His feet are starting to ache from the uneven terrain beneath his shoes and his neck is slick from sweat that beads from a combination of the hot, humid weather that accompanies the transition from summer to fall and the fact that he hasn’t stopped walking since he first stepped foot in the woods. He hasn’t even brought any water with him, certain that he’d be in and out in a few hours at most.

Shou walks and walks and doesn’t let himself stop to rest, too worried that if he stops he’ll forget what direction to walk in and never find the edge of the forest. It isn’t until the sun has fallen behind the horizon and the trees in front of him are almost too deep in the shadows to make out that he finally stops to sleep, curled up in the thick grass and undergrowth with his jacket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

After five days of waking, walking, unfolding his crumpled map and futilely attempting to find his way back to his village, the lack of food and water is really starting to get to him. He hasn’t come across anything salvageable, not even a forest stream he could drink from to stave off the dehydration that makes his limbs feel heavy and his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. His skin shimmers in an ever-present layer of sweat as the liquid slowly seeps from his pores, and he’s powerless to do anything about it. Even though the sun doesn’t touch him very often through the trees, the humidity and heat grips him strongly, their fingers digging in and wringing every last drop of water from his body until he starts to feel the telltale dizziness and nausea shutting him down from the inside out. His brain turns to fog and his legs to jelly, but still he walks, knowing that the moment he stops is the moment he gives up on living.

In the end, it’s a gangly tree root that does him in. It catches him around his toes and makes him lose his footing, and he lets out a hoarse yelp as he’s thrown swiftly and certainly to the ground. He hits it shoulder first, arms not quick enough to catch him on his hands, and the shock of it sends cramps up his arm and down his back. He winces, sure that it’ll leave a terrible bruise.

He attempts to push himself to his feet, to continue his endless walking, but his legs won’t listen to him anymore. His arms can hardly support the weight of his torso, and after a few fruitless seconds he lets himself flop uselessly onto his back. The sun is setting, spots of white appearing against dark blue as the last rays of daylight throw long shadows across the forest floor and plunge his surroundings into a thick and unyielding darkness.

He blinks slowly, eyes falling shut for a few seconds before he forces them open again. His limbs are heavy, not an ounce of energy left over to lift them with, and as he stares up at the open sky above him he finds himself unable to make out the stars anymore, vision too fuzzy to separate the white from black. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling the weak breeze stir the hair that arches away from his face. Why did I come here? he wonders to himself, regret creeping under his skin and settling there. This was so stupid… He feels a tears leak out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his face and disappearing into the creases of his ear. He hadn’t thought he’d have any water left in his body to cry with, and yet here he is. He can’t even reach up to wipe the trail of wetness away.

Behind his head, he hears the sound of tall grass rustling under soft, light footfalls. He doesn’t even try to turn to see what animal has stumbled upon him, eyes half-lidded. He knows he’s as good as dead, and whatever scavenger has happened upon him must know it, too. By morning, he'll be long gone, and the animals will pick him to pieces until there are only bones remaining. Maybe one day, he muses to himself in a delirious haze, some scientist will finally make it out here and find my skeleton. They’ll say I was killed by the harpies, and make up stories about a fantastic battle I must have been in… I’ll become the story they tell their kids to scare them away from the forest. The thought brings a bittersweet smile to his face, a brief flash of humor that quickly dies as the feather-light footsteps draw closer.

He listens as the creature approaches him, crushing grass and dry leaves underfoot, until it pauses right behind his head. Its form casts a shadow over him, and through his hazy vision he sees it bend down to look at him. He furrows his brow, fighting to focus his blurry eyes enough to make out the thing that most certainly will be eating him once he finally kicks the bucket, and finds that it’s not an animal at all.

The creature lowers itself to its knees, half-crouched over Shou’s head. Two hands reach out and brush against his cheeks, soft and incredibly careful, but the touch is not quite human. Through his eyelashes, Shou can make out slim shoulders and a slender neck that leads to a head that is distinctly human-shaped, and he can see the shock of black hair that falls into the creature’s face and frames shining eyes with its long strands. Shou’s eyes open wider, a gasp of awe caught in his throat. Two sprawling, shimmering wings curl around the creature and shield Shou’s upper body from the outside, falling over him like a dome and blocking out what little light the half-set sun provides. Hundreds of pitch-black feathers hover over him now, like the ones from the crows he sees outside his modest house, picking at the neighbor’s garden. Something about this creature’s wings is ethereal, however, the kind of vision that can only be conceived in lucid dreams and supernatural visions. His expression swims into focus gradually, revealing an impassive, boyish face framed with those same dark feathers. There’s something melancholic about his expression, a wistful, empathetic look in his eye that makes Shou’s failing heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Are you an angel?” he croaks, suddenly very sure that he must be dying, because this boy is so different from the rumors he’s heard from the people in his village that there’s no way he can be a harpy. He finds himself smiling despite the realization that his death is soon approaching, and murmurs, “You’re beautiful. If this is what dying is, I don’t think I’d mind going with you.”

The boy doesn’t react to Shou’s words. He doesn’t even know if this mystical, ominous, alluring creature can understand his language, though he likes to believe the near-imperceptible lift of his eyebrows is an indication that maybe he can after all. If he does, he makes no effort to respond, simply slides his hands along Shou’s cheeks to gently cup his face between them. He leans over Shou’s unmoving form until his face is mere inches away, his warm breath ghosting over Shou’s skin. Shou wrinkles his nose instinctively against it, feels feathers tickling the bare skin of his arms, and then the boy closes the gap between them.

Shou feels lips press against his, warm and soft, and he draws in a shocked breath through the corners of his mouth. The kiss is careful and awkwardly angled, Shou’s head turned in the wrong direction for it to feel natural, but there’s no discomfort behind it. The dark-haired boy lets out a long sigh against his lips that fills his lungs with fuzz and butterflies, the sensation sending tremors down his spine and raising goose bumps along his arms. A numbness starts in the pit of his stomach and spreads outward, a comfortable heaviness weighing down his limbs and making his eyelids droop as though he’s about to fall asleep. So this is what dying feels like, he thinks, the last thought his brain can manage before his eyes fall closed and he succumbs to the darkness pulling at his mind for good.

---

Shou regains consciousness in phases. The first thing to return to him is his sense of touch, poking at the edges of his foggy mind in the form of a weight that pushes him down into something soft. He feels pleasantly warm and cozy, his head cushioned by a material that reminds him of the soft wool he sheers off of the sheep in his village every summer. His fingers twitch when he realizes he can feel them again, but he doesn’t dare move lest he ruin the comfort of the moment too quickly.

The next thing to return to him is his hearing. He registers, faintly, the sound of movement not far from where he’s laying, the clang of metal on metal or the shifting of fabric nearby. At one point he hears the sound of someone humming in a voice he doesn’t recognize, a melody that comes across only slightly out of tune. The humming is incredibly alluring, and the more he listens, the more he’s desperate to find the source of the voice so he can tell them how mundanely beautiful it is.

It’s this desire that prompts Shou to open his eyes at last. He blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the light that filters into the room from the skylight overhead. He wiggles his feet experimentally, legs shifting beneath a thin blanket that’s been tucked around him securely. He takes a deep breath, then rolls onto his side with little difficulty, propping himself up on one elbow so he can orient himself in his new surroundings.

It doesn’t take him long to realize that he’s not dead after all, the pains in his head and soreness in his shoulder from when he’d fallen an indicator that this isn’t the afterlife. He lifts one hand sluggishly to rub his eyes before glancing around, taking in the humble room he’s found himself in.

He’s laying on a bed atop a mattress stuffed with sheep’s wool and feathers, it’s edges carefully shaped to allow for a flat, comfortable surface to rest on. The afghan now bunched around his waist is also made of wool, dyed and knit by hand from the looks of it, and Shou takes a moment to run his fingers over the surface of it admiringly before he slides his sluggish legs out from under it. If it isn’t for the ache in his head and shoulder he might think he’s dreaming, with the way his fuzzy mind doesn’t quite grasp reality and the soft but constant hummed tune tries to lull him back to bed. He feels like he’s crossed over into another world, bare feet sinking into the coarse fur of the elk pelt that covers a portion of the house’s wooden floor.

The whole house appears to be one single room. The bed Shou is sitting on is set up against the wall furthest from the front door, nestled comfortably in the corner under a window. A shelf housing rows of neatly-folded clothes sits beside an identical empty one, and on the other side of that he can see a second bed, a matching knit afghan neatly tucked around it. It looks like it’s been tucked in very carefully and deliberately.

Gripping the shelf at his side, Shou hauls himself uncertainly to his feet. He sways slightly, reaching his other hand up to his face for a moment as a wave of dizziness washes over him. It passes, though, the dark spots clearing after a few seconds. He releases his hold on the shelf, taking a shaky breath to steady himself before he continues to explore the little cottage.

A neat kitchenette is set up against one wall, a large wood stove and oven taking up most of the space. A stone chimney rises from it to vent the smoke, disappearing through the sturdy roof of the house. Wooden countertops line the rest of the wall, held up by thin, hand-carved beams slotted into holes in the floor, and on top of them lay bowls of fruit and jars of various spices, filling the house with a mixture of aromas that make Shou’s nose tingle. Above the countertops, rows of shelves hold bowls, pans, pots, plates, and even some utensils. Large spoons and spatulas hang in rows from hooks underneath them, each one just a little different from the others.

In the center of the room is a modest kitchen table, made from smooth wood and accompanied by four matching chairs. In the center of it, a woven doily cushions a tall, thin glass vase, inside of which are resting a handful of sunflowers. A few brown, dry petals have fallen from them, but they look otherwise healthy and alive, their clipped ends half-submerged in clear water. Shou smooths his hand over the natural wood, feeling the veins and notches beneath his fingertips. The table is finished with a lacquer that gives off a pleasant floral scent, like lavender. Shou’s never seen a table this nice before, not even in the huge houses of the richest people in his town. He can’t help but marvel at all the personal touches he sees all over the place, each and every item in the house handmade with a skill and precision that he’s only seen from the master carpenters that come to sell their wares in his tiny village.

The house’s third wall is lined from floor to ceiling with shelves. Some of them contain little trinkets - shiny rocks, wooden carvings, stuffed dolls with embroidered eyes and patchwork limbs, beaded necklaces and polished rings - while others are filled entirely with books. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, brightly colored spines propped up next to black ones. Some of them look like they’ve been bound in a factory, their pages perfectly even and titles printed on, while others are bound with string and leather and are labeled by hand with dark ink. Shou can tell their owner has organized them very intentionally, but he can’t quite figure out how. Fiction novels sit beside textbooks on physics and mathematics, historical journals lay propped between children’s picture books, and in one corner he even manages to find a few books in a different language, all of them written by hand.

He pulls one out and thumbs through it briefly, and finds it filled with still-life drawings between lines of text he can’t read. There are illustrations of mountain scenery, of lakeshores sprouting cattail reeds and waterfalls careening over jagged cliffs. There are sketches of fruits and flowers, animals and cloudy skies, each of them incredibly detailed and true to life. He has to resist the urge to touch them, a habit he might indulge with the paintings and photographs in his home, but he really doesn’t want to smudge art like this.

He turns the page once more and finds himself in awe all over again. Staring back at him is a beautiful sketch of a boy, sitting in a grassy field with his legs drawn up to his chest. His back is facing Shou, his head tilted up to stare at the sky above, and stretched out from his back are two massive, gorgeous wings. They dwarf the boy with their sheer size, and yet they seem to fit him perfectly, arching up over his head and sloping back down until the ends of them just barely brush the grass behind him. On the boy’s face is a serene smile, eyes soft with fondness and bright with innocent admiration. His hair is carefully shaped, blunt bangs brushing his ears and forming a ring around his head, and Shou has the fleeting thought that his haircut would look incredibly stupid on anyone else but him. Instead, the subject of the drawing manages to make it look charming, in a plain sort of way, and Shou can’t help but wonder how accurate the drawing is to how this person must really look, if he exists at all.

Shou closes the book and replaces it as though he’d never touched it at all, and finally wanders toward the open front door of the house. The closer he gets to it, the louder and more clear the humming becomes, the soft sound quickly swallowed by the noise of the empty fields around them. Shou leans against the door frame and peeks around the corner, breathing stalling when he lays eyes on the source of the noise. He recognizes him instantly.

The boy is young, that much is clear to see. In fact, he looked to be around Shou’s age, or maybe a little older. He’s taller than Shou is, though not by much, but his build is much slimmer, a lightness to his stature that Shou doubts he can replicate. Everything about him is long, from his legs to his arms to the fingers loosely holding the handle of the broom that he sweeps in gentle arcs, chasing fallen leaves from the porch’s wooden floor. His skin is sun-dark, turned a muted copper as a result of long hours outdoors, and his back and shoulders are nearly entirely bared by the backless halterneck top he wears. Shou finds his eyes drawn immediately to the soft edges of his shoulders and the gentle curves of his arms, slim but toned, like a runner’s, and to the divot in the small of his back where his spine curves and disappears into the waistband of his pants. His thin feet are protected by a pair of sturdy-looking leather sandals, held unmoving by the fitted leather straps that secure them.

The most amazing part about him, however, is the pair of pitch-black wings that sprout from his shoulder blades, framed by the seams of his backless shirt. Their feathers shimmer in iridescent hues, sometimes appearing more blue or purple or red depending on what angle the light hits them from. Even half-folded, they take up a great deal of space, even more so than the boy himself does: they’re easily almost as tall as he is, the tops of them level with his head and the ends of his flight feathers hovering at the curve of his calves. They’re beautiful, like something from a fairy tale or a fable, and Shou has to stop himself from rushing over and impulsively threading his fingers into the downy feathers that poke out from between the boy’s shoulders just to see if they’re as soft as they look.

Shou isn’t sure how many seconds he stares before the boy notices his presence, instinctively turning his head to look at him with eyes that are wide with surprise. His humming stops abruptly, as does his sweeping, and he stumbles over his own movements just a bit as he straightens himself up and holds the broomstick to his chest in a distinctly protective manner. “You’re awake,” he says, then winces at his own obvious observation.

Shou can’t help the grin that comes to his face. “Nah, I’m just sleepwalking,” he replies teasingly, shifting his weight off the doorframe to just stand on the threshold of the house. Now that he’s not staring at the floor, Shou can get a good luck at the boy’s face, and he takes advantage of it to give him another once-over. His tan face is all soft curves, and his cheeks still hold just a hint of leftover fat from his childhood years, giving it a rounded look. His hair is short on the sides and longer on top, and it spikes out wildly in every direction. Shou can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, but he can’t help but find it charming anyway. Some of the untamed hair falls into his forehead, framing eyes that aren’t quite humanesque. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the boy’s eyes are pale yellow where a normal man’s would be white, and his irises are all black, not a sliver of color coming to them. They flit over him restlessly, taking in his appearance the same way Shou is taking in his. Now that he’s getting a closer look, he can see the small, dark feathers that sprout in odd places, like the strips of skin between the corners of his eyes and his ears, or along the curve of his shoulders. It’s simultaneously fascinating and just a little bit unnerving, seeing someone who looks so much like him but still so different.

The boy’s brow furrows at Shou’s unwithheld snark, lips pursing in a minute frown that Shou finds surprisingly endearing. “Right…” he murmurs uncertainly, moving to balance his broom against the rail that surrounds the porch. He clears his throat into his closed hand, clearly uncomfortable, then adds, “How do you feel?”

Shou hums, grin softening into something a little more genuine in response to the boy’s concern. “Well, I’m not dead, so that’s good,” he answers. “Thanks for taking care of me, by the way. I was, uh, pretty sure I was gonna die back there, before you showed up out of nowhere.”

The boy nods. “Yes, you mistook me for some sort of angel,” he confirms. Shou sees the corner of his mouth twitch, like he wants to smile but has stopped himself before he can. “There’s no need to mention it. You’re lucky it was me, though, and not another human, otherwise there would have been nothing they could have done.”

Well, if that isn’t ominous, Shou doesn’t know the meaning of the word. “I was that far gone, huh?” he sighs, raising a hand to push a few loose strands of hair back into place, slicked away from his forehead. “How did you manage to bring me back from the brink, anyway? I remember that you kissed me, which was… well, it was weird, I guess, and then I totally passed out.” From the time he’d lost consciousness on the forest floor until now he has no memories, no way to know how much time has passed since then.

“Kissed you?” the boy echoes, looking confused for a moment before he seems to realize what Ritsu’s talking about. “Oh, you mean when I lent you my breath? That was just a spell. I put you into a coma, essentially, to conserve your energy output before you starved to death.”

“You can do magic?” Shou breathes, eyes wide with awe. “That’s amazing! No one in my village can do magic, they don’t have the genes for it. Human characteristic, apparently, but I’ve always thought it would be cool to learn. What other kinds of magic can you do?” The words tumble from his lips without much forethought, even as the boy shifts uncomfortably on his feet in front of him.

The boy lifts a hand to absentmindedly rub at his opposite arm, glancing away. “Why don’t we sit down?” he suggests after a moment of silence, gesturing toward the table sitting, lonesome, in the middle of the one-room house. “I think there’s probably some stuff we should talk about, and you should really get something to eat if you want to get your strength back.” That said, he moves into the open front door, not bothering to wait and see if Shou’s following. The wings on his back rustle quietly as he walks, and Shou has to keep himself from falling into another speechless stupor as he watches the way the light touches them.

The growl of his stomach is what saves him this time, and he stifles a laugh at its fantastic comedic timing. “Yeah, food sounds pretty sweet right now,” he agrees. Before he goes inside, though, he drifts over to the rail and peeks out at the scenery that surrounds them. The house is set up on the bank of a river that rushes down from a tall mountain behind them and disappears into the thick forest on the house’s other side. Shou doesn’t recognize the scenery at all, but he can’t bring himself to worry too much when this new change of location is so pretty.

After a few seconds he moves back into the house, spotting the black-winged boy sorting through the bowl of fruit on his countertop. He pulls a few pieces out and moves them into another, smaller bowl, alongside a small loaf of sweet-smelling bread. He looks nervous, Shou notes, and when the boy glances sideways to meet his eyes he’s quick to avert his gaze again. Shou wonders if he looks as strange to the boy as the boy does to him, if they’re both anomalies of their separate civilizations. Judging by the empty scenery all around the little cottage, though, the boy doesn’t have much of a civilization to fall back on, so maybe he’s just nervous to meet another person at all.

“What’s your name?” Shou asks, sliding into one of the four sturdy chairs. It doesn’t even rock under his weight, each of its four legs the perfect length to sit level on the floor. He can’t help but feel another surge of amazement that nearly everything in this house has been crafted by hand.

The boy turns and slides the fruit and bread onto the table between them, hesitating for just a second before taking a seat across the table from Shou. “It’s Ritsu,” he replies, tone soft and uncertain. “What’s yours?”

Ritsu. The name is surprisingly mundane, the kind of name that, if Shou heard it called in his own village on any given day, would blend right in with the rest of the locals. “Call me Shou,” he says, leaning one elbow on the table in front of him and propping his chin up in his hand. “Where is this place? I’ve never been to this side of the forest before. Seems peaceful,” he continues, conjuring up a map of the area surrounding his village in his head. He wonders how far he’d managed to walk before passing out, and his much farther Ritsu had carried him in order to end up here.

Ritsu nods his head, letting one hand rest on top of the natural wood table while the other reaches for a slice of the bread between them. He tears a piece off of it to eat, and it’s then that Ritsu notices his hands. They’re flecked with tiny feathers that sprout from his wrists and shift when he moves, and they’re tipped with talons that look much sharper than Shou’s blunted nails. They remind him a bit of the unnecessarily long nails that the rich women in his town wear, painted in gaudy colors and long enough that it makes it difficult for them to do something as simple as holding a pencil properly. Ritsu seems undeterred by them, however, pulling apart the bread with coordinated hands that are simultaneously gentle and precise. “Not too far from where I found you. I would tell you what I call it, but it won’t mean anything to anyone other than me,” he replies in a very unhelpful way. After a moment, he reaches out and picks up a second slice of bread, holding it out to Shou.

Shou blinks, meeting Ritsu’s expectant gaze across the table, and accepts the bread from his outstretched hand. He tries to ignore the way their fingers brush against each other as he does, tries not to shiver when he feels the little feathers at his wrist tickle his fingertips. “Thanks,” he sighs, bringing it to his mouth and taking a bite of it without bothering to pick it to pieces like Ritsu is.

“So… what’s it like being a harpy?” Shou asks after another moment of tense silence. “You’re so mysterious out here, living by yourself. The stories say harpies thirst for their next kill and are never satisfied, but you don’t seem so bloodthirsty to me.”

Ritsu looks up at him with an expression that Shou can only place as offended, eyes narrowed and brows knit together. Then he scoffs, face screwing up in unhidden condemnation. “Humans will come up with any excuse to rile each other up, won’t they?” he replies contemptuously. “And I’m not a harpy, don’t compare me to those folk tales. Harpies don’t exist, that’s just the name the humans gave to my people after finding traces of us. We’ve never hunted humans.”

Shou tilts his head, leaning a little further forward in his seat. “Then what should I call you?” he asks.

Ritsu huffs out a breath, tearing another piece of bread from his slice. “You can call me by my name. It’s not like you’ll ever meet another one of me again,” he answers quietly, and the bitterness in his words is palpable.

Shou purses his lips, a bit unnerved at the sudden tenseness in the air, and casts a glance at the untouched bed, nestled in the corner beside the empty shelf. “What about the extra bed? It belongs to someone, doesn’t it?” he asks, watching Ritsu’s face carefully to gauge his response.

Ritsu stands up and turns his back to Shou, moving over to the counter and filling two glasses with water from a pitcher. “It used to be my brother’s,” he answers after a quiet moment, “but he’s not around to use it anymore.”

Curious as he is, Shou’s not so confident he should parse this particular subject. He can practically see the muscles in Ritsu’s back tense up as he speaks, his shoulders hunching up a little closer to his ears and his head purposefully turned away. “I see,” he just says instead. By now, his bread is long gone.

Ritsu returns to the table after another minute or so, sliding a glass of water in his direction. “You need to drink lots of fluids to replenish the ones you lost,” he instructs. “It was the dehydration that got to you first. How long were you in the woods for, anyway?”

Shou cups his hands around the glass and sighs. “Five days. It was stupid of me to think I could make it through the forest,” he grumbles, feeling his regrets from his days of walking catching up to him now.

Ritsu just nods, face carefully impassive. “In the late summer heat, it’s no wonder you got so weak so fast. You probably sweated out most of your body fluids in the first couple of days,” he explains. “Speaking of which, you should really change out of those sweaty clothes, they reek.”

Shou jumps, feeling a rush of mortification as he looks down at his bedraggled appearance. Now that Ritsu brings it up, he can definitely smell his own body odor clinging to his shirt, and he’s certain he must be covered in dirt and grass stains. He screws up his face in disgust, nodding his agreement. “Ugh, you’re right, how did I not notice before?” he sighs. He downs the rest of the glass of water as Ritsu moves over to the shelf where all his clothes are carefully arranged, then stands up to follow him, hovering a foot or so away as Ritsu peruses his wardrobe.

Ritsu turns to face Shou for a moment, looking him up and down, and Shou does his best not to squirm under his sharp, meticulous gaze until the winged boy turns away again and begins thumbing through a pile of shirts on one of the middle shelves. At least, Shou assumes they’re shirts, but they look nothing like the tee-shirts and button-ups Shou usually wears. When Ritsu pulls one out of the pile and holds it in front of him, his suspicions are confirmed.

“Wear these,” Ritsu instructs, pushing the top into his hands alongside a pair of loose-fitting cloth pants. “They’re thin and have good ventilation, so you won’t overheat as easily.”

“Uh, thanks,” Shou responds awkwardly, laying the fresh clothes on the bed. He changes his pants first, which is easy enough, then reaches over his head and grabs his shirt by the collar, pulling it up and over his head in a smooth, well-practiced motion. Then he reaches for Ritsu’s lent top, and pauses when he sees that it’s less of a shirt and more of a flat piece of fabric. Backless, like Ritsu’s current top is. “Um, not to sound ungrateful, but how the hell am I supposed to wear this?” he asks, incredulous. “It’s got no back on it!”

Ritsu casts him a confused glance, tilting his head. “Of course not, it’s kind of hard to wear a shirt with a back on it when you have these,” he points out, gesturing to the sprawling wings that sprout from his shoulders. “It’s not totally backless, anyway, it has hooks at the bottom that clasps in the back.”

“This is super weird,” Shou mumbles, mostly to himself, but Ritsu’s indignant snort says that he’s heard as well. Still, it’s better than nothing, so he slips the halter neck of the shirt over his head and fiddles with it until it lays somewhat comfortably against the back of his neck. It rides high in the front, brushing the bottom of his throat, then swoops down below his arms to hug him around his waist. He moves his hands to clasp the back of it like Ritsu had described, his fingers finding the little copper hooks, but as much as he tries, he can’t get the pieces to fit together. “This thing is so complicated,” he curses.

Ritsu lets out a sigh that’s probably meant to be annoyed, and he takes the hooks from Shou’s fingers. “Let me,” he says, more of a demand than an offer to help, and deftly fits the little metal hooks together so the shirt is snug around his waist. The pants are high-waisted, riding up past his belly button, but even with the extra fabric in place the shirt still leaves slivers of his stomach exposed.

“You really wear this stuff everyday?” Shou asks, tugging at the edge of the top and attempting to stare at his own back to confirm that it really is as bare as Ritsu’s is.

“Only in the summer,” Ritsu replies. “Summer clothes are easy, since I don’t have to worry about covering the skin around my wings. My winter clothes are a bit more complicated.” He gestures to his bottom shelf, but without picking up one of the aforementioned winter shirts and looking at it himself, Shou has no way to gauge what ‘complicated’ could possibly mean. “In the summer it’s easiest to wear these kinds of tops, or just not wear a shirt at all.”

Shou nods, figuring it makes about as much sense as it possibly can considering he’s currently standing in front of an honest-to-god winged person.

Ritsu takes a step back and admires his handiwork now that the outfit is properly in place. “You look much better now,” he comments. “Your dull clothes are ridiculously boring, you know. You’d think humans would have some sense of color.”

“We do, that’s just what I usually wear when I go hiking,” Shou replies, scooping up his faded brow tee-shirt and laying it out carefully. “And if you ask me, it’s you who looks more ridiculous!”

Ritsu makes a sound half between a sniff of disdain and a laugh, and when Shou glances over he sees the dark-haired boy fighting another smile. It makes Shou wonder why he feels the need to keep his reactions to himself, what kinds of reservations he has about Shou that keep him from letting loose and expressing himself. “Say, Ritsu,” he starts, moving to fold up his tee-shirt and pants until he figures out what to do with them later, “why’d you save me, anyway?”

The question makes Ritsu stop in his tracks, halfway to the table to gather and replace the bowls and glasses he’d used for breakfast. “Why do you ask?” he retorts, answering Shou’s question with one of his own, and it comes across defensive.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem terribly fond of humans,” Shou says, sitting down on the edge of the bed he’d woken up in. He shifts uncomfortably in his borrowed clothes, trying to ignore the way he can feel the drafts on his back now. “I mean, I can see why, humans do some pretty shitty stuff all the time, so what made you want to stop and rescue someone like me?”

Ritsu swallows, picking up the glasses and bowls and dropping them in the sink to be washed later. He lets his hands fall against the rim of the sink, bracing against the surface of it, and is quiet for a few long moments, brows knitted together so tightly that lines form between them. A deep frown tugs at his lips, lips that Shou knows to be soft and warm. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment, quiet and contemplative and maybe just a little lost.

There’s really nothing Shou can say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

---

Shou finds himself in very little rush to get home, and to his surprise, Ritsu doesn’t rush him to leave. When Shou asks, he brushes it off with empty words, telling him he isn’t back to full strength yet and that he should wait another night, but three days later, when Shou is back to feeling well again, he still hesitates to leave.

He’s not quite sure what keeps him rooted to this barren, empty space. Ritsu is the only humanoid creature for miles, which would normally make Shou ache for the bustle of the marketplace or the empty chatter of the village women gossiping by the church, but instead he finds himself soothed by the noise of the wind in the trees nearby and the lull of Ritsu’s soft humming in the early mornings when he doesn’t realize Shou can hear him.

“Aren’t you weirded out?” Ritsu asks him once, when they’re sitting in the twin porch chairs underneath the hand-thatched awning overhead. The woven straw back of it itches against Shou’s exposed shoulders, but he’s growing more used to it every day. Ritsu continues, “A person with wings like a bird’s, clawed fingers and a feathered face. Doesn’t it make you even a little afraid?”

Shou laughs, loud and unwithheld. “Of course I’m weirded out, you’re like something out of a fairy tale. Afraid, though? You haven’t done anything to make me afraid of you,” he replies, flashing Ritsu a bright grin in return. “You saved my life, after all, it would be kinda rude if I was scared of you after all that.”

Ritsu hums, soft and thoughtful, and runs his fingers absentmindedly through the feathers of one wing. Shou’s caught him doing so a few times now, has watched the way he straightens the crooked feathers and lets the loose ones fall to the ground to be swept up later. He’s preening, Shou realizes, and the thought causes a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. The little quirks he manages to catch Ritsu indulging in only endear him more to his new friend, if he can consider this friendship, and he finds himself feeling just a bit more fond of Ritsu with each day that passes. “I suppose it’s a good thing, that you’re not afraid,” Ritsu says after a long pause, his black-eyed gaze fixed in a point in the distance that Shou can’t follow.

Shou simply shrugs in reply. “I think it is,” he offers, and sees the way Ritsu softens to it, ever-so-slightly.

There’s a stretch of silence between them, comfortable and calm, and then Ritsu blurts, “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Okay,” Shou agrees immediately, sitting up in his seat, and he tries his best not so show how elated he is at Ritsu’s sudden, impulsive request. In the few days they’ve been together Ritsu has already proven himself to be thoughtful to a fault; he refuses to make even small decisions without thoroughly considering all of his options, so that fact that Ritsu has decided to do something without noticeable forethought sends a thrill of excitement through Shou. “Where should we go?” he asks, curious about what destination Ritsu has in mind.

Ritsu pushes himself to his sandal-clad feet, shaking his wings out and scattering a few dark feathers on the porch. “Someplace I used to go a lot. Get what you need, and we can go now.”

Shou doesn’t wait to be asked twice. He ducks into the house and grabs his tennis shoes, the ones in which he’d walked miles to get here, and slips them on over his sockless feet. Then, as somewhat of an afterthought, he snatches up his backpack from where he’d propped it up against the mostly-empty shelf by the bed he’d claimed and hefts it over one shoulder.

When he turns to head back out the front door, he spots Ritsu standing in front of one of his many bookshelves, holding a hand-bound book in his clawed hands. He runs the fingers of one hand over the cover of it, eyes downcast, and Shou is struck by the wistful, melancholic expression that crosses his face for just a moment before he slides the book into his own bag and settles the strap of it over his shoulder. A question perches on the tip of Shou’s tongue, a quiet curiosity that he has to hold himself back from voicing. There are plenty of things about himself that Ritsu’s hasn’t told him, and that’s okay with him. After all, Shou has plenty of things about himself that he hasn’t told Ritsu, either. It doesn’t keep his mind from wandering, though, wondering what those things could be.

They walk, because even though Ritsu says flying would be faster, he’s adamant that walking will be easier. Shou’s not sure whether or not Ritsu can support his weight and fly at the same time, anyway, and he doesn’t mind walking. The hardest part is scaling the hill behind the house, which is steep and a little slippery from the morning dew that still clings to it, and by the time they reach the crest of it both of them are just a little out of breath.

Shou’s breathlessness is partially due to something else, though, as Ritsu gestures with one feathered hand to the little valley nestled in the hills and Shou’s eyes land on what is quite possibly the most beautiful sight he’s seen since leaving his village all those days ago.

At the bottom of the hill is what appears to be a field of wildflowers, though most of them have wilted under the late summer sun’s glaring rays already. The few that are still standing are bright against the green of the rest of the valley, poking out of the tall grass so that their bright petals can be seen by all who pass by. Most notably, clumps of little sunflowers like the ones in Ritsu’s vase at his house can be seen cropping up all over the field, the bright sunlight only serving to make them look even more vibrant than before.

“Woah, this place is awesome!” Shou exclaims, face blooming into a broad grin. He finds himself reaching for Ritsu’s hand on instinct, fingers curling around his palm and pulling him down the hillside. The surprised yelp he lets out only serves to make Shou’s grin widen, but he’s conscious of the way Ritsu squeezes his hand back so he doesn’t lose his grip.

Shou doesn’t let go until the ground beneath their feet evens out again and he finds himself in one of the little sunflower patches. He drops Ritsu’s hand and flops unceremoniously down into the grass with a laugh, kicking his feet into the air in a burst of energy. The grass and dirt is rough against the exposed skin of his back, but he can’t bring himself to mind as he stares up at the great blue sky and the fluffy white clouds that occasionally cross it. The sun is warm, but not unbearably so, and its rays make everything around him look and feel so much brighter than he’s used to. He takes a deep breath of the sweet-smelling air, limbs flopping out all around him starfish-style, and lets himself be blessedly still for a few minutes.

Ritsu continues past him, black wings folded comfortably against his back as he drifts deeper into the field. Shou cranes his neck back and manages to catch glimpses of him through the tall grass as he walks, stopping periodically to bend over and touch the flowers that poke up through the grass. He looks peaceful, Shou notes, expression holding the closest thing to a smile Shou’s ever seen from him, but there’s a hint of bitterness behind it, too, that makes Shou’s own high spirits dip just a bit. He sits up, turning to give Ritsu a proper look, and watches as he sits down cross-legged in the grass not too far away and plucks a small but bright purple flower from the ground. He twists its stem between his fingers, quietly observing it, and Shou is suddenly and surprisingly reminded of the pencil sketch he’s stumbled upon during his first morning at Ritsu’s house.

Hit with a sudden urge, Shou quickly snatches up his backpack from where he’d discarded it at his side and opens it up, removing his sketchbook and a tin of pencils he’d brought with him from his home in his village. He shifts himself to sit cross-legged on the grass, flipping the book open to the nearest empty page.

He’s not sure if he can consider himself an artist, at least not by trade, but the scratch of his sketching pencil on paper is a familiar and comforting noise. Sketching has become somewhat of a hobby over the last few years, a way of relieving boredom or filling time when he has it. Sometimes he sketches memories, or tries to copy down the faces of people passing outside his window. This time, he finds his eyes drawn to Ritsu: to the not-quite-bittersweet expression on his face, to the little purple flower he twirls between clawed fingers, to the long grass that half-hides his legs and sways gently in the warm summer breeze. It’s like a painting, the kind of image that’s surreal enough that it shouldn’t be able to exist in the real world, and yet Shou sits, and stares at it, and has the undeniable urge to cement this moment for posterity in graphite.

His sketches are fast and rough at first as he focuses on copying down the base image and plotting out his canvas with light lines and geometric shapes. He roughs in the shape of Ritsu’s form sitting in the grass, cross-legged, one hand propping himself up in the grass while the other lightly grips the little bloom he’d claimed for himself. He sketches the curve of his shoulder and the arches of his wings, stretched out to accommodate their length while sitting, and attempts to capture the effortless messiness of his wild, untamed black hair. With softer, more deliberate strokes, he brings to life the line of Ritsu’s jaw and the slope of his nose, all soft edges and muted curves. There isn’t a sharp angle on him, and when he moves he does so with effortless grace and purpose that just serves to add to his ethereal beauty.

Shou would be hard-pressed to deny at this point that he does find Ritsu beautiful, and not just for his shimmering feathers or the way he seems to glow in a way only mythical creatures can. There are little things that bring this thought to mind, like his slender, careful fingers, or the annoyed little frown he gets whenever Shou tries to tease him. He’s never seen Ritsu really smile, but he imagines his smile must be beautiful, too. There’s no way it can’t be, coming from him.

He moves his pencil to capture the set of Ritsu’s mouth, but when he looks up to get another look, he finds that his companion has moved. He blinks, momentarily confused, until a distinct shadow falls over his sketchbook.

“What’re you doing over here? You look really intense,” Ritsu comments, leaning over Shou’s shoulder to get a look at what he’s working on. His expression quickly changes from confused to surprised when he recognizes the rough sketch, though. “Is that me?” he asks.

“You moved! Now it’s ruined,” Shou groans melodramatically. There’s no real anger or annoyance behind his words, though, and his sketch is mostly finished, anyway. “Don’t you know that the first rule of modeling is that you have to stay still? Otherwise the artist has to start over.” He tips his head back and offers Ritsu a smile, if only to reassure him that he’s really only joking.

Ritsu raises a brow at him, unimpressed, and turns his attention back to the rough sketch in Shou’s hands. “I didn’t know you were an artist,” he says, rather than trying to pick apart Shou’s attempted joke. “Why me, though?”

Shou shrugs, setting down his pencil for now and craning his neck back to look at Ritsu upside-down. “I just thought it would make for a good drawing,” he replies honestly. “I can leave it unfinished if you’re uncomfortable.”

Ritsu moves to sit at Shou’s side rather than leaning over him, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine, you can finish it,” he replies, and one of his hands drifts to the bag draped over one arm. He hesitates for just a moment before reaching inside and pulling out the hand-bound book Shou had seen him stow away earlier. He turns it over in his hands once, twice, then holds it out to Shou. “I guess you could say I’m a bit of an artist myself. I sketch in my journal sometimes, when I see something nice that I want to remember. You can look, if you want.”

“You’d let me read your journal? Hope you don’t have any deep, dark secrets in here you don’t want me to know about,” Shou quips, cracking open the book’s leather cover.

Ritsu snorts out what might be considered a laugh, tapping the first page with one long nail. “I wrote it in my mother’s language, you won’t be able to read it anyway,” he points out, quirking a brow in an amused manner. He drags a finger to the top of the page. “This is my handwriting, and this,” he adds, running his finger down the page to where the shape of the unfamiliar words changes just a bit, “is my brother’s handwriting. We used to take turns writing little passages in these books.”

The implied “before he left” hangs in the air between them, unspoken but felt and understood all the same. Shou nods, noting the way Ritsu’s neat, even script contrasts with his brother’s more messy, sloped style. He flips through a few pages of indecipherable writing before he reaches the first aforementioned drawing, a sketch of a new garden filled with tiny green sprouts. Each row of plants is meticulously labeled with a little sign written in that same language, unreadable to Shou, but it’s an impressive sketch all the same.

Most of the sketches in the book of are a similar calibre, still life drawings or landscape sketches of places Shou has yet to see. “You’re really talented,” he tells Ritsu after flipping through a few of them. In between the sketches, Ritsu and his brother’s alternating handwriting take up most of the extra space.

“I’ve been drawing since I was a kid,” Ritsu replies, reaching over Shou’s arm to flip the pages of the journal of his own accord until he reaches one in particular. His hand lingers on the page before he sits back and lets Shou look at it himself, pale yellow eyes trained on his expression from beside him.

Shou blinks in recognition when he lays eyes on the sketch Ritsu’s chosen to share with him. It’s different from the rest, far more detailed, and it takes up an entire page of the little journal. The only writing on it is a few letters written in the corner with Ritsu’s neat handwriting: some sort of caption, Shou guesses. A name, or maybe a date.

The sketch is of another boy, one that Shou recognizes, because he has the same face as the boy from the sketch he’d seen in Ritsu’s other book just a few days ago. He looks like he can’t be more than a few years older than Ritsu is, his face carrying the same soft, childlike curves that Ritsu’s does. On his face is a small, tentative smile, shy, like he’d modeled for this but could never get quite comfortable enough to make the emotion come across natural. Faintly, Shou can make out laugh lines around the corners of his eyes, and dimples at the edges of his mouth where his smile shows his teeth. Like the other sketch, his hair is cut bluntly all the way around his head, leaving straight bangs that fall nearly into his eyes. There’s something undeniably endearing about the sketch, as though it’d been drawn with a great deal of affection. “Is this him?” Shou asks. He doesn’t need to clarify who he’s talking about.

Ritsu nods. “His name was Shigeo - is Shigeo, I mean,” he says, catching himself as he begins to refer to his brother in the past tense. “He’s about a year and a half older than me, though he never could really keep up with me, growing up. Where I was quick to pick up concepts and new skills, he always took just a little longer. My parents worried about him a lot.” As he speaks, his eyes flick down to the sketch in the journal, something undeniably sad in the way he speaks.

Shou swallows, watching Ritsu’s face as he speaks. “Where did they go?” he asks. Surely they couldn’t have abandoned him?

“My parents passed away a few years ago,” Ritsu says, letting his hand fall away from the book. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, hugging them close to his body. “They were hunted by humans who were scared of them and their magic. They would have killed me, too, but Shige protected me.”

“You care a lot about him,” Shou murmurs, “and he cared a lot about you, so what changed?” After all, Shigeo isn’t here anymore. His bed and shelf are empty and there are no traces of him in the little house that used to belong to both of them, but at one point he’d been as active and present as Ritsu is now.

Ritsu’s expression darkens, and he leans forward to rest his chin atop his bent knees. A frown tugs at his mouth, and his gaze is distant. “He fell in love with a human,” he replies, the words barely travelling over the gentle noise of the wind, and Shou catches the way his voice wavers in an attempt to keep his emotions from coming through. “I didn’t like him. I tried to tell Shige that it was bad idea to get involved with humans, that he’d only get hurt in the long run, but he wouldn’t listen. Growing up, we always got along well, to the point where we only had a few silly little fights as brothers, but this was different. Neither of us was willing to change our mind.” His wings shift slightly against his back, drawing in around his shoulders as though to protect himself. “I said terrible things to him, about how I didn’t want to be his brother if he was going to choose a human over me. I told him that if he was going to make such a terrible decision, he might as well just leave. I didn’t think he’d take me seriously, at the time.”

Shou stares down at the sketch of Shigeo laying open in his lap and tries to imagine him standing beside a younger version of Ritsu, one with wide, dark eyes and arms that are a little shorter and chubbier than the ones he knows. He can easily picture a loving and dedicated siblings relationship between them, the kind Shou has never experienced himself but that he’s seen countless times in the children from his village, can easily wrap his mind around a protective Shigeo eager to please his genius little brother. It makes his heart ache to imagine what such a bad fight between the two of them must have felt like. It’s a vulnerable memory, the one that Ritsu has chosen to impart to him. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asks after a moment, folding the journal shut and holding it tightly with both hands. “Why save me, why let me hang around you for so long, why tell me about your family? I thought you hated humans.”

“I do hate them,” Ritsu says immediately, squeezing his knees closer to his chest, and his gaze hardens with regret and anger and loss. “They took my parents, they took my brother.” He pauses to take a breath, shaky and tense, and buries his face in his arms so that Shou can no longer see his face. “I hate them… but I don’t hate you.”

Shou forgets to breathe for a moment, stunned speechless. He’d known, of course, that Ritsu can’t possibly hate him, but it’s still shocking to have it laid out so plainly. Shou had never considered that he might be the exception to the rule, the lone redeemable human that Ritsu has chosen to place his bets on. That if he had been someone else, Ritsu might not have deigned it necessary to try to save his life. “But why me?” he repeats, desperate to know what part of himself was the part that Ritsu had seen and decided was worthy of saving. “Why am I different from everyone else who tried to cross that forest and never made it to the other side?”

Ritsu lets out a long breath into his arms before he raises his head once more. He still can’t look Shou in the eye, though, and he stares stubbornly at the patches of bright flowers instead. “Did you ever realize why the forest seemed so endless and impossible to navigate?” he asks. “It’s because it’s guarded by a magical trap. My brother and I laid it when our parents were killed, to keep humans from ever finding this place again. Anyone who walks into the forest is cursed to wander it until they die from starvation or are killed by wild animals.”

Shou hums, remembering the way his map had become all but useless once he’d walked deep enough into the forest. Without magic of his own, it would have been impossible to sense a trap laying in wait for him. “So that’s why I could never find the end, even after five days of walking,” he murmurs.

Ritsu nods. “Well, we both helped to lay down the spell, but Shigeo was always far stronger than I was when it came to magic. His powers are deeply rooted in people’s emotions, including his own, and it made it difficult for him to control them,” he continues, picking at the purple flower still pinched between his fingers. He tears a petal from it and lets it fall into the grass, nervous. “His powers created a link between the two of us and the emotions of those who would enter the forest. We could feel their anger and their killing intent, but we could also feel the fear they felt in their final moments, their regret and desire to keep living. I tried to ignore it, but Shigeo never could. He never admitted it out loud, but I could tell it tortured him inside, even as the people walking into the forest become fewer and far between. I think that his connection to the trap is part of what led him to start caring for the humans.” He pauses, lowering his gaze, and adds, “Empathy is a powerful thing.”

“So, you knew I was in the forest the whole time?” Shou clarifies, leaning forward and looking up into Ritsu’s face.

By this point, Ritsu’s plucked the flower bare, nothing but its brown middle left attached to the stem until Ritsu pinches that part off, too. “Yes,” he replies. There isn’t an ounce of regret in his voice, but after hearing his story, Shou can’t find it in himself to be annoyed by it. Ritsu continues, “As soon as you entered the forest, I knew you were there, but you seemed… different from the others. You weren’t scared, and you weren’t angry. You weren’t lost, either, like the children would that sometimes wander into the forest without knowing where they were. There was something driving you, I could tell, but it wasn’t a desire for revenge or self-preservation like the hunters that used to come after my brother and me.” He drops the flower’s browning stem, lets it be swallowed up by the tall grass around him. “I saved you because I could tell you didn’t come to hurt me, and because part of me was curious to see if a human really did exist who could look at me without fear or anger. I thought that maybe then, I could start to understand the feelings that would make my brother want to leave me behind.”

Shou swallows, glancing down at his legs, splayed out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. It hasn’t occurred to him until now just how insanely lucky he is to be alive right now, now fortunate it is that Ritsu had decided to let him be the one to change his mind about humanity. “Do you think you understand any better, now?” he asks, voice soft and curious.

Ritsu squeezes his legs impossibly tighter against his chest. “Yeah, I think I do,” he admits, but when Shou chances another glance at him, he doesn’t find peace or closure in Ritsu’s gaze like he might expect. Instead, Ritsu just slumps with regret. His dark eyes are clouded with grief, as though this discovery has condemned something within him. “I do, and that’s the scary part.”

---

Neither of them speaks on the way back to Ritsu’s house. The sun is beginning to set behind the horizon by the time they make it back, and Shou’s stomach is grumbling. He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl to graze on while Ritsu sweeps the feathers and early fall leaves from off the deck, and he tries not to think too hard about the implications of the day’s revelations. He plops down on the edge of the bed that used to be Shigeo’s, a person who Shou now has a name and a face to attach to it. A person who still has a place in this house, should he ever come back to reclaim it. It’s not a place that Shou can keep for himself much longer, and he knows it. Guess I have to go home sometime, huh? he thinks to himself, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ritsu comes inside and closes the door behind him, leaning the broom up in the corner by the coat rack. He moves quietly over to his shelf to change into his night clothes while Shou lays on the soft mattress, and when he’s ready to climb into bed himself, he turns to face him. “Shou,” he says, hesitantly, fiddling with the fingers on one of his hands. “I want you to know, I’m… I’m really glad I met you.”

Shou sits up in the bed, eyebrows raised in quiet surprise, but his reply is caught in his throat when he sees the small but undeniable smile on Ritsu’s face. It’s shaky, like he’s fighting the urge to stifle it the way he has so many times already, but it’s still there. It’s slightly crooked and, Shou notices, entirely humanesque, holding the same blunted incisors and sharp canines his own mouth carries. The sight of this little smile, simultaneously remarkable and unremarkable, is enough to send Shou’s heart somersaulting in his chest, the words on his tongue dying before they have the chance to see daylight.

It’s irrevocably beautiful, to Shou.

“I-I’m glad I met you, too,” he finally stammers, once he’s managed to get a grip on his thoughts long enough to form a coherent sentence, though he can’t quite suppress the awe-struck stutter that accompanies his words. “You’re a good friend, Ritsu. I’m really grateful that you decided to save me, that day.”

Ritsu doesn’t say anything in return, just flashes him another little smile and, oh, Shou could definitely get used to seeing that. Then he blows out the candle keeping the room dimly lit and plunges it into darkness, crawling into his own bed for the night.

---

Shou decides the following morning that it’s past time he returns to his village. He has a house and a job waiting for him at home, after all, or at least he hopes he still does, and while he doesn’t have any really close friends, his neighbors are bound to be wondering where he’s gone off to by now. He tells Ritsu as much as he packs up his sketchbook and his pencils and prepares to start the walk back home.

He pretends not to notice the way Ritsu stifles his disappointment under a layer of practiced calm. “Are you sure? If you need an extra day, it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal,” he offers, but Shou just shakes his head and offers Ritsu a bittersweet smile.

“No, I can’t do that. This was never meant to be permanent, anyway, I’ve just been borrowing your extra space from your brother. He’ll need it once he decides to come home,” he replies, gesturing to the empty bed and shelf nestled into the back corner of the house. “Although, it may be a good idea to invest in, like, a bedroll or something, in case he decides to bring his boyfriend with him.”

The suggestion makes Ritsu screw up his face in unhidden disgust, drawing a loud laugh out of Shou’s mouth at the sight of it. Ritsu rolls his eyes, long-suffering. “Yeah, alright,” he sighs, and follows Shou to the door to he can give him a proper send-off.

“You’re sure I won’t get lost again in there?” Shou asks, pointing to the magically trapped forest that lays sprawling in front of him. “I just walk straight, and I’ll make it home?”

Ritsu snorts, raising an incredulous brow at him. “Of course, I know what I’m doing,” he assures. “My brother may have been the one strong enough to lay the trap in the first place, but the illusion on it is all from me. I can manipulate it in any way I want. I won’t take you more than an hour or two to make it back without the trap getting in your way.”

Shou nods, taking comfort in Ritsu’s confidence as the two of them stand side-by-side facing the woods. “Well then, I guess this is goodbye,” he says, and tries not to let show the way the words make his heart fall and his throat feel just a little tighter.

Ritsu shakes his head, laying a hand on Shou’s shoulder. “It’s not ‘goodbye’, it’s ‘see you later’,” he corrects, and lets slip one of those small, kind smiles. “I don’t expect you’ll be able to resist coming back anyway, even if I tried to stop you, so I may as well give you permission to come visit before you end up lost in the forest again.” He plays it off in a casual manner, but the way his neck flushes just slightly pinker than usual gives away his true intentions.

Shou doesn’t bother to fight the grin that comes to his face at this, and before he can think better of it he pulls Ritsu in for a quick, tight hug. He catches the little squeak of surprise Ritsu makes in response to it, but his friend doesn’t pull away, lifting his arms to tentatively return the brief embrace. One of Shou’s hands finds its way into the downy feathers between Ritsu’s shoulders, soft as cotton between his fingers, while Ritsu’s splay against his back and squeeze him once, gently.

“Come back soon,” Ritsu mumbles against Shou’s shoulder before he pulls away, letting his hands linger for just a moment before he lets them drop back to his sides.

“Count on it,” Shou replies with a bright grin, offering Ritsu one last clap on the shoulder before he turns and begins to walk toward the forest. “I’ll see you later,” he adds over his shoulder, raising a hand in an energetic wave as he reaches the edge of the trees. He watches just long enough to see Ritsu return his wave before he turns and disappears into the forest, homeward bound.

---

When he would reach his lonely little house just under two hours later, his neighbors would greet him with worried words and frightened expressions, and when he would tell them where he’d gone and why, they would ask him if he’d found anything worthwhile after so many days away from home.

“No,” he would say, with a helpless little smile. “Nothing at all.”

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ritshou #kageyama ritsu #suzuki shou #kageyama shigeo #fanfiction #mp100 fanfic #wings au #reach au #winged ritsu #winged shigeo #alternate universe #dehydration #near death experience #serendipitousfics

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ravenchaitea · 6 years ago

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Hello out there! I don't know how many of you followed this blog just for the P5 content itself and how many followed it because of my fic writing. Either way, I'm flattered! For any of ya'll that are interested, I've started a new P5 Pegoryu fic and I'll be posting a preview of the first chapter here. Eventually it'll move to Archive.

Summaries are not my thing, but here goes nothin’:

Ryuji's two years out of graduating from the Colony Defense Force program when he gets his first real assignment in deep space. It's not something in his field as a fighter pilot, he'll basically be acting as a glorified ambulance driver. If he can pull it off, in a year he can put in for a transfer. It might be his only chance. He's never been good at following the chain of command and he doesn't shine academically, but he knows ships. He knows how to fly them, build them, repair them. It's the only reason he was able to get into the program in the first place. It's the only thing he's good at.

He’s surprised when someone takes notice, especially when that someone is Commander Akira Kurusu. The man is the youngest war hero in Earth Colonies history. He was there during the fall of Shido, when the entire planet was wiped off the map. Now he’s a walking poster child for the Alliance of Emergency Medical Services, AMES. He leads a specialized team that travels from planet to planet, offering aid when needed. It’s the complete opposite of everything Ryuji was trained to do, but he’s finding it impossible to say no. Especially when he’s going to be serving under such an attractive commander.

Act. 1.1

On the Earth colony planet of Kamoshida, the sun is going down, bathing everything in a honey-orange glow. Acres of tall yellow grass grow up from the ground. The stalks roll like waves, stirred up by a mild evening breeze. Ryuji Sakamoto sits on the hood of his silver hover car, hands folded neatly behind his head as the last light of day bakes heat into his skin. He strains to keep his eyes open, drifting in and out of a lazy afternoon nap. It's one of the few moments he's had to himself since spring ended.

They say Kamoshida is the closet of the Earth colony planets to resemble Old-Earth. It's the only planet in the sector to have a true four season cycle, making it ideal for growing most Earth staples. The planet's major export is its crops, providing more than half of the colonies' food supply. The entire population of the Kamoshida colony is involved with the farming efforts, growing, selling, or packing. Ryuji's family happens to be fifth generation bean growers.

He opens his eyes and lifts his hands up in front of his face, studying his oil-stained fingers. He's supposed to be working on his hovercar but he can't muster up the energy. Between school and chores, his free time has been limited. This is to say nothing of the spring sowing and all the extra chores that came with that. Their farm is one of the smallest in the area and he's always been expected to help wherever he can. His father won't tolerate laziness. Any time spent working on his car definitely falls into that category.

He's been putting on the finishing touches for weeks, pushing himself towards the goal of being able to take it out. Although 'out' is a bit of an overstatement. He won't legally be allowed to take it anywhere besides ground streets for two more years. Air flight is restricted to the eighteen and up crowd. Despite that, he figures two years is nothing compared to the four it's taken him to get it all put together. It was little more than an empty chasse full of scraps when he brought it home from the junkyard. A fact his father continues to lord over him every chance he gets, even with all the progress he's made on it.

He's poured all his monthly allowance into buying parts and making needed repairs. What he couldn't afford, well-... He figures it's all stuff that won't be missed. It needs fresh paint and to have the chrome touched up, but there's time for that later. Having a ground vehicle will at least get him away from the house on weekends. Plus there's a point of pride to be had in being the only one in his circle of friends with a car.

His hazy mind is busy going over possible paint combinations when he catches himself dozing off for real. He allowed himself to be lulled into sleep by the darkening sky and the warm pre-summer air. He forces his eyes open and glances up, able to see the beginning of stars among the pale pink hues of atmosphere. His body is bone tired and for a few more minutes he lies still, fatigued from weeks of not getting enough sleep. He thinks it odd that someone of his age should feel so run down. There's no time to dwell on that though. His mother will be finishing up dinner and he's expected to be home to set the table.

He slides down off the hood and begins the short walk through the fields to get back to the house. When he emerges from the sea of tall grass he sees his father's truck in the driveway. It's an instant disappointment. Friday nights are usually the night his father stays in town after work to have a drink and 'catch up with the boys'. It's a rarity for him to forego bar time for family time. Ryuji crosses the yard at a slow pace, dragging his feet to stave off the inevitable. The thought of sitting down to eat with his drunkard father is more than he can stand.

As he's approaching the house his wristwatch display lights up, receiving an incoming call. He pauses just off the porch to answer it, waiting for the video connection to buffer. The eager expression of his longtime friend and classmate Takeishi appears on the screen.

"What's up?"

"We still on for tonight?" Takeishi asks and the question throws Ryuji for a moment. Had they made plans? He thinks they might have made plans. "Y'know. Captain Kidd's ship. Parked at the shipyard."

"Oh shit," Ryuji breathes as his chest lights up with excitement. "Man, I totally forgot about it."

"How the hell did you forget?"

"Spring sowin', remember? We've gotta get the fields resown before summer rolls around. I've been busy."

Takeishi studies him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in concern, "You good?"

"I'm okay," Ryuji assures him. It's not exactly a lie, at the moment he's fine. He's tired. Worn down from weeks spent working in close quarters with his father. From trying to meet the man's impossible expectations. "We're meetin' at midnight in old man Iwai's cornfield, right?. Hope you and Nakaoka don't bail on me this time."

"I wasn't the one who bailed."

"I'm serious, man. If you guys don't show I'm goin' in alone."

"We'll be there." Takeishi insists though it does nothing to diminish Ryuji's doubt. "See ya."

"Yeah." Ryuji sighs, tapping the end call button. Inside he can hear his father's voice. It's more the tone than actual words and he already sounds riled up about something. He ascends the porch stairs and presses himself against the wall beside the front door. He's trying to give himself a moment of composure before he goes in.

He doesn't want to deal with this right now.

"Hey," He calls out as he pushes the front door open. From his vantage point, he can see into the kitchen. His mother is standing with her back against the counter and her arms crossed over her chest. She widens her eyes at him, a silent warning for him to tread cautiously. He kicks his shoes off and nudges them into neat alignment by his father's work boots. He crosses the living room and turns the corner to his father seated at the dining table.

"The hell you been?" The older man demands, swinging one of his worn hands towards the table. "I come home from bustin' my ass and your mother can't even get dinner on the table because you're off god knows where."

"Yes sir," It's less of an agreement and more of a neutral answer. Ryuji knows he's already on thin ice and he's not about to make things worse by arguing.

"Welcome home," His mother offers, a subtle change in the conversation. He hates this. Friday night dinners are usually their thing. It's the one night of the week they don't have to tiptoe around his father.

"Go ahead and sit down, Ma," Ryuji insists, guiding her towards the table. He washes his hands clean at the sink and gathers the plates from the cabinet. He has to reach around his parents to set the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his father watching him. He's looking for a reason to yell at him again. Wordlessly Ryuji serves the food and grabs his father a bottle of beer from the fridge. On his way to his chair, he sets a light hand atop his mother's shoulder hoping to reassure her. She pats his fingers lightly in acknowledgment. The whole exchange is missed by the man at the head of the table as he pries the lid off his beer and takes a long drink of it.

Ryuji watches in silent disgust as some of the foamy liquid pools at the side his father's mouth and runs down his chin. His entire face looks like well-worn leather. It's creased and tanned by his many long days working in the fields. He runs equally aged fingers across his spotty stubble covered chin, wiping the beer away in an almost thoughtful gesture. He sets the bottle down and clears his throat before taking up his utensils to begin the meal. Neither Ryuji nor his mother dares to start eating before he does, lest they affront him.

"Spring harvest was profitable this year," He announces, sounding almost on the verge of pride. There's no doubt in Ryuji's mind that his father spent most of his day in town stroking his own ego. Beans are not a big spring crop and their farm has been mostly dormant since winter. That doesn't stop Ryuji's father from acting as if the entire town's spring harvest is his own personal success story.

"Ryuji,"

"Yeah?" He's surprised by his father's calm use of his name. He sets his fork down beside his plate and lifts his eyes up to meet the older man's. They're the color of a stormy ocean and dark, cold, and dimly glazed over from the alcohol. Ryuji's always been thankful that he got his mother's brown eyes. He hopes that they somehow make him look more like her and less like his dad.

"Y'worked real hard these past couple months. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Uh, thank you," Ryuji replies, feeling his guard go up and his hands curl into fists on reflex. It's not often that the man offers him praise and it usually doesn't come without strings attached. His father rises to his feet, his body swaying under the effects of the alcohol. The half beer that sits on the table is a pallet cleanser for whatever hard stuff he drank before coming home. It's a wonder he was able to drive without causing an accident. Sometimes Ryuji wishes he would crash. It's not malicious but out of a desire to keep him off the road and away from other people. It's easy to picture his father drunkenly swerving in front of somebody else's family.

His stomach lurches at the thought, the feeling intensified by the sudden approach. The man stands over him like a tree shadow, blocking out the kitchen lights. It casts darkness over him. He turns his head upwards to meet his father's eyes. He strains to keep a straight face as the scent of alcohol on his father's breath wafts down over him like a heavy fog. The older man smiles a grin of yellowing teeth and brings his hand down to clap over Ryuji's shoulder. He flinches away, a sharp jerk of his muscles that's more memory than anything else. The reaction doesn't go unnoticed.

"The fuck, Ryuji?" His father breathes, training his callused fingers up the back of Ryuji's neck to grip a handful of his hair. Across the table, his mother sits up straighter in her chair. He body is tense with nerves as she prepares to intervene. Ryuji prays that she doesn't, wills her to sit still and stay quiet. "I'm not gonna hit you."

He definitely would, and has.

"I was gonna say," He continues, gripping his hair a bit tighter, bordering the point where it becomes painful. Ryuji takes measured breaths to force his body to relax and like a cue, it eases his father's hold on him. Almost affectionately he runs his weathered fingers up through the top of his hair to tussle it. "-that since you helped out so much, I'll give you a bigger allowance this month so you can get your car fixed up."

"Really?" Ryuji forces enthusiasm into his voice because he needs to act accordingly. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"I've never been prouder. Makes me think you've got more than shit for brains after all. Might have someone worthy of passing the fields down to someday."

Ryuji pointedly ignores the insult.

His father turns unsteadily on his toes and almost falls over in an attempt to seat himself. He shakes it off and returns to his food. Ryuji and his mother follow suit and for the rest of the meal, he's forced to avoid his mother's concern filled eyes. His father continues to ramble, making small talk and bad mouthing his bar friends. It's a one-sided conversation. He's too drunk and too into his rant to notice that no one's paying attention to him.

Ryuji continues to mindlessly force food into his mouth, though he can't taste it anymore. Twice he has to pause to keep it from coming back up, his stomach so tied into knots that it's making him nauseous. He doesn't have to suffer for very long, his father begins to doze in and out of consciousness at the table. His mother stands and coaxes her husband to his feet. She leads him down the hallway to their bedroom, guiding his wobbly footsteps the entire way. Ryuji turns his attention to clearing the table and putting the leftovers away.

It's half past ten when his mother emerges from the bedroom, looking exhausted and frustrated. She enters the kitchen and makes a beeline for the fridge. She almost rips the handle off the freezer door as she yanks it open. Ryuji grabs two spoons from the silverware drawer and waits while she chooses a flavor of ice cream.

"Feels like a mint chocolate chip sort of night," She mumbles, to herself more than anyone. The two of them sit side by side at the table, sliding the pint back and forth, eating in silence. Ryuji thinks it would be comical if it wasn't also so damn sad.

"Hey," Ryuji begins, watching as she carves out a large spoonful of ice cream for herself. She glances up at him, prompting him to continue as she tries to find a way to fit the entire oversized scoop into her mouth. "I'm gonna go hang out with Nakaoka and Takeishi tonight."

"Mmm," She muses, raising her eyebrows in a clear question of 'Oh yeah?'.

"It's not a school night and I'm pretty sure that he," -the drunken idiot in the bedroom, "isn't going to wake up anytime soon."

"It's getting pretty late."

"You really gonna try and pull the curfew thing on me?"

Narrowing her eyes, she points her spoon threateningly in his direction, "It's my right as a mother."

"I have to get out of here. At least for a little while," He presses, glancing over his shoulder towards their bedroom door. "If you let me go out, you can lay down in my room and get some decent sleep. We can swap beds when I come back."

"Where are you going exactly?"

"We're gonna troll around old man Iwai's corn field. Might go down to the lake or somethin'."

"I hope you realize you're going to have to learn to lie better," She sighs. She takes her spoon and begins to scrape at the bottom of the ice cream carton, hoping to get one final bite out of it. "Fine, but you need to be back before sunrise. And I mean before sunrise."

"I will be," Ryuji swears, leaping to his feet with a sudden surge of new energy. He takes the stairs up to his room two at a time, though his footsteps are measured and quiet. He's not about to risk waking his father up, even though he knows that the man is out for the night. He gathers his backpack and throws his tools into it. Screwdrivers, wrenches, portable laser torch, he runs through a quick mental inventory to make sure he has everything.

He grabs his ComTab off his bed and sends a quick text message off to his friends to remind them of the time and place. He tosses the tablet into his backpack and tiptoes rapidly back downstairs. His mother gives him an uneasy look as he brushes past her on the way out the door. Despite himself, he can't stand for her to be disappointed in him. As an act of good faith, he doubles back for a hug and promises once again to be back before sunrise.

He slips out the front door and sails over the porch steps and down the driveway. Old man Iwai's cornfield is a few miles down from his house. The night air is crisp and clear, it's temperature situated in the middle of warm and cool. It's the perfect atmosphere for a run. Sometimes Ryuji thinks he was born for it. He should have joined the track team with Nakaoka and Takeishi, but he knew it would be one more thing for his father to play against him. Still, it's a favorite past time to turn to when things get bad at home.

It doesn't take him long to fall into a steady rhythm of feet on dirt road. The roads are from the early days of the colony, back when vehicles had actual wheels. Once hover crafts became the norm, the roads became more of a guideline for those who preferred to drive closer to the ground. Ryuji himself can't imagine wanting that. He's been dreaming of air flight since he was young. This is due in part to his admiration of Captain Kidd.

Captain Kidd, like Ryuji, is from the colony of Kamoshida. Something of a local celebrity, he started his career as a well-known stunt pilot. Later he joined up with the Colony Defense Force and within a few years became captain of his own crew. They traverse the galaxy to fend off threats from hostile planets. Ryuji's been obsessed with him ever since the first broadcast of his trick flying. He's collected every holo-vid he could find and has spent hours watching them. The flips and spins are burned into his memory. Even as he jogs he can visualize it.

It's the reason behind his meeting with Takeishi and Nakaoka. There's a rumor that Captain Kidd is in town visiting his family and that his famous stunt ship is with him. According to the rumor he's even parked it at the local shipyard. Ryuji isn't sure if he believes it, but he's not about to pass up an opportunity to find out. He's broken into the shipyard before to collect discarded parts or to look at the ships and cars. It's almost a joke that Captain Kidd would want to store his trick craft there.

Their meeting place is on the far end of the Iwai cornfield, where the crops end abruptly and give way to an open flatland. He glances at the time on his watch, ten till midnight. He's the first to arrive, that is if his friends decide to show up. The last time they planned something like this the two boys bailed out, leaving Ryuji waiting for hours. Although, the mission to sneak into Ann Takemaki's sixteenth birthday party was a little less dire than their current plan.

It's almost midnight on the dot when Takeishi and Nakaoka arrive, stepping free of the tall corn stalks. Takeishi is full of smug arrogance, hands tucked casually into his pockets, head held high. He's always been a bit full of himself, though it's a facade that always seems to crack when things become dicey. Nakaoka is reserved and somewhat nervous. He tries to be the voice of reason for the other two, but his words often fall on deaf ears. He frequently gets dragged into Ryuji and Takeishi's schemes. Although on this particular night, even he seems to be somewhat excited.

"Told'ya we'd be here." Takeishi steps over to Ryuji and the two of them bump fists. Their knuckles crack together in a way that feels very manly.

"I was about to go without you," Ryuji shoots back, hoisting his backpack further up onto his shoulders. "If I had any sense I would'a."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and start walking, Sakamoto."

Ryuji is all too happy to fall into the role of leader, moving with confidence over the large expanse of flat land. Kamoshida's twin moons gleam overhead. They light the way as he guides them along a well-memorized path.

Before they can get to the local shipyard they have to pass Kamoshida Commercial Shipyard. It's a literal metal city where all the off-world space ships dock. It's one of the larger ones on the planet, a center of commerce for all imported and exported goods between the colonies. Twice a month huge ships dock there to load or unload, staying only a few brief days before departing again.

As they near the yard, bright overhead beams of light come into view. Steel rafters rise up like metal giants, dotted with high rising staircases and elevators. Skyscraper buildings intermingle with the docks, full of places for ship crews to spend their shore-time. It all feels very exclusive, surrounded all on sides by thick metal walls. They're designed to keep foreigners inside and locals outside. A huge impenetrable fortress in the middle of miles and miles of farmland.

It's not their destination, but every time Ryuji passes by it, he has to stop to take it all in.

"Wouldn't it be badass to go off world?" He breathes, turning his head around to look at Takeishi and Nakaoka. The two of them look just as awestruck, maybe more-so, since this isn't a common sight for them.

"Those ships are huge," Nakaoka says, stepping up next to Ryuji. "I mean, I knew they were huge. They have to be to carry so much stuff, but I guess I didn't have a scale for it before now."

"My dad works down on dock 37. He says that they're even bigger up close. Bigger than the buildings in the capital." says Takeishi, then adds as an afterthought, "I think about leaving this shitty planet all the time, but let's get real here. The only way any of us are going to make it off is if we join the defense force or the medical brigade. We're all too stupid for that."

"Maybe you're too stupid. I bet I could get in. Sakamoto could get in if he got real good at fixing ships."

"Yeah, you're probably right. He'd get himself a job doing custodial work or something."

"I would not!" Ryuji protests, although they might be right. The only way he'd ever get off Kamoshida is if he got a crappy job on a transport ship. Although the alternative as a bean farmer isn't exactly appealing either. "Maybe I need to become a trick pilot like Captain Kidd."

"What? You'd never be able to pull that off." Takeishi laughs the words into his face and Ryuji feels his blood heat up under his skin.

"Why not?"

"Sakamoto, you got beans for brains? The only thing you've ever piloted is a wheel-tractor. You don't even have your car up and running. What makes you think you're going to be able to do flight tricks?"

"Guys, let's just go." Nakaoka intervenes right as Ryuji opens his mouth to reply. "If you guys get into a fight we'll never make it to the shipyard to see the ship. So let's just go."

"Fine," Ryuji concedes for the moment, knowing that Nakaoka's right. He ignores Takeishi for the rest of the trek.

The local public shipyard is a much less impressive sight. It's a large flat patch of concrete surrounded on all sides by a well worn and rusted chain link fence and an unfathomable amount of weeds. It's mostly a glorified parking lot with a few hangars on the far end. There's even a small collection of Old-Earth style vehicles, camper trailers, and trucks. Most of them are covered in thick layers of dust and surrounded by grass that pushed up through cracks in the concrete.

"Where do you think he parked it?" Takeishi steps up to peer through the fence, or rather over the fence. It's so old and weak that it halfway hangs off of its support poles. "Inside one of the hangars?"

"If it's in a hangar, there's no way we'll be able to get in to see it," Nakaoka mumbles, giving into defeat before they've even made it inside. How very typical of him.

"I've broken into this place to collect parts for my car," Ryuji says, stepping up to the fence beside Takeishi. He shifts his backpack around to the front and digs through it until he finds his portable laser torch. "Security is an old guy who falls asleep watchin' the monitors and outdated patrol robots. I don't think the keypads on the hangars work and even if they do I'm sure I can disable them. They're simple coded panels."

"Since when did you become a hacker?" Takeishi challenges, though there's a touch of admiration in his voice.

"Not that kind of code, like a number combination. It's less hackin' and more... Cuttin' wires." Ryuji grabs hold of one of the fence supports. He flicks the torch on and cuts through the small pieces of metal holding the fence up. The panel collapses the rest of the way down into the grass and the three boys clamber over it. Ryuji breathes a sigh of relief. They're finally in, all that's left is to find the ship. "Stay close to me and keep your voices down."

The three of them make slow but steady progress through the shipyard, avoiding motion sensors and cameras. Ryuji knows the layout of the complex like the back of his hand and he continues to lead his friends onward. They've almost reached the long line of hangars when Ryuji hears the unsteady approach of a security robot. He motions for the other two to get down and follow him up under one of the Old-Earth vehicles. They're packed together like sardines and every time Ryuji shifts he's poked by bramble weeds that grew up under the truck's front end.

Nakaoka's nervous breathing stirs the hair on the back of Ryuji's neck. It's the only sound outside of the approaching patrol robot. The tread on its tires is almost non-existent and it bounces violently over every crack and dip in the concrete. It stops beside their hiding place and begins to run it's scanner down over the side of the vehicle. Blue light beams down into their eyes and Nakaoka stops breathing entirely. The robot lets out a soft crackle of static before turning to wheel away.

"This is a bad idea. We should leave." Nakaoka insists as the three of them crawl free of the undercarriage of the truck.

Ryuji resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead offering words of encouragement, "We're almost there. It'll be another half hour before the robots make it back over here."

"We can't go back," Takeishi adds, though his words are anything but soothing. "You can't wuss out on us now. Not when we're this close. Grow a pair already!"

"Come on," Ryuji is tempted to ditch them both, tired of their theatrics, but Takeishi is right for once. They've come too far and there's no going back. They begin scoping out the hangars, peering in small side windows to check the inside for the ship. They're almost to the last one when Ryuji finally spots it, an unmistakable outline. Grinning ear to ear, he waves to his friends and they join him at the window. "In here!"

"No way," Takeishi laughs, slapping Ryuji jovially on the back. "I didn't think we were gonna find it."

"Kinda pissed that you two doubted me."

"Let's get in there to get a closer look."

"I'm on it." Ryuji slips around the side of the hangar to the entry door while Takeishi and Nakaoka keep watch. It doesn't take him long to pry the panel off so that he can access the wires. He snips through the alarm wires and then gets to work on the ones that control the lock. He shifts them from connection to connection until he hears the lock click open inside the door. "Guys, come on."

"Sakamoto, you're such a badass." Takeishi raves as they enter and the compliment fills Ryuji's chest with pride. He's the first one who approaches the cruiser. He runs his fingers admiringly over its sleek navy blue paint. The chrome accents along the front and sides are gleaming, perfect mirrors that reflect Ryuji's wonder-filled eyes. The other boys join him and the three of them circle the cruiser like sharks, drooling over every last detail. "Alright, now that we've looked at it, let's start it up."

"Whoa, what?" Ryuji glanced at Takeishi, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What do you mean start it up?"

"Well you're good at hot-wiring things, right? So get in there and start it up."

"For real? I can hotwire the crappy hover cars parked in town, but this is a really high-class ship. It's got to have a whole computer devoted to an alarm and protection system," He says it as if he doesn't already know. He does know. He knows everything about it.

"C'mon, Sakamoto. I know you lay in bed at night fapping to ship schematics."

"The hell?!"

"Jerkin' it to all those Captain Kidd posters you've got.”

"Takeishi, I swear-..."

"Moaning his name when you cum."

"I'll do it if you shut up," Ryuji growls. He swings his backpack down to the ground and kneels over it. He knows there's nothing in his bag that could possibly work on such an advanced ship. He's got to at least try for the sake of his dignity. It isn't enough for Takeishi that Ryuji brought them to the shipyard and broke into the hangar, no, he's always got to push things too far.

"Ryuji, don't." Nakaoka implores him. "Guys, this is stupid. We should go. There's no way Ryuji could hotwire a craft like this."

"Let him work." Takeishi snaps, beginning an argument between the two. Ryuji ignores them as he approaches the stunt ship, heart pounding with nervous anticipation. He never dreamed he would ever see it up close and in person and it's better than any photo he's ever seen. He lightly runs his hand over the lock panel, surprised when it opens up to reveal-... An Old-Earth style key lock? This isn't what Ryuji's expecting.

Most high-class ships and cars are programmed with fancy identification software. Usually, that means voice recognition or palm and iris scanners. To see something so archaic on Captain Kidd's stunt ship is both amusing and fortuitous. Ryuji can pick old style car locks without even having to think about it. He pulls his tools from his bag and gets to it. He presses his head against the hull, listening for the pins inside the lock.

"He's got this," Takeishi whispers, earning a sharp look from Ryuji.

"Don't talk," He commands, straining his ears to move the final pin out of the way. The lock clicks and then turns and with a soft whoosh of air, the door to the ship begins to fold down. Ryuji's eyes bulge inside his head as he realizes what he's done. The lights inside the cruiser flick on, bright white LEDs that make the interior shine like the gates of heaven. Without even thinking about it, Ryuji steps forward to climb the stairs and enter the craft.

Takeishi and Nakaoka bumble up after him, but he hardly notices that they're there. His wonder and excitement have dimmed upon seeing the craft's interior. Although the outside of the ship for all the world resembles the trick craft, the inside is that of a basic hover car. It's even got cup holders and a console. It dawns on Ryuji that Captain Kidd's trick ship likely isn't street legal. The vehicle they're sitting in now is either his civilian car or a really really good fake that someone made.

"It's not the right one," Ryuji explains lamely, turning to glance over his shoulders at his friends. Nakaoka is wearing a similar mask of disenchantment, but Takeishi on the other hand-... Anger flares to life inside of Ryuji's chest, he realizes he's been baited. "You knew."

"C'mon Sakamoto. You didn't actually think that Captain Kidd would drive his stunt ship into town, didya?" Takeishi gloats, his grin wide with amusement. Sometimes Ryuji wonders why they're friends. Why does he even bothers spending time with someone who acts the way Takeishi does? It's likely all close proximity, they certainly wouldn't have met by any other means. "My dad says Captain Kidd's got a regular hover car made up all nice like his stunt ship. I knew he'd probably park it out here."

"You're such a friggen asshole."

"I never said it was the actual ship, you just assumed that."

"You brought us out here for this?!" Even Nakaoka's upset, a rarity for him. Normally he's immune to all the usual bullshit that Ryuji and Takeishi drag him through. It makes Ryuji feel even worse knowing that his own anger is justified in Nakaoka. "Come on, Ryuji. Let's go."

"Yeah. Right behind you," Ryuji says, following Nakaoka down out of the ship, or rather, the hover car. He gathers his tools and throws them back into his bag with a satisfying use of force. They clink together as they hit the bottom of the bag and settle. "C'mon Takeishi. Get out of there. We're leaving."

"You're not gonna try to crank this thing up?" Takeishi asks, oblivious to the sour mood of the other two.

"No! I'm not! Now get outta there!"

Takeishi pouts as he climbs down the stairs. Ryuji ignores him. He seals the car door back up and starts for the hangar exit, eager to be out and on his way back home. Once they're outside again, he can breathe better. The cool night air calms his nerves a bit. Overhead the stars glimmer and the twin moons shine like the eyes of a cat. It's beautiful in a way Ryuji can't always describe and looking up at it takes the last bit of the edge off. He's still disappointed but it's less biting than it was inside the hangar. That is until Takeishi opens his mouth again.

"You're both being a couple of little bitches about all this," He goads. Ryuji bristles with newfound anger. He tosses his bag onto the ground and brings his hands up to slam against Takeishi's chest. It knocks him against the side of the hangar. The metal rattles and echos across the shipyard.

"Find your own way home," Ryuji seethes, hissing the words through clenched teeth. Takeishi opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, but Ryuji doesn't allow it. He slams his fist against the hangar, knuckles making contact with the hard metal. It sends a shockwave of pain up his arm but he doesn't care. Takeishi flinches away from both the action and the sound, his eyes wide with disbelief. Ryuji shoves away from the wall and snatches his bag up. This time when they turn to leave, they're not immediately followed.

"Should'a hit me like your daddy hits you!" Takeishi taunts, but the two of them ignore him. The vein in the side of Ryuji's forehead is pulsing and he feels lightheaded. When they're out of sight of Takeishi he stops for a moment to catch his breath.

"Sorry. You shouldn't'a had to see that," Ryuji apologizes, glancing sidelong. Nakaoka offers him a worn smile.

"He deserves it," Nakaoka concludes, shrugging his shoulders. "For real though, let's go. I don't want to get caught in here. My mom'll kill me."

"Mine too."

The two of them set off together in comfortable silence, following the same path they took to get in to get back out. They're almost to the fence line when they hear approaching footsteps. It's followed by the sound of tires bouncing over the cracked concrete. Ryuji throws his head over his shoulder to see Takeishi barreling after them. There's a security robot hot on his tail. Only once has Ryuji ever found himself in a similar situation. He knows from experience that the security bots can outrun a human. There's no way Takeishi is going to make it to the fence in time.

He knows he's going to regret this, but-...

"Take this and get outta here," Ryuji snaps, tossing his bag into Nakaoka's arms. He gives the other boy's shoulder a firm push. Nakaoka does what he does best and takes off. Ryuji spins around in the opposite direction to go back for Takeishi. He's doing a fair job of throwing the bot off, ducking between hover cars to cut off its straight forward path. Despite that, the machine is still closing the distance between them. Ryuji sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, catching both the bot and Takeishi's attention.

"Go long!" Ryuji calls out, gesturing towards the far end of the shipyard.

"There's another downed fence that way!" Takeishi throws up a fist in acknowledgment and breaks out running. He's a few aisles down from Ryuji, zigzagging a path through the parked cars. It's a good method to prevent the bot from gaining distance on a straightaway. So far it's working, the bot only has ground capabilities and it can't keep up with Takeishi's random changes in direction. Ryuji for his part races ahead, keeping his eyes out for more security bots. They've almost reached the fence line again and the opening that waits there for them.

Takeishi's been doing track since middle school and it shows in the way he runs, his stride long and practiced. He catches up to Ryuji and the two of them push on towards the fence. For a moment they catch each other's eye and share twin smiles of amusement. This is easily the craziest thing they've done to date. This Takeishi is the one Ryuji is friends with. He's briefly reminded of that as they come upon the end of their shared row. They dash around the side of the last hover car and almost crash into the fence.

"No effin' way!" Ryuji curses, staring incredulously at the brand new panel of fencing. "This thing's been down for months! When did they replace it?!"

"Worry about that later! Where else can we get out at?!" cries Takeishi as he checks over his shoulder for the bot. "Shit, Ryuji we gotta go, man! There's two of them back there!"

When Ryuji looks, sure enough, two security robots are coming down the aisles towards them. In the distance, Ryuji can make out a third. He turned to Takeishi, his stomach clenching nervously at what he's about to do.

"Takeishi, climb! I'll help you over. Then I can go back down to where we came in," Without thinking he kneels down and offers himself as a foothold to his friend. Takeishi stares at him for a heartbeat, eyebrows furrowed with indecision. They both know its unlikely that Ryuji will be able to make it out. "Please man, just go."

"I'm sorry," Takeishi apologizes as he steps onto Ryuji's back. He hoists himself up and over the fence, turning around in time to offer a mournful look. Ryuji doesn't have time to do more than wave him off, the bots are closing in around him. As a last-ditch effort, Ryuji takes off back towards the hangars, hoping he might be able to get inside of one to hide. He's almost there when his foot catches in a crack in the pavement. His body shoots forward and lands against the hard ground, skinning his palms and forearms in the process. For a moment he lays winded, trying to will himself to get back up.

The security bots surround him, having picked up a fourth on the way. They began to run their scanners over him, bright blue beams of light that shock the back of his eyelids. He raises up a hand to cover his eyes against their glow. There's a soft crackle of static that passes between them like they're having a private conversation in robot. One of the bots scans him a second time for good measure and then it begins to speak.

Ryuji Sakamoto, age 16. No prior offenses. Citizen, please remain where you are. An officer has been dispatched to this location and will arrive shortly. Please do not leave the scene, as this could be taken as a sign of an attempt to resist arrest. There are no charges currently being brought against you. However, I will begin the Mirandizing process should this incident be taken to court in the future. In accordance with local laws, you have the right to remain silent-...

Ryuji pushes himself up onto his knees, listening to the security robot's electronic voice. His pulse pounds at the side of his forehead and he thinks for a moment about how fucked he currently is. He's going to be arrested. The moment that gets back to his father- Ryuji isn't sure what will happen then, but it knows that it won't be good. He debates on trying to run again, but the bots have already logged his identification code. There's a slim chance that they haven't yet transmitted it, but it's a long shot even then.

In the distance, he can hear sirens.

#pegoryu #pegoryu fic #akiryu #akiryu fic #persona 5 #persona 5 fic #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #persona 5 protagonist #space au

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agnes-knits-blog · 6 years ago

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Things I wish I had known about fibromyalgia, and how to live with it

To put this into context, I was diagnosed about 10 or 11 years ago now, and it was a diagnosis reached by excluding other things that could be causing my symptoms. I had X-rays and MRI scans, I had something very unpleasant called electro-conductivity testing to rule out multiple sclerosis, and then I was told that I have fibromyalgia, have this leaflet, please close the door after you. I was basically forced to deal with it myself for a long time, and I’ve learnt quite a lot about how to manage myself. I hope what I learnt can help you.

What is fibromyalgia?

Fibromyalgia means “muscle and nervous pain”. Current research suggests that it is a dysfunction of the central nervous system (that is, the nerves that tell your brain what you’re feeling), so nerve signals are misinterpreted as pain.

Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

Widespread muscular and nervous pain, fatigue, headaches, cognitive dysfunction (problems concentrating, poor memory, slow or confused speech) extreme sensitivity of the skin, extreme sensitivity to pain (as in, you accidentally catch your finger on the cupboard door, it hurts really badly and it still hurts 2+ hours later), muscle stiffness after being still for a while, muscle spasms, poor sleep quality and waking up tired, dizziness and clumsiness, feeling too hot or too cold (because the body isn’t able to regulate it’s temperature) sensations like tingling, numbness, prickling or burning in hands and feet (and maybe other areas), anxiety and depression.

That’s a lot of symptoms, and chances are you don’t get all of them, and other people will be affected differently.

Stress

Stress makes fibro worse. It makes the pain worse, it makes everything harder to cope with. It’s not just me saying that, it is a scientific FACT. I know if I get upset, stressed or angry, my pain INSTANTLY increases. I can’t watch horror films anymore, every time there’s a jump-scare I feel like I’m being showered with needles! So, it’s really important to try and keep your stress levels down. Find hobbies that help you relax. Choose to be calm and happy! It will really help!

Pain

How you think about your pain needs to change. It isn’t a matter of “powering through” and having to “man up”. If you have fibro, you have something which means your nerves are nearly always screaming at you that stuff hurts. LISTEN to your body when you exercise. If it tells you doing something hurts, slow down how you are doing it. Slow your movements down, focus on how you feel and go gently. If it burns or hurts more than you are prepared to deal with, leave it for the day. Get some rest, take some paracetamol and ibuprofen and relax! If the pain gets too much – as in, can’t eat because feel sick because pain, or can’t walk/do daily tasks anymore, go see your GP about pain relief. It took me 8+ years to find a doctor who took me seriously and understood the condition, and gave me the pain meds I need to function day to day.

My current meds are: 2 x cocodamol (30mg codeine/500mg paracetamol) x 4 times a day. 1 x 100 mg gabapentin twice a day. 1 x 100mg sertraline (anti-depressant) twice a day. 45mg mirtazapine at night. That’s a lot of anti-depressants because I also have Bipolar Disorder (used to be called manic depression). Gabapentin has been an absolute godsend for me! It’s really helped tone down the constant prickly/tingly sensations

Sleep

Sleep is incredibly important. When folks with fibro don’t get enough sleep, or don’t get enough deep sleep, everything hurts so much more. Fibro can disrupt your sleep cycle so you don’t go into the deep sleep your body needs - so SLEEP IS IMPORTANT! If you sleep well, you will be so much more able to deal with everyday pain. So try your best to get a good night’s sleep. Create a bedtime routine – go to bed at a decent time (around 11pm at the latest) after a warm bath or shower. Have some extra-soft pyjamas or loungewear to get into after coming out of the bath or shower. Have a hot (non-caffeinated) drink e.g. herbal tea, hot milk, Horlicks or Ovaltine. Don’t watch TV in bed! Do not spend too much time on tablets, phones etc past 9pm (blue light from screens will make you feel more awake, use a blue light filter if it’s built into your devices).

This may make you feel like an old fogey, but SLEEP IS IMPORTANT! Like, super duper important! And you need to do everything you can to make sure you sleep well. However, and this is the real kick in the teeth, sometimes you can do everything right and still wake up exhausted. If that happens, talk to your GP about medication to help you sleep. There are various anti-depressants that are commonly used for this, like amitriptyline (which I used to take, and my sister takes now), and I am currently on mirtazapine to make me properly sleepy. There’s a happy side effect in that these drugs also help to lessen nervous pain.

Fatigue

As you will have noticed by now, fatigue isn’t just feeling tired. It’s feeling exhausted, like you haven’t slept for a week, and you can barely do anything before you have to stop. On days like this, you only have a little energy, and you have to be careful how you spend it. Figure out what HAS to be done (e.g. need to do the laundry so you can have clean clothes tomorrow, dishes need to be done because you have nothing to eat off and you are hungry), and what can wait until you’re feeling better (e.g. vacuuming). You can’t do everything at once, so take it one task at a time slowly and at your own pace. Give yourself breaks if you need it. It’s important to cut yourself some slack and allow yourself to come back to it later. Be kind to yourself. Ask for help if you need it. No one wants to see you struggling with something, or in too much pain to cope.

Cognitive dysfunction (a.k.a. fibro-fog)

Some days, your head might feel like it’s been stuffed with hot cotton wool. You can’t think straight, and you can’t find the words to properly express yourself. You will probably forget things that are a change from your normal routine. People may ask you if you’re on any drugs! Unfortunately there’s no treatment for it, but you can find ways to deal with it.

Use a calendar or paper diary – writing things down may help you to remember them better. Make lists of important things WHEN YOU REMEMBER THEM – you can’t rely on yourself to remember them another time. You have to try and leave yourself reminders. Future you is forgetful, so present you has to plan for it! And if you forget something important, be prepared to apologise!

Food

I’m know it’s very tempting, when you’re in pain and tired, to just order some delicious food delivered to your door, but you’re gonna find it very hard to lose weight when you can’t do lots of cardio, so it’s best to eat healthy most of the time. Keep frozen chopped onion and garlic in the freezer, and tinned tomatoes and pasta in the cupboard, so you can knock up a good meal with minimal effort. Try to have a folding stool in the kitchen for you to perch on whilst cooking. Make it easy to eat well, and save the left-overs for lunches!

Exercising

You’ll probably find it very hard to keep exercising like you used to. Try to replace high impact exercise with something low impact like cycling (not spin class!) and rowing. Maybe try something like yoga or pilates (I know, it’s old lady stuff, but it’s still good for you!), low impact stretching and general core work will be good for you.

DON’T do exercise classes where you will get constantly yelled at to go harder. Don’t let other people set your pace! Let your body tell you how fast you can go!

In general, don’t let other people set your pace. Sometimes you will need to go more slowly, if you feel unsafe on your feet (as in, knees might give out and you might deck it, right in the middle of the street) consider getting a stick. It took me years to finally admit that I needed one, but it has seriously helped me. My sister went through the same thing a few months ago, and I told her: it isn’t you admitting defeat or failure, it’s you doing what you need to do to help yourself. Plus she now has something to trip people up with if she doesn’t like them!

And to anyone who says that fibro isn't real, or is all down to lifestyle factors, I say this: me, my sister and my aunt have all been diagnosed with fibro independent of each other. And I have reason to believe other members of my family might be showing symptoms too! There is clearly a big genetic component at play, so blaming people who can't exercise for being overweight is counter productive as fuck.

#fibromyalgia #fibrowarrior

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nathanfryerwoods · 4 years ago

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Lucky Stars - Blurb and Introduction - Nathan Fryer-Woods

Comically depressing… Lawrie is trapped in an undisclosed location in southeast Asia. It's undisclosed, as Lawrie is a real life boy, still stuck, still in danger. An illegal alien, through no fault of his own, and now a father for the first time. As a mysterious disease ravages the world outside, Lawrie is trapped on the edge of the jungle and civilization, in the most tribal part of the country with the feral in-laws he now calls family. While trying to teach and help his son to grow, he's constantly battling against the bad habits, tribal practices and the deeply embedded superstitions, passed down over the generations. No matter how futile his attempt would seem, all he can do is try… what could possibly go wrong??

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars www.paypal.me/whliteraryagent

Introduction.

I hope you like reading…

They say, it's all about the first line. So now that's over and done with, hi, my name's Nathan. Originally from the UK, but now (and I've always said this as a bit of a joke, but these days it has new meaning), happily trapped in south east Asia. My almost 9 month old Son is doing just great. My wife's family are certifiably crazy, which wasn't a problem till we started living with them. Unfortunately, it's rubbing off on me, and I'm stuck here between a rock, and a bit of a pickle. Not the place I intended to be, whilst raising my first and probably only child.

Thanks to the madness currently possessing the world, my options, just like most people's, are thin on the ground. But as a foreigner in this country, with no government bail out like I'd be getting back home, I expect I'm currently somewhere towards the top end of the world's poverty chart… I've chosen not to openly disclose where I am exactly, as publishers in this country need to exercise a very careful caution, and the laws here regarding slander and defamation of character, mixed up with my legal status, could end up making my situation much worse. I'm not trying to cast a negative light on this place, but it might sometimes seem that way, with how I write about it. I love this place, I just hate this situation and feel so helpless.

I realise I may also at times sound very unappreciative. That's because I am... my body doesn't appreciate white rice every meal of every day. And though I'm used to picking things out of my food, when bugs are a part of the recipe, it feels a bit rude. My lungs don't appreciate the smell of burning bottles every night, and I'm sick of moving the big piles of plastic that mount up outside the room where my son sleeps. I'm also not too keen on the kitchen knife under his pillow, this turned up there, not because of my wife's heavy hands waking him up in tears, but the bad dreams caused by the ghosts. And even though we all know the only way to scare a ghost away is with cutlery, I think I'd prefer a bad dream every once in a while, than one time having a kitchen knife lodged in my neck.

All this being said, I have chosen, for many reasons (and very few alternatives), to ride this out as long as possible for the sake of my Son. The book I am writing explains my situation, and by reading it you should be able to fill in the very odd, small gap. But if not, fire me a message and we'll have a chin-wag.

In a nutshell, I was robbed of the money for my renewal of a very important document by a tour operator. Due to my own naivety, and being busy working in a different city, it was almost 3 months before I realised there was a problem. At the time, my wife was pregnant, and the little money I had was to take care of the hospital bill. After taking some bad advice, I scraped together $500 and paid someone who's family are high up in government and the police, to sort the problem out (at the time, the standard practice was to lock people up waiting for someone back home to cough up). Now, I'm down an extra $500, and the document I need to pass through ports is nowhere to be seen. Which is a bit of a worry. I've been here long enough, seen it all before, and by now have learnt that there's nothing much I can do to sort this, without having the cash to pay the overstay. And going to my embassy wouldn't do any good either, they can't help me out of this, not if I don't have the funds.

The area we now live in is very rural, nothing but farmland for miles around. My skill set is absolutely useless out here. I've spent most of my time in this country working in tourism, mainly managing guesthouses, a skill I'm very thankful for being able to pick up. At the time the world began to fall apart, I was project managing the build of an eco-resort. I wasn't making much, but the potential was there. My manager made the right decision at the time, and cut his losses. A few months later my wife gave up and went back to her parents while I kept trying. But when she told me her and her family (that day there were 5 people not including children), were sharing 2 eggs between them, I decided to come back too. I know what these people are like, and can't let my son grow up like them.

When he was born, I was told it would be 6 weeks before we could get out and back to work. It had been 2 months when I was told the in-laws wanted us to go back to work, leaving my child here. Another month later and they finally got the message. There's no way I'm leaving my boy with a man who gives 3 year olds energy drinks at 8am, while the rest of the family spend their time beating and screaming at him as he's got too much energy, or is crashing from the sugar. This poor boy has all black stumps for teeth on the top row, no pants on all day as he rolls around in the dirt people have been pissing in, and takes worming tablets. This boy, does not need energy drinks. Grandma, loves giving the 22 month old, the dregs of her antihistamine medicine. It tastes nice, so it must be good. Ma can't read the back of packets, instructions or warnings.

Now, the only real option I have is farm work on the family plot. I did this last time we were here when our son was born, usually earning somewhere between $3.75 & 7.50 every 2 days. This time of year, the farm is out of season. Once this years crop is ready, the total worth of the farm's produce will be around $5.00 every 2 days as the 1st month creeps by. This time around, as it looks like I'll be staying for the foreseeable future, I've got to come up with a real plan, I can't put up with this much longer. I used to be vegetarian, and though we're surrounded by farms, I haven't seen a vegetable in 10 days. Now I eat fish heads.. the cheeks, the brains, their faces. I give the eyes to my wife's brothers…I had to draw the line somewhere.

My only way of making a decent wage out here, is to work online. Ideally I'd like to teach English. But most of the day, we're in a black hole for data connection, and with the lack of a certain document, signing up as a teacher isn't possible anyway.

So what's the plan? Well, I guess I'll carry on clutching at straws, keep writing the book, prepare the land for this years harvest and raise the boy. Plenty to keep me busy, but I need way out of this, before my boy grows up like his feral cousins. I feel like I'm living in a George Orwell book, and I don't mean 1984, that's the outside world. We're still stuck on Animal Farm.

I always thought I'd be somewhere in my 50s/60s, when I finally thought about penning my first book. When I had something to write about, and my fingers couldn't handle playing music any longer... As it turns out, I have plenty to write about, and it's spilling out with ease. I've always written, but a novel seemed a little too daunting to even think about. I wouldn't like to guess just how many songs I've written since my first, 25 years ago (which was terrible, and I hate that I still remember it). But the 2 albums trapped in my head are pretty good, at least I recon so. Hopefully they will see the light of day, at some point in the future.

I started the novel on the night of the 21st December 2020, and as of today - 29th Dec, I'm over the 10,000 word marker (though I've been doing a daily, rough edit as I go, I've been advised to try and avoid this, but I wanted the intro to be somewhat polished for upload). I'm hoping to entice some of you in, with the first few chapters. If it's something you're into, super duper. I'm looking for 'donations', to help my family out of this situation, but all donors will receive a copy of the book when finished, and after it's final edit.

A little can go a long way out here, and anything would be much appreciated as I'm raising my little champ. The link to the funding site can be found below, or by clicking here.

If you're not able to spare anything, no worries, but do keep checking back to my blog as (and don't quote me on this), I'll probably be adding to and updating as I go, up to the point of a ghastly cliffhanger, obviously, nerr... Once I've finished writing and editing, anyone who's helped out will be sent a link to download an e-book copy, and if and when I'm lucky enough to have it published in printed form, each will receive a copy of that in time, a few things depending. All will get a mention in both copies on a dedication page as a huge thank you (unless requested otherwise). And I'd like to offer people the chance to leave an inspirational message/joke/clue to where buried treasure may be hidden, or of course, just absolute nonsense, for the outside world to read alongside their dedication. Heck, use it to promote your auntie's dog wash service, see if I care. Could be quite interesting, and sounds like fun to me.

At the rate that I'm writing, I expect to be in the final editing stage by about mid February.

The novel is written as a fiction, but at the same time, is almost completely autobiographical. Names and places have been changed to help protect our safety here, but the story, and its characters are real. I can promise that, as I'm living it.

And just before I get back to work, I must say… I know that sometimes my use of punctuation, Capitals, and commas, may be a little unorthodox,,, but just so you know, I do know most of what I'm doing wrong, I did fairly well in school (not so bad)… but, I knew better… and still think that I might. And besides, I've got some good friends back home with already published work, who are going to help with the final cut… I've not pestered them so much as of yet, and what's down currently, is me with very little coaching, but with a little help from my friends, in the end, it'll brush up alright. Any questions, comments or advice would be more than welcomed, you can find my email address below.

Oh, and no matter how important the first line of a story must be, I just couldn't help myself… A tongue-in-cheek nod to my future self, hopefully showing how far I've come. I'm sorry, you'll get over it.

Thank you for reading, you're welcome to carry on, and I hope you do.

Nathan Fryer-Woods

[The light that shines from within me, bows to the light that shines within you]

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars

[email protected]

NOTE TO POTENTIAL PUBLISHERS

I know for any publisher, having a plot outline is very important and often essential for most first time authors. Although I am a true 'pantser' in life in general and writing this whilst in the thick of it, day by day. I do have my main outline. The middle marathon (with all potential real life disasters averted), being based on one or more of the many fears I have for the future, and twists in the plot coming from actual past events which have happened to me whilst being here. But as I say, this is all providing nothing major happens as I'm writing, and with all that's happened here already, would be an unexpected, and highly unlikely surprise. I have also been writing daily outlines, more detailed and over a smaller time frame, for the following days work. I will happily provide the main plot outline, and an up-to-date manuscript upon request. Nice one.

N-F-W

#autobiograpy #real life #danger #fatherhood #jungle #asia

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a-splash-of-stucky · 7 years ago

Text

Operation Soulmate | One

Pairings: Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve has a confession to make.

Warnings: Language, I think? Mention of a gay relationship.

A/N: for @marvelous-fvcks‘ writing challenge. My prompt was ‘Heart’.

Operation Soulmate Masterlist

Steve is in a mood.

He’s been acting like an ominous storm cloud is hanging over his head the entire morning. It was noticeable when he came back from his run, but is now even more apparent, as he’s had time to stew in his thoughts for far too long. When Steve Rogers starts over-thinking things, it’s pretty fucking difficult to get his headspace back into somewhere positive. He’s stubborn like that.

You’re eating lunch together, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island. Your attempts to start up a conversation with Steve are met by a brick wall — you’re getting nothing out of him besides the occasional grunt and some monosyllabic replies. Eventually, you stop trying, resigning yourself to an eerily silent meal.

Once you’ve cleared away the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, you lean against the counter and observe him. Steve is sat across from you, shoulders hunched and expression solemn. He’s twirling his glass in his hands, staring into it as if it has all the answers he’s looking for. You know that if you don’t intervene sooner rather than later, he’s either going to do something reckless to take his mind off things, or he’s going to let this weight bear down on his shoulders until it finally consumes him.

Most likely, both.

Tentatively, you walk around the island, coming up behind him and looping your arms over his shoulders. You rest your chin on top of his head as you cross your wrists in front of his chest. “Steve? What’s up, babe?” you murmur, using your finger to trace invisible patterns on his collarbone, “Something bothering you?”.

Steve makes a little noise of affirmation, but doesn’t bother to elaborate. He reaches up and brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, stroking it idly as the silence draws on. Though you can’t see his face, you can visualise his expression: brows knitted, corners of the mouth downturned and jaw tense. Waves of jumbled-up thoughts are practically radiating off of him.

After a while of you holding him, Steve finally exhales sharply. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m fine,”.

“Liar,” you mumble, rubbing your cheek over his fine blonde hair affectionately.

That earns you a chuckle. “Yeah, guess you’re right. I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, though,”, says Steve, moving to get out of his chair

“But you will? Later?” you prompt, stepping back as you release him from your hold.

Steve smiles at you, but it’s a mere shadow of his real one, the edges of it strained and forced. “Later,” he promises, “I gotta go now, though. I promised Wanda I’d train with her this afternoon,”.

“Okay,” you say, leaning up on your toes to peck him on the cheek, “Have fun. See you,”.

—————————

You don’t see him for the rest of the afternoon. Avoidance, especially when it comes to emotions, is very much a Steve thing to do. You’d tried to work him out of this bad habit in the time you’ve been together, but the Cap’s as stubborn as a mule, and there’s not much you can change about him.

This mood he’s in is nothing new. Your relationship has been far from perfect in the two years that you’ve been together — it’s not easy for two individuals working so closely with each other to maintain a healthy balance between their work and personal lives. Especially with jobs as life-threatening as yours are.

The two of you find yourselves constantly bickering over mission-related maybes and what-ifs, worried about the health and safety of the other person; with Steve’s tendency to jump headfirst into danger without a second thought, you find yourself nagging at him more often than you’d like. In some cases, arguments have gotten so heated between you that neither of you can bear to be in the same room as the other person. On those days, Steve usually ends up crashing with Bucky, and Natasha or Wanda swings by your room for some much-needed girl talk. At some point though, you and Steve find a way to make it up to each other. No fight between you has ever gone unresolved.

But this funk he’s in—it’s different. Steve’s not angry with you. In fact, he’s not even angry per se, just…closed off. It’s like something is weighing heavy on his mind. As his significant other, you can’t help but wonder if it’s something that you’ve said or done recently.

As of late, your love story seems to have taken a turn for the worse. It’s like you’ve lost the spark that keeps your romance alive. You still love Steve dearly, but…things have happened in the last three years, and Steve is no longer the man you met on your first visit to the compound. The burden of being Captain America is heavier than it’s ever been before, his responsibilities and public image a deadweight he carries everywhere. Everyday is a constant uphill battle for him, so it’s no wonder that work has taken a toll on your relationship. And besides, you’re not the same woman either; you’re battle-hardened, now, shields up and more robust than ever. You still enjoy being with Steve, and the two of you still deeply care for each other, but if you’re honest with yourself, you have doubts that your romance will last for much longer.

And, knowing Steve, you figure that he’ll probably be too much of a gentleman to break up with you, if and when the need arises. That leaves you with the uncomfortable knowledge that one day, you’ll be delivering the bad news to him. It’s a depressing thought.

But first, Steve promised that he would talk to you, and a talk is what you shall have. Perhaps that will be enough to clear the air between you two, and, if you can find the courage to tell him how you feel, maybe you can both endeavour to rekindle the spark, reignite the fire in your relationship. With some effort from the both of you, maybe it’s possible for you to be as in love with each other as you were in those blissful first few months.

In the end, you come to the conclusion that stressing yourself out by speculating on the thoughts flying around in Steve’s head will do you no good. He promised to talk to you, and you fully intend on holding him to his word. For now, you need to occupy yourself to take your mind off things.

Half an hour later, you find yourself in the sprawling back gardens of the compound, doing some training of your own. You are an enhanced individual, the result of countless experiments and extensive testing run by a cult masquerading as a group of science-fanatics. They were hell-bent on re-creating and bettering the super-soldier serum, but did so by summoning dark energy in a series of demonic rituals. As a result, you’d come out of the ordeal with increased agility, stamina and strength — though nothing compared to what Steve had — in addition to the ability to manipulate wind. You’re able to create anything ranging from a gentle breeze, to gale-force gusts.

The focus of your session today is levitation — specifically, levitation of large objects. You don’t know how exactly they came about, but Tony has managed to amass a variety of large boulders, fallen trees, and even scrap metal, for you to train with. You focus on keeping the items in the air for as long as possible, refining your control of your powers.

After an exhausting, but rewarding couple of hours, you decide to call it a day and head back to the room you share with Steve for a shower. When you pick up your phone from the kitchen counter, you discover that Steve’s sent you a message.

SR: Going out to dinner and drinks with Sam. Don’t wait up.

You sigh inwardly, knowing that this is his way of avoiding a confrontation with you. Nonetheless, you text him back:

Ok. See u later.

And, for good measure, you add:

Don’t think ur getting off the hook so easily.

The rest of your evening passes without incident. Sweaty from your work out, you take a nice long shower, then dress in one of Steve’s shirts and a pair of leggings. Dinner consists of yesterday’s leftovers, eaten on the couch whilst watching re-runs of Gossip Girl.

Steve comes into the bedroom just as you’re climbing into bed.

“Hey,” he murmurs, giving you a wan smile as he heads to the bathroom. Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head when he brushes past you.

“Good time with Sam?” you ask, getting under the covers and fussing with the pillows for a little, trying to get comfortable.

“Yeah, it was good,” Steve replies, “Gonna take a shower now, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” you mumble, pulling the covers over you and turning off your bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the sliver of light spilling in from the bathroom. Steve has left the door slightly ajar, and you find yourself fading in and out of sleep, lulled by the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting the tiles floor. You don’t know how much time passes, but some moments later, Steve emerges in a cloud of steam — that man loves his showers burning hot — with a towel slung low on his hips. Through half-lidded eyes, you watch him pad over to his dresser and pull out a pair of loose sweats to sleep in.

Steve dries his hair, then tosses the towel into the laundry hamper, before sliding into bed beside you and wrapping his arms around your body. You nuzzle your nose into the hollow of his throat and curl yourself around his larger form, breathing in the scent of his cucumber body wash. He’s warm and familiar, making you feel safe and secure.

Despite this, you can’t ignore the tension in his body. Though you’ve relaxed into his touch, Steve has not done likewise. For a while, the only thing you can hear is the steady thud of his heart beneath your ear, coupled with his deep, steady breaths. “I’ve got something to tell you,” Steve whispers. You wait patiently for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. It’s clear that he’s been building up to this moment for the entire day. “You’re…not gonna like what I have to say,”.

A sickening feeling settles in your gut, but you force it aside. “It’s okay,” you breathe, “I still wanna hear it,”.

Steve starts to run his fingers up and down your arm, a gesture he does subconsciously when he’s nervous like this. “I—I love you,” he says, “But…I also…love…someone else,”.

It feels like someone’s twisting a knife into your chest, stabbing you straight through your heart. Your mind kicks into overdrive, a million questions racing through it as you wonder who this second girl could be. Natasha? No, he respects her too much to let their current arrangement devolve into something romantic. It’s certainly not Wanda — she’s like a little sister to him. Maybe it’s another girl? From outside the compound, perhaps.

“Hey, hey,” Steve soothes, nudging your chin with his finger until you tip your head back to look at him. He chuckles softly, “I can hear you thinking from over here, sweetheart. Lemme finish a sec, okay?”. At your nod, he continues, “I haven’t…done anything about it, before you start wondering. I’d never cheat on you, baby, my ma raised me too good to do that,”

You snort. “Thank god for Sarah Rogers,”, you mutter.

Steve smiles, “Yes indeed,”. A pause, then, “Honey, I don’t think it’s fair for me to still be with you when I love someone else. I know you’ve noticed it — things just haven’t been the same between us in the last few months. And it’s not your fault, I don’t ever want you to think that. It’s—it’s me. It’s my fault,”. He chokes up at that last bit, and your already damaged heart breaks even more at the sound of his wrecked voice.

“Steve,” you chide, “Not everything has to be your fault, okay? Yes, I’ve noticed our relationship coming under stress, but maybe I could’ve tried harder—,”

“No—,”, Steve interrupts

“Will you let me finish?” you say sharply. Steve snaps his mouth shut and nods for you to go on. You stroke his cheek fondly. “Baby, I love you too. And that’ll never change. I care about you, and all I want is for you to be happy. And if you think you’ll be happier with this other girl, then I’ll—I’ll let you go,”. It’s hard for you to get the words out, but you manage to do it in the end. You try to inject as much sincerity into your voice as possible.

Steve frowns at you in confusion. “I could never be happier with another girl—,” he says.

“Well, if you say you love her, then clearly you can be happier—,”.

“No, you don’t understand, I—,”, Steve cuts himself off with a self-depreciating, mirthless laugh. “Who ever said it was a girl?”

“What!” you cry, sitting up in bed and looking at him in astonishment. It’s dark, but you know him well enough to guess that his face is a bright crimson hue, right now. “Steve—I—you’re gay? Why didn’t you—,”.

“Bisexual, actually,”, he corrects you.

You gape at him, utterly shocked. Taking your silence as your disapproval, Steve starts to shift uncomfortably. “Look, Y/N, if that’s too weird for you—,”

“No! No, it’s not,” you say, reaching out blindly for his hand. When you grab hold of it, you bring it to your mouth and brush your lips over the knuckles. Your next words must be chosen with care, because he’s so fragile right now, in desperate need of validation. “Stevie, I’m so happy you’re telling me this. I know how hard it must be for you. I support you, no matter who you choose to love, because you’re Steve, one of the nicest, kindest, most humble people on this earth,”.

“Aw, sweetheart, c’mere,” Steve mumbles, tugging you back into his arms and placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “You’re the best,”.

“I know,” you quip. “Now. This revelation begs the question: who is this mysterious man?”

An eternity of silence passes, Steve tensing up beside you as he steels himself to give you a name. “Bucky,”, he says quietly.

“Bucky?” you echo in disbelief. “Steve, have you always…?”

“Yeah,”, he croaks. Steve clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair, turning to look at the ceiling as he talks to you. “Y/N, I’ve loved him ever since I was fourteen. I loved him before I even knew what love was. When I…came out of the ice, I thought I’d be able to forget about him with time. And then I met you, and I did, for a while, but now…” he trails off, lost in the pain of his own thoughts.

“What changed?” you ask gently.

Steve huffs out a breath. “He remembers more, now. He’s not the same Bucky I grew up with, but he’s more Bucky than he was when we first got him back. And…that’s messing with me,”.

“Oh, Stevie,” you murmur, snuggling a little closer to him. You’re surprised by how calm you are in the face of all this information. Steve has essentially just professed his love for his childhood best friend, which in turn leads you to conclude that some significant changes are on the horizon for the two of you. Truth be told, your subconscious had been expecting this talk for the longest time — well, not this talk specifically, but some version of it, at least. You knew that it was an inevitability, rather than a possibility. You’ll never know what exactly Steve and Bucky were before the universe cruelly tore them apart, but you know that whatever it was, it had to be something special. If Steve’s carried his love for Bucky in his heart all this time.

And special things deserve to be celebrated. They’re a rarity, after all.

You run your fingers through Steve’s hair, brushing the soft, slightly damp strands off his face. When you speak, your voice is barely louder than a whisper. “If he means that much to you Stevie, I’ll not stop you. I know you love him, and I’m not going to keep you away from that,”.

“You’re not mad?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” you echo, “Why would I be mad?”

“I just told you that I’m in love with someone else!” he points out.

“Steve,”, you chuckle, “You’ve got a big heart. It’s bigger than your goddamn brain—,”.

“That’s probably true—,” he mutters darkly.

“—and even though you love Bucky, that doesn’t mean that you love me any less. I’m glad you told me this. Now we can work things out together,”. You hold your hand up to your mouth to stifle a yawn, sleep suddenly tightening its hold on you. “Not now, though,” you mumble, “I’m tired,”.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tucking you against his body, “Let’s sleep,”.

“G’night baby. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll work this out,”, you slur, eyelids already beginning to droop shut.

“Okay. I love you,”.

---------------------- Tagging people who might be interested: @hollycornish @rda1989 @awinterloveuniverse @aquabrie @onceuponahiddleston @bi-diana-prince @after-avenging-hours

Send me an ask or message if you want to be added/removed from the list :)

#amarvelousfvckingwritingchallenge #marvelous-fvcks #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #stucky angst #love confessions #my writing #reader insert fic #operation soulmate

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rachelannc · 5 years ago

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“Woke up this morning with the weirdest case of the butterflies,” I wrote that Tuesday morning on my phone.

Just the day before, I got a call from a band my 13-year-old self had always loved.

“It’s almost surreal to think I will be embarking on just a short run of a California West Coast tour with a band I’ve always loved,” I wrote. “I’ll get to see what it’s really like to be traveling on a cramped van. I will room in the weirdest hotels and smell the funkiest bars and sweat. Oh, the romanticism of it all gets to me… but the #LolaRachel in me is just dreading the thought of it all.”

I continued, “But hasn’t the road always called to me? I guess I’ll find out.”

With a sigh and a bit of nerves, I wrote, “S**t. What have I done? 😂”

You get what you ask for, I guess.

I had just gotten back from a spontaneous weekend’s getaway to Las Vegas with a friend and caught a slight cold waking up in that hotel room Sunday morning.

“Watch, you’re the reason you get the band sick,” my brother joked to me.

“OH MY GOD. THAT WOULD BE MY WORST NIGHTMARE!” I anxiously replied.

Meg & Dia just kicked off their two-week HappySad reunion tour — their first tour as a band together in eight years — with an all-new album and leg of shows that would take them throughout the West Coast and a few dates on the East ’til the end of September.

The forever-lingering fan girl in me was so stoked (but nervous as hell I’d be sharing rooms and traveling with them on the road, being intimate as ever — just me, Meg, Dia, Carlo and new drummer Grant spending hours on end together). The 13-year-old in me was still freaking out and dreaming up all these different scenarios in my head.

The night before I was messaging the band, “Any travel tips or things to be wary of to pack?” They told me to pack lightly, bring some water, some comfy clothes for the long drives and a water bottle to stay hydrated.

That Wednesday morning I got the call from Carlo. He picked me up on our way to Dia’s house to meet the girls and head on over to their San Diego show later that night at SOMA. Check-in and load-in would be around 4pm, so we spent the afternoon driving, picking up some merch, grabbing some In-N-Out and Starbucks wearing funky paper hats, as Dia helped me prep the merch table.

As we unpacked the boxes and hung stuff up onto the metal cage, Dia, in a moment of “band safety” (or “sisterly advice”) told me to look out for anyone who may be “creepy” or dangerous, and to feel free to call on anyone who’s numbers I have. It was a bit of a sisterly-talk, which was actually very nice and comforting, especially myself being a young twenty-something female who has had her fair share of “creeps” come up to me!

The whole day through, my little sick-self who didn’t want to sabotage this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity tried to hold back my voice and coughs in the car, which also stifled any chance of me trying to talk (ha 😂). I kept my mouth shut and coughs back, drank my water and silently hung up the merch. I grabbed a beer from the green room upstairs, walked around the parking lot, wandered around the green rooms as I saw Dia doing her stretches and vocal warmups as Carlo and Grant roamed around and Meg took a walk to Target (to which she thought up her story to introduce “Nineteen Stars”).

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” I said as I circled the same room five times.

Meg replied, “Welcome to tour!”

Settling into San Diego

San Diego’s run of tour was the band’s first date of their California shows. They had one day off prior to kicking off tour over the weekend, to which Meg joked, “I didn’t even know what to do with myself!” Dia mentioned how nice it felt to just lounge, eat, read a book and sleep in her own bed.

My favorite part of doing merch? Having friends and familiar faces come up during the shows and say hello, and even one random fan saying, “I follow you and your guitar stuff on Instagram!” What a surprise.

To be honest, I low-key had a hunch that people from online were going to approach me at the merch table. But to prepare myself, I told myself, “This is about Meg & Dia. Not me! I’m only here to help them out and I’m not going to make this about me. But if people come up, that’s cool!”

View this post on Instagram

One of my favorite things about this tour? Seeing old friends and familiar faces come up to the shows who love @meganddiamusic too! 🐨 #meganddia #happysadtour #somasandiego #sandiego #throwback #dayone #merchgirl #throwback #towednesdaynight

A post shared by Rachel Ann Cauilan (@rachelcansea) on Sep 22, 2019 at 2:07am PDT

As I’ve been anticipating their tour since the summer, I was kind of in a weird, out-of-body headspace and disbelief of where I was, what was happening… I was just going with the motions. So when I rolled up to their soundcheck, I remember having a moment where I was like, “Wait a second. This is their first new set of songs in over eight years. I can’t wait to hear how they sound live!”

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San Diego was definitely a more intimate night, with fans listening intently and giving the band their respect and dues. Dia even had a moment where she cried during “Dear Heart,” to which Meg stopped and adoringly gave Dia a hug. Since I was with them the entire day, I was like, “Awww…” But also, I knew how completely normal this was for Dia to get emotional while singing (I guess that just goes to show how much I’ve followed them over the years, lol).

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Curfew for that night was 11pm which gave us enough time to pack up at the end of the night, settle the merch and drive back to sleep in our own beds in Los Angeles. It was hitting 1am and I remember sleepily hearing Underoath and Sleeping With Sirens playing in the van as Dia “the speed demon” drove the van back to LA by 2am in no time.

Los Angeles and the Troubadour

“We here Rachael!” Meg texted me just before 2pm to alert that they had arrived and picked me up on the way to load-in at the Troubadour for the show that night.

I technically didn’t need to arrive to the venue until 6pm to set-up merch, but I figured, I don’t even have my car (my stuff got stolen just a week prior), and I don’t get to tour everyday, so might as well come early and spend the day hanging around to get the “full experience.”

I have to say, one of the most admirable and eye-opening things I’ve seen on this tour was seeing how the girls operate. Since my sick-self was trying to heal ASAP, I opted to stay quiet and just absorb and learn as much as I could just from witnessing and observing the process of tour throughout…

As Dia, Meg, Carlo, Grant and I loaded into the back of the Troubadour, we unpacked all the gear to set up on the stage. Soundcheck was at 4pm and as the band prepped their gear, I mozied my way on over to unpack the merch boxes and start setting up some merch (to which we basically all sold-out the night before and I had to wait on 6-8 boxes of merch to arrive at the venue later that night). I wandered around, took some photos and watched the band soundcheck.

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Listening to their soundcheck and getting that rare look into how they rehearse and prepare, I feel like I was able to hear much more than their live performance set. A fuller sound and an intimate, rare look where they’re conversing with each their and the sound guy to get things sounding good… And just to hear these songs every night and see how their vibes, moods and energies change?! Wow, what an opportunity.

Since we had so much time to kill before the show, we decided to walk around and grab some food. We grubbed at Guisado’s (was my first real meal with the band)! We walked past Salt & Straw, to which we all gushed how good it was and I couldn’t help but grab myself a scoop (even if I might be lactose lol). Dia was particularly quiet/er at the meal, to which I felt she was — ha, getting so “deep in my own head” (cue “Koala”).

This chill moment and time may have been one of my favorite parts and moments shared with the band, just because I was getting into the hang of and settling into tour and doing merch, and also loosening up a little around them (ha)!

That night was a big night, though. All of their music friends, industry friends and Dia’s actor friends were swinging by. Was a big night for new daddy Mike Kaminsky, who pretty much first opened myself up to getting to know the band better in my college days. Khalif helped lug some boxes in for us and unpack the last-minute merch that arrived for us. That merch corner became a bit chaotic and we threw the merch out like flies!

It’s nice to share conversations with fans who have grown up listening to them, eager to buy merch and support a little band who has been through it and getting back on it. A memorable conversation came from Dia’s personal acting friend who raves about just how talented Dia is and she doesn’t even know it (maybe sounds familiar?) — how she gets down on herself so much but we all know how incredibly talented she is, and how much of a storyteller she is when she carries through song. (Oof! Was such a sweet moment I decided to record a mini video message from him to send to Dia, to which the audio unfortunately cut out, but appreciated anyway.)

Joya and I were starting to get into a good system of organization. I placed my geeky “:) or :(?” tip jar on the table to which people actually generously wanted to support.

A friend came by to the merch table and visited me after every set, saying, “I don’t really know these bands and only came because you posted about it, but they’re pretty cool.” He charmingly/awkwardly said hi and even told Meg and Dia themselves he came out just because of me. (Dia joked to me the next morning, “I think he was only awkward because of you, ’cause I was talking to him outside and he seemed chill…”) to which Joya joked as well. Huh, I don’t know what it is I do, I promise!

I enjoyed their set from above. Dante Basco bought me a drink as I fangirled to “Cardigan Weather” with AJ Rafael. As that night ended and I sweatily packed all of the merch and boxes back into the van, my roommate came as I gave her an extra ticket a fan had “gifted to me” (lol), I said bye to the band as we munched on their special Donut Friend “Nutmeg & Chia” donuts someone bought for us, and I hitched a ride.

“7 hour drive to San Fran venue tmrw! Load in at 4! We will leave at 8 am tmrw!” Dia texted the group, to which I replied with a “!!” because it was well past 1am and I had way too much adrenaline from the show and knew I was not sleeping. Ha! I could not wait to head up to San Francisco to see all my family and friends as I’ve been anticipating that show for a while. I slept at 4am that morning, packed my luggage for the weekend and got up just in time for the band to pick me up at 8am and deliver the van some salmon lox bagels for breakfast. Yum!

The slow drawls and hometown reunion in San Francisco

That drive. That slow morning. My lack of sleep and tired self still holding back my coughs. Was I even awake? Were we all even awake? What am I doing here? Wait, I’m seeing my family tonight? Shoot, I can’t believe they’re all coming!

“Do you have any more people you want to add to the list?” Dia asked.

I gave her a few more names of my friends (definitely all high school) who wanted to come out.

“Wow, I’m so tired and I’m so excited my family and friends are coming out, but I physically can’t show my excitement!” I frustratingly said in my head, as my mind was running a million different directions that day.

This was probably the day I got the most in my own head (to which Meg comfortingly added on the road, “I get like that sometimes too and sometimes I need to remind myself — I hold my body and just breathe for 30 minutes to get back in touch with myself”).

As the night approached, my mom walked over from work in the city to visit me at the venue, and I showed her the merch table, the venue, my clothes and luggage… ha! I introduced her to Carlo and Dia as they did their soundcheck. Showtime wasn’t going to be until 11pm that night (wowzers!) as we all tried to stay awake until then. (Friday nights in SF with a live DJ to follow afterward. “Are we dancing tonight?!” we joked.) Joya and I proceeded to walk around, as I wanted to get some “fresh air” outside of the venue and just “walk and talk it out,” as we both had some nerves that day (haha). I went outside to visit my brother and other Meg & Dia boardies who were anticipating the show and asking, “Wow how’s merch life Rachel?!” Nick even joked to me, “Y’all are a heavy crew,” saying anyone would be intimidated to approach, Meg, Dia, Joya and me at the table. 😂 (“But I’m the nicest person!” I explained.)

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What a night. As Meg and Dia did their meet-and-greets with fans after the show, signing merch and sharing conversations, they waited until every last fan. It was soon to be 1:30am and we had to get OUT! I proceeded to help pack up the merch into the van, as Meg and Dia themselves helped in the process.

I have to say… It was absolutely admirable to see them sucking it up, picking up the boxes and racking them on top of each other with no complaints or hesitancy. As pros who have been doing this since they were teens, it was absolutely humbling to see them just get up and do the dirty work. Dia talking and checking in with venue managers, as managers would go, “You guys don’t have a manager?” Meg would go and settle merch at the end of the night. They upkept inventory and as we got into the van to drive to the hotel that night, Dia drove the big a** van 30 minutes to the hotel on probably pure tour/performance exhaustion, and miraculously fit into the tiniest of parking spaces, as we checked into the hotel at 3am and all lacking sleep as we just drove up and played LA the night before and somehow managed to make it here… Meg, Dia, Joya and I shared the room and we took our showers and slept like babies.

“Let’s request a late check-out,” Dia said, as we all slept soundly. “That’s the latest Meg ever slept in!” as the early bird she was.

Strolling basketball games and man-hunting with the Framptons

Carlo had flown out that night/morning at 4am to make it to baby Leon’s birthday (absolutely the most adorable kid, I have to say!). It was then just the five of us that day, while Meg and Dia would play a short acoustic set. We had a nice weekend’s day on the road to just enjoy the summer sun and “chill.”

We went back to the amazing Souvla, one of my favorite restaurants in Hayes Valley. Wandered around and window-shopped. I bought an egg-crown-children’s-book plush stuffed toy thingy with the saying, “What would you do with an idea?” Dia bought a watermelon plush as well (lol). I’m not sure why, but my buying that whimsical crown egg was probably the one thing that made me smile the most on tour! It felt like a truly normal moment for me and just made me so happy (I forever have a little tour souvenir with a message that is so dear to my heart).

We arrived to the ISA TV charity basketball game mid-afternoon, as the entire Asian-American community in LA seemed to be there too.

“4000+ people?!” I said in amazement, as the girls were to play a halftime show in front of all these fans.

We set up merch, had some food, checked into our rooms and hung out. Dia tried to manhunt for Meg, as Khalif pointed out to Dia that someone was asking, “Who’s the girl in the yoga pants?” referring to me. Ha! We all shared glances and little, “Hmm..” judging if these were our “types.” 😂 (Ha, I have to say. It’s so refreshing to just have girl talk and feel like I have sisters on the road! As I’ve always been surrounded by boys and my brothers, I love having this kind of silly sister talk where I can openly talk about these boy situations, ha!)

These girls are incredibly responsible on tour, and for good reason. Meg shared some horror tour stories in the past while on the road — how Leslie got stranded at a gas station when they were on their way to a hotel at 2am in the morning — and I’m sure they’ve already had their days and wild nights on tour. As they’re back as a band together on the road after eight years, it’s kind of cool to get an insider look from these “sisters I never had,” seeing how calm the road can be, how incredibly “normal” yet abnormal tour life can be, despite all other assumptions about tour life. (I’m glad I had a completely comfortable time on tour, and wasn’t as uncomfortable as I had initially expected!)

In hindsight

It was a few days that had gone by so fast. And as the band headed straight to an airport when we arrived back in LA, I bid them adieu. And, I kind of missed it already…

It felt so good to be back home, to rest and properly heal up… but, with them on the road felt like a nice break and I could see how this could be life. (Definitely not something to do every day for your life, because at some point you could lose touch of reality and home, ha!) but… throughout it all, it was a lovely experience and time. And what a crazy way to cap off my journey with this little small-town band, from a girl at 13 who saw two girls who look like me playing rock music on the MySpace front page, to eventually growing an uncanny relation to them… I owe a lot to them for finding my voice, my self, my writing and my music throughout my adolescence since 13… and 13 years later, to be joining them on the road just to help. What an honor.

Some “after tour” stories may be entertaining, but I’ll save that for another time… But, when you post an at-home selfie with an actively writing caption, and forget you’re now Facebook friends with someone you’ve listened to for so long, and they see and “like” that said photo… That’s almost a little embarrassing! But it’s also a little comforting at the same time…

“I see you,” it says.

What a concept I thought would’ve never been true.

Follow Meg & Dia on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Spotify.

And view their videos from San Diego (here), Los Angeles (here) and San Francisco (here). (Did you get that? Ha!)

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#tourdiaries pt. 2 A couple photos I took on the road with @meganddiamusic during their West Coast California #happysadtour reunion this past week. What an honor it has been to join them day in and day out on tour! I learned so much and have come to admire and respect the work the Framptons put into pulling a tour together all on their own — from driving a van all themselves, dealing with venue managers all themselves, getting the band together on time, all themselves, and cruise control — ha! Seeing how seasoned pros do it with such a humility has been so lovely. It was a lot to absorb for little ole me tagging along a band who has amounted to so much for me. But that was fun. Thank you @diaframpton @megframpton @thecza @omfgrant @joyacamaisa for the hospitality! Til next time. #meganddia #happysad #tbt #throwback #aboutlastweek #westcoast #california #californiatour #travel #traveldiaries #photography #livemusic #concert #rachelannc

A post shared by Rachel Ann Cauilan (@rachelcansea) on Sep 26, 2019 at 2:34pm PDT

My Life as a Roadie with Meg & Dia on the California ‘Happysad’ Tour "Woke up this morning with the weirdest case of the butterflies," I wrote that Tuesday morning on my phone.

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