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quaranmine · 3 years ago

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The Babysitting Game

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Grian doesn't have a child but he does have an egg and a village. That’s basically the same thing, right?

Grian acquires an egg. His friends help him.

No romantic relationships or content warnings. Mainly fluff! Hermits: Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Scar. My first publish fanfic since 2016 and my first hermitcraft fanfic :D ao3 link and some inspirations to be linked in a reblog

Words: 2862

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"What if I touched it really quick?" Scar asked.

"No, don’t-don’t touch the egg," Grian said seriously. "Look, I even made a sign! It specifically says ‘Do not touch.’" He gestured to the sign in question, but Scar ignored him.

"Can I rub it?" he said. The man leaned over it, studying the object carefully. Grian hadn’t known where to place the egg when he got it, and it was just sitting on an anvil for the time being. He didn’t even have a starter house yet, but clearly he was going to need something soon if he was going to protect the egg from some of the more . . . mischievous residents of their Boatem village.

“No, don’t touch the egg! Scar-” Grian walked closer, hands outstretched, just in time to see Scar reach out with his hand and pat the egg.

Vworp!

The egg disappeared into thin air.

Dragon eggs had a tendency to do that. It was a survival tactic--Grian didn't really know how it worked, but just as endermen could teleport away from danger, so could the egg if it were touched. Now whether or not Scar was dangerous remained up for debate…

Scar giggled. "Oh, where did you go?" he sang, hunting around the area.

Well, he COULD be pretty scary sometimes.

"Scarrrr," Grian whined, helping him look. "I told you not to touch it!"

"It's over here!" Scar shouted, finding the egg at the bottom of a small slope nearby. "Just one more time…." He reached out again.

"No!" Grian said, slapping his hand away. "Look, you've got to pick it up the right way." He demonstrated, carefully lifting the egg and placing it in a pouch slung over his back. He had hurriedly stitched it together not too long ago, worried that transporting the egg normally might break it. “If you do it roughly, you’ll scare it and it’ll teleport away again.”

"I see!" said Scar.

"Now, please, don't touch the egg.”

"Oh," Scar said. He straightened. "You're really serious about this."

Grian glared. "I am."

"I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny!"

Grian sighed. "It's okay, Scar. It's just--this thing is a baby, it needs to be handled gently! You can't just go around scaring it! What if it falls into a hole or something?" he hissed.

"Oh my god," Scar laughed, "you're its mother now!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"You are!" Scar cried. He suddenly stopped. "Oh no, didn't you kill its mother?"

"Well it doesn't know that!" Grian snapped. "Truthfully I didn't realize there would be an egg! And I couldn't just leave it, you know! Here, look at this." Grian gently withdrew the egg from its pack, and Scar moved closer. He held it up to the sun. "Look at that."

The sun shined dark red through the deep purple shell of the egg, making it glow within. In the middle, the silhouette of a curled up creature was illuminated. Blood vessels radiated outward, and at the bottom there was a blank space that Grian assumed was air. The egg’s shell was too thick for any detail to be made out, but the processes happening within were clear. Grian was enchanted with it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"Wow," Scar breathed. "There's actually a dragon in there! What're you gonna do with it after it hatches?"

"Well, I haven't exactly thought that far--I just want to worry about keeping it safe first. I mean, what do you even do with this thing?" Grian put the egg back in its satchel, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I suppose you keep it warm and safe but, like, I don't know what else-"

"I could help!" Scar said.

"You were just playing with it!"

"Hey," Scar said defensively, "that was before I knew more about it!"

Grian rolled his eyes.

“What are you guys doing over here?” said Mumbo, wandering over. Grian just knew he’d been up to something, and sure enough, there was a new tree next to his little collection of chests. Grian wasn’t very bothered by it, because he already had a plan to get Mumbo back for it.

“Grian is just showing me his new baby!” Scar teased. “He’s a mom now.”

“I am NOT its mother,” replied Grian tiredly, but he smiled at the sight of the other man.

“A baby?” Mumbo asked, choosing to ignore the rest of Scar’s statement.

“A dragon egg,” Grian answered. “I found it in the End.” He paused for a moment, feeling almost bad. “After I killed the dragon.”

“Grian! You’ve orphaned it!” Mumbo sounded scandalized.

“Why do you all keep bringing that up!?” he defended, glancing between Mumbo and Scar, who both gave him disapproving, albeit playful, looks. “I know you’re Mr. Peace, Love and Plants this time, but we’ve always killed the dragon in every new world!”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but it is a little sad isn’t it? You’re taking care of it but only because you killed its mum.”

“Yeah,” was all Grian said. The dragon always needed to be taken care of in each new world they visited, and while it was always a bit of a shame, he’d never really contemplated it that much. After all, he normally wasn’t the one who fought it--that last time in Evo aside. He didn’t really know what he had gotten into but he felt deeply like he needed to protect this egg. It was like a tug in his chest, drawing him into the egg and telling him not to let go.

“Show him the egg!” Scar said.

“You just want to see it again,” Grian replied, but pulled the egg out of the satchel again anyway for Mumbo to see. The surface of the egg wasn’t smooth, like a chicken’s egg, but bumpy. The purple spots almost seemed to glow, and occasionally little violet particles drifted off of it. Grian felt like he could stare at it in awe all day, and apparently his friends felt the same.

“How’re you going to keep it warm?” asked Mumbo after a moment of admiring it. “That satchel isn’t going to be enough, and to be frank, I don’t see you spending any time sitting on it, even if the mental image is pretty funny.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the comment, but thought about it. How would he incubate it? He may have had wings, but he didn’t know anything about eggs, other than that it was a safe bet to assume it needed to be kept warm. “I'm not sure, actually.”

“Hey, let me design something for you!” Mumbo said excitedly. “I could probably use some redstone and make an incubator of some sort for you.”

Grian smiled. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Asking Mumbo to create a contraption for him--what could go wrong?

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“I’m not wearing this thing, you know.” Grian said, holding the contraption while Mumbo wheezed with laughter in the background. The design that Mumbo had come up with was essentially a backpack with heating elements strung through it, except for one thing . . .

“You-you wear it in the front,” Mumbo choked out, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Yes, I see that,” Grian replied, unamused.

“Like a swaddle!”

“Yes, I see that.”

Mumbo laughed harder. Grian had to begrudgingly admit that it was well designed, however. It would fit the egg perfectly, keep it warm, and most important it was mobile to ensure that he could take the egg with him. It was thoughtful, especially since Mumbo knew Grian was quite protective of it.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” Grian repeated. “I’m not going to let you all laugh at me while I walk around the server with an egg swaddled to me!”

“I thought you’d say that,” Mumbo chuckled. “Here, you can switch the straps around and turn it into a backpack.” He unclipped the straps and moved them into the new configuration.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he said gratefully. “This will certainly do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it mate,” Mumbo replied. “Now, while you’re here, may I ask why there is an incredibly tall tree on top of my camper?”

“Sorry, got to go!” blurted Grian, snatching the backpack from Mumbo’s arms and flying off in a burst of feathers.

“That’s unfair, I don’t even have an elytra yet to go chase him down with,” muttered the man as he watched Grian disappear.

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Grian sat in the grass in front of his starter home and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was exhausted. Is this how all parents feel? he wondered. Was he just uniquely unqualified to be one? After all, this was only an egg! It hadn’t even hatched yet and he was already tired of keeping up with it.

Carrying it in the backpack was heavy, and Grian tired out quickly. It was hot on his back, and Grian found himself having to take breaks to avoid overheating. It was also cumbersome, and he found it difficult to build with as it shifted his weight. He almost fell off the roof once while building it! Of course, having wings meant that Grian could catch himself easily, but it had still given him quite the scare. Dragon eggs were pretty sturdy, and would teleport themselves out of danger if possible, but he was still so paranoid about breaking it. And now there was the Boatem Hole to worry about--what if it teleported itself into the void? These things kept Grian awake at night.

But if he left it...well, just like Grian had a tendency to lose items in his chest monsters, he also had a tendency to forget where he placed things. He had been forced to go back and rescue the egg from some place he’d left it more than once, which he wasn’t exactly proud of. What sort of parent forgot their child?

. . . He was definitely not admitting to being its parent.

Oh God, what did I get myself into?

“Hey Grian, what’re you up to?” came a voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up and saw Pearl standing over him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hands were in her hoodie pockets. She took a seat on the ground next to him, and followed his gaze overlooking the Boatem village. “What’s on your mind?”

“This--this egg,” said Grian. It sat next to him in its backpack, still radiating heat. “I don’t know what to do with it. I’m just so tired of carrying it around!”

“I have to admit,” Pearl said, “I didn’t expect you to immediately adopt a baby dragon the very next time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, it was an accident.” Grian groaned. “I don’t know what to do with it now, let alone when it hatches!”

Pearl thought for a moment. “You know, the rest of us are all here for you. The other hermits would be happy to help out, I’m sure.”

The other hermits . . . well of course they would. If it was one thing they were all good at, it was supporting each other. Scar had already taken a particular interest in the egg, although Grian was still a little suspicious of him scaring it again. Mumbo had specially designed an incubator for it. Pearl was visiting him to check up on him and offer help.

All Grian had to do was convince himself to let it go. To let them help.

“I know that but . . .”

“But what? Have you had any reason to believe they wouldn’t?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no.” He thought for a while. He thought of how his friends would lend materials when needed, or how they’d help replace someone’s armor and items if they were lost. He thought about the days where they all teamed up and chose one hermit to help out, and he thought about all the things they did for the good of the entire community without even being asked.

His desire to protect the egg was strong, and putting it into the hands of another person almost felt like simultaneously a betrayal of the egg itself and the biggest leap of faith he could take. But the hermits were good at leaps of faith, because someone was always there to catch you.

“You think it’d be okay?”

“I know it’ll be okay,” Pearl replied. “I haven’t been here very long but from what I’ve seen, I know they’d all help. They wouldn’t hurt it. They might be a little mischievous sometimes,” she said, glancing at Scar’s house, “but they know how important it is and would be happy to help. They helped you before, didn’t they?”

Pearl was right, of course. Nobody on the server had any desire to hurt the egg. He trusted that. If there was anyone that he could trust, it was them.

But how would he get them all to essentially sign up for babysitting?

An idea struck him, and Grian scrambled to his feet. “Pearl, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She blinked, a little startled. “Always happy to help.”

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Grian stood back, admiring his work. A near perfect duplicate of the egg that was currently sitting in the backpack slung around his shoulder, but at a much larger scale. It was built out of obsidian blocks and crying obsidian for the spots, and if Grian was pretty proud of how it looked.

If Grian knew anything, it was that his friends loved minigames. And Grian was not above gently exploiting that fact to get a little help--just like barge game from the last world, where he managed to get his friends to help mine out the stone from next to his mansion. Just slap the title of “game” on something and you could get a hermit to sign up for anything.

“Now . . . I just have to write the signs on the inside.”

The game Grian had come up with was officially called Tegg--he needed to stay on brand with his tag games in every world--but he’d mentally been calling it “The Babysitting Game” for a while now. Because that’s what it really was--each hermit who signed up would also sign up to watch the egg and keep it safe. He set to work outlining the rules.

RULE ONE: Protect the egg and keep it safe.

RULE TWO: Keep the egg incubated or it’ll die.

RULE THREE: Keep a close eye on the egg.

RULE FOUR: Call Grian if it starts to hatch.

Satisfied, he wrote out the rest of the instructions. Because it was a game, he wanted to make it fun for the hermits too, so he’d decided to make it like a scavenger hunt. People were allowed to take the egg, provided they adhered to the rules, and were encouraged to hide it and keep it safe. Otherwise, someone else who wanted to have it could get it. The safer the egg was, the less likely for someone else to find it. The winner was whoever had the egg the longest when it finally hatched. Grian didn’t know how long that would take, but he didn’t want to miss it either, hence rule four.

Yep, totally outsourcing his babysitting onto his friends.

Grian squinted at his wall of signs, before placing one final sign at the bottom: Grian will track the game and has final say on points and rules!

“That should do it,” he mumbled. He still wanted to keep an eye on the egg, to make sure that he knew who had it and how many people’s hands it had gone through. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for it.

Grian pulled the egg out of the backpack and carefully placed it on the ground. He’d somehow made a habit of just speaking to it every now and then--he had no idea if the little dragon could hear anything in there, but he liked to think that it could. “Hey there,” he whispered, and stroked the top of the egg. “Some new people are going to start taking you pretty soon, but it’s okay. They’re going to give me some help and make sure you’re safe.”

He paused, taking in the little room he’d made and the wall of signs he’d written with meticulous instructions for the egg’s care. It may have been the first thing he’d built for this egg, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last. A baby dragon was a commitment and for the first time Grian really let himself think about what that meant, beyond just an egg that he had to carry around. Would he house it? Train it? Let it stay by his side? Would he love it?

I think I already do, he thought.

He thought of the hermits--their mischievousness, their pranks, their hard work, their friendship, and their goodness at heart. They were his family, now. What was one more addition?

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the egg. “I trust them all with my life, but more importantly, I trust them with yours.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft fanfic #quara fanfic

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your-local-grubdog · 2 years ago

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Fragile Things Chapter 14: What If You Move On Without Me?

"What if I found the way back, But you weren't there?" - Centaur World, I've Been Looking for You

Decided to do something different with the images, hope you guys like it!

HUGE thank-you to @random-pikmin-fan who asked to draw this chapter's art!!! Here's a link to her Ao3 as well.

Oh yeah a link to the Ao3 post okay lets start the chapter already!

Olimar and Louie were laughing as they trekked across the Perplexing Pool.

"That stupid slime ball didn't stand a damn chance against us!" Louie was beaming, a few pikmin taking a joy ride on his helmet.

"Yeah! It seemed attracted to the light of our beacons… so it didn't know who to turn to!"

"Wonder why…? Say, what did you end up calling it anyways?"

"Ranging Bloyster! It seemed to fit, looking so much like a Today Bloyster but big."

"Yeah, that works. I guess "big blobby bastard" isn't appropriate as a species name, huh?"

Olimar burst out laughing more at that. "No, it isn't. A shame too, you had good alliteration with that name."

"... I'll pretend I know what that means and let myself be proud."

The captain simply rolled his eyes at that as they entered base. "Well, ready to go home kiddo?"

They had finally repaid the debt. After almost two weeks of non-stop work, they were done. They were done! More than done in fact - they were only part way through the cave when they hit their goal. Still, they had to finish it as there was no other way to leave. But now they could finally go home. After all these weeks, Olimar could just fall against his wife and let the bad memories of this planet fade. Snuggled into her arms, nothing could hurt him.

Before they entered the ship though, Olimar stopped. He turned to the pikmin. This was it… he may never see them again. Well, he also thought that last time. Hopefully, then, the next time he saw them was on his own accord and in better circumstances. Kneeling down to their level, Olimar held his arms open. "Hey, I'm leaving now… it may be a long while. Okay?"

He didn't understand the pikmin just yet, and they did not fully understand their leaders in turn. Still, the pikmin seemed to know what was happening. This was it, their goal was completed, so they were leaving. With joyful squeaks and eyes full of tears, the pikmin ran for Olimar and Louie both to get hugs. Both Hocotations yelped and fell over as the pikmin kept piling up, desperately trying to get their share of affection.

They sat like that for a while, laughing and crying slightly as they shared their good-byes. Many squeaks from the pikmin were repeated: "Foe-lata! Too voe mo! Foe-lata!"

It was the same thing they said when he left in his Dolphin all those weeks ago. "Too voe mo" was something he heard oh so often. He knew it was important, he just didn't know what it meant. "Goodbye, little ones…" Olimar cooed, stroking back stems. "I love you. Please take care, okay?"

The pikmin didn't really respond, just repeating their little squeaks. That was fine, Olimar had essentially done the same thing.

He couldn't let this go on forever though. He stood up, letting the pikmin squeeze in some final goodbyes, and turned to Louie. The younger man was covered in pikmin as well, and so Olimar had to help him up and peel the overly affectionate carrots off of him. They then climbed aboard the ship.

Olimar headed straight for the control panel, already plotting a course back home. It'd take a few minutes, but it would ensure their safety. It was more than worth it. A few extra minutes spent was fine.

"Plotting course back to Hocotate, you ready Louie?"

"Yes Sir! I'll head to the kitchen and prepare dinner."

"I appreciate it, kiddo." Olimar hummed as he spoke, light chuffs escaping him. He could already see Rose, Nova, Luna, and Bulbie so clearly in his mind's eye… the tales he could tell of his adventure, the rest he could finally have. Maybe he could take them all out somewhere nice. It didn't matter where they went or what they did, just so long as they were together. He then turned his head towards the ship's exit. Odd… he could've sworn he heard the sounds of Louie talking and a pikmin squeaking. Yet no one was there. Maybe he was just so used to those noises, his mind was filling in the blanks of the quiet ship? Speaking of the kid, maybe he'd invite Louie! Introduce him to his family, slowly integrate him in. He wasn't sure how they would react, but he wanted to try. No matter what, he at least would always consider him family.

With Louie in the kitchen and the pikmin in their onions, Olimar had the ship take flight.

He stood by the panel as the ship flew, just in case. If something happened he'd rather be right here to take manual control of the vessel. Thus, he waited until the ship was safely out of the atmosphere and preparing for hyper drive before heading over to the kitchen. "Hey buddy, what did you decide to make?" He asked as he poked his head in.

But Louie wasn't there.

Odd, but maybe he was just in storage to grab a beast. That would make sense. He decided to turn and climb down there, scanning the large room for his co-worker.

But Louie wasn't there either.

Panicking a bit now, Olimar rushed back up the ladder to do a quick scan of the main floor. Bedrooms were empty, bathroom was empty, the ship was empty. Panic began to take hold of Olimar, forcing him to lean against a wall as his head spun and he struggled for breath. No, no no no no no - shit, that must of been Louie earlier then!

"S-ship-" he struggled to get his words out, his chest was just too tight and he was losing all sense of balance. His speech was barely a breath, certainly not loud enough for anyone to hear let alone some cheap microphone.

"Engaging hyperdrive." The monotone voice of the ship rang.

"N-NO!" Olimar finally caught his breath, adrenaline pumping through him. "NO, SHIP STOP-!"

"Hm?" The more animated of the ship's voices replied. "It's too late to stop captain-"

"I said to fucking stop NOW!" He practically screamed, fur standing on end. "LOUIE'S NOT ON BOARD!"

The ship was quiet for a long time before responding. "I-I'm sorry, Captain-"

"NO YOU'RE NOT! BECAUSE YOU ARE GOING TO FUCKING STOP AND TURN BACK TO GET HIM-"

"I can't, Sir. It's too dangerous to disengage hyperdrive early. We'll have to wait till we return to Hocotate and turn around-"

"NO! NO WE'RE NOT FUCKING DOING THAT - IT'LL TAKE A WEEK TO GET THERE AND BACK!" Olimar slammed his fist against the ship wall. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE DANGER, WE NEED TO GET HIM NOW BEFORE SOMETHING ELSE GETS HIM!"

"Sir, I can't-"

"YES YOU CA-"

"If I stop now the chance of crashing into something is too high. At this speed, the crash would destroy me and kill you instantly. Then he'll be stuck there longer as people wait to realize we're not coming back." The ship then seemed to sigh. "I don't like this any more than you do, trust me, but it's our only option."

Olimar buried his face into his hands, nails digging into his skin slightly as he just screamed. He pulled his hands down slightly, leaving small white scratches his fur hid, before slamming his hand against the wall again. This time he flinched, pulling his hand back and looking at the bright mark left from it. He leaned against the wall then, slowly falling to the floor.

"... again, Sir, I'm s-"

"Did you not check to see if he was here?!? Notice him leaving?!?"

"No, Sir, I didn't. My RAM was taken up making sure necessary systems were online and setting up the hyperdrive. There was no way for me to "notice" him leaving the ship, thus no record either."

Not enough fucking RAM?!? He knew his boss was starting to cut more and more corners with the ships and even their suits, but that was just… he didn't have words to describe his anger. He didn't have the energy to be angry anymore. The captain began to tremble, curling into himself. "W-what have I done…?"

"Olimar. You didn't do anything wrong. So many little things led to this, you couldn't have predicted them all happening at the same time. It was pure bad luck. No one is responsible, least of all you."

Olimar just shook his head though as his eyes began to water. "I- I left the boy there. I - I left him behind!"

"Olimar-"

"I've seen what nocturnal predators can do to pikmin in mere minutes, h-he won't even last a day there!"

"... we'll get him no matter what. But he has the pikmin, I do believe he'll hold out until we arrive."

The captain kept shaking his head though. "I don't - I don't know. I'm terrified. And I just left him!

"Olimar, it's not your fault-"

"I'm the captain!" He snapped back. "I'm responsible for everyone! I'm supposed to keep them safe!" His ears leaned back as he shook more. "And all I've done is forget about him entirely and get pikmin killed."

"... you also saved a lot of pikmin." The ship offered. "They still followed you. It'd be very easy for them to leave. But you never broke their trust. I promise, you'll get Louie back as well-"

"Don't promise that." Olimar hissed. "Please, I just -" he shook his head, shaking more now. He didn't know what to do. "Please leave me alone…"

The ship was quiet for a moment. "I will pester you to get food, water, rest, and the like. But I will leave you to yourself if that's what you want."

Olimar huffed, but he couldn't argue against the ship just trying to keep him functioning. "Fine, fine… thank you."

"Of course, Olimar."

The captain slowly stood up, heading for his room. He stumbled in, head pounding and eyes burning, then reached up for something on his loft bed. He pulled the little space blanket down, just staring at it for a moment. It was so small, and so soft. He gently rubbed a thumb on it, looking over all the little stars and rockets plastered all over the thing. It once belonged to Nova, but now Olimar couldn't help but associate it with both of his boys. Both of them he left behind, one on a deadly hell world and the other to grow up largely without him as he worked to the bone to keep him fed. Letting out a broken wail, he slid against the wall and onto the floor again as he curled around the tiny blanket, burying his face in it as he sobbed uncontrollably.

#borb writes #pikmin #louie pikmin #captain olimar #star touched au #pikmin star touched

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not-xpr-art · 4 years ago

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Art Advice #4 - A Beginner’s Guide to Digital Art

Hi all!

This weeks entry into my Art Advice tag, where I offer various advice for artists of any skill level, is about digital art! Now, I am by no means an expert at digital (I’ve been doing it for nearly 8 years at this point and that is almost entirely self taught), but I have picked up a few pointers in that time which will hopefully help anyone just starting out!

(this blogpost is a little over 2000 words long btw)

A Beginner’s Guide to Digital Art

I know that the world of digital art has changed drastically in the 8 odd years since I started, but I’d still say that some of the options I started out with will be just as good for anyone who’s starting out now!

As always, I’ll be splitting this into sections to make it easier for you to navigate this post!

Part 1 - Equipment/Hardware

There are a lot of drawing tablet options on the market at the moment, and I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about half of them lol. But I think for a beginner, don’t worry about going for the most expensive option, even if the reviews are really good or your favourite artist uses it, especially if it is way above your budget!

An important thing to know is that there are two types of tablet. One is the plug-in kind. These are essentially a pad which you plug into your laptop or computer and draw on that whilst looking at the screen (they basically work the same way as a plug in mouse works). The other kind is the screen variety, which is a lot more like what most of us know as ‘tablets’ nowadays. And you draw directly onto the screen.

(a plug-in vs on screen tablet, both from Wacom)

Now, as for choosing between these, it is honestly a personal choice. But I’d say if you’re just wanting to try digital and you’re on a budget, a plug-in tablet can be really useful since it gets you used to the mechanics of what digital is like, and they are often significantly cheaper than the screen alternatives. I would say that plug-in tablets are a big learning curve, especially if you’re used to doing traditional stuff, but I do know a lot of professional artists who still use this kind of tablet when doing their work, so if it’s something you can get used to I would definitely consider it! Also, they’re often a lot more portable than some screen tablets! The first one I had was a Huion (a model so old that I can’t even find a link to it now lol), and I also know that Wacom are a well known brand that do some decent plug-in tablet. I’d recommend you do your own research on other brands and options, though!

Screen tablets are often a lot more expensive, but if you’re used to traditional art, they are a lot easier to get a handle of! But I know if you already have something like an iPad, or other general use tablets, then they offer apps that you can use to draw on (as well as things like the Apple pen, or other stylus’). The big difference between using these general tablets and ones specifically designed for drawing is pretty much purely a personal choice. I personally prefer the bigger screen of my XP-Pen tablet, along with a special screen protector that removes the shininess of the tablet screen and makes it feel more like ‘paper’ over when I used a general use tablet it draw. But if you already have an iPad, or something similar, then it’s honestly a really great starting point!

I think it’s important for me to mention that you don’t need fancy equipment to be an artist. The incredible Elicia Donze has revealed countless times how she has very basic equipment but still manages to produce the most stunning artworks! All you really need is some kind of drawing apparatus and a lot of patience lol! Getting good at any kind of art takes a lot of time and effort, but I would definitely say it’s worth it when you’re able to look back at your progress!

Part 2 - Software/Drawing Programs

Much like with the hardware discussion, choosing which program to use is entirely down to personal preference. I personally have never really liked Photoshop purely because it’s really complicated, but I know so many artists swear by it.

I think the main aspect to consider when you’re starting out is whether you want to pay for a program. Software like Photoshop, Clip Studio Paint and Procreate are some of the popular ones I hear about a lot of people using, but all require you to purchase or subscribe to them. So if you’re young or on a very tight budget, I’d honestly recommend the free alternative versions of these, such as Krita (Krita is quite a large program, but it has a lot of really awesome features and is very similar to Photoshop!), Gimp (this one is similar to Krita, but has slightly less options, I’d honestly recommend Gimp for anyone who does photo editing though!) or FireAlpaca (this is the one I use, by the way and it’s a pretty simple program, but has a lot of fantastic features and is perfect for how I work!). These don’t have as many features as some of the paid alternatives, but I honestly think all you really need to start digital art is some kind of ‘canvas’ and set of brushes!

Another great free program for beginners I’d recommend is MyPaint, which is great for doodling and just getting used to how digital art feels in comparison to traditional! It also has a bunch of ‘traditional style’ brushes, to make it look like charcoal or watercolour (which I’m sure the paid alternatives have too, but it’s always better when it’s free, I find lol...)

(this is an example of a drawing I did on MyPaint using the ‘charcoal’ effect brush!)

Most of the sites are pretty self explanatory, with sections dedicated to different brushes (I’ll go into the types of brushes later on in this post btw!), adjusting brush size, shape and opacity, a colour wheel, etc. You also have a section dedicated to ‘layers’ (another thing I’ll go into more detail later), and various ‘filters’ and editing options and effects you can add to your work to make it more interesting!

I’d really just recommend playing around with programs until you find your one!

Part 3 - The Pros of Digital Art!

I realise this section should probably earlier in this blog post lol, but I kinda wanted to go into what digital art can achieve in comparison to traditional art, and how beginner artists can utilise this!

I definitely didn’t take advantage of certain aspects of digital art when I first got into it, and they’re things that would have definitely made my life a whole lot easier lol!

Digital art allows you to tweak drawings as you do them. So if you accidentally drew the eye too far to the right, then you can easily move it to the right place. (I usually do this by selecting whichever area is wrong, cutting it out and then pasting it into a new area... And yes, there is probably a better and quick way of doing this but...I haven’t found that way yet lol...). And I honestly think that this has allowed me to look a lot more at a reference image in order to figure out where I’ve gone wrong with a drawing! Whereas with traditional art, I usually spend so long trying to get an eye right, that even if it’s slightly in the wrong place, I don’t want to completely redo that section. Digital allows you to completely rub out sections without leaving indents, which is honestly such a saving grace!

Another pro of digital is the Undo/Ctrl Z function! This means you can easily go back to before you made a major mistake with just a click of Ctrl Z... Though I have to say that this function has honestly ruined traditional art for me... Oh what wouldn’t I give for a real life Ctrl Z... But yeah, this is a great part of digital art and definitely something you will grow to love lol!

Another great thing about digital is that it allows you to flip and turn a canvas as you’re drawing on it. I spent a lot of time trying to turn my tablet around in order to draw certain parts of a piece before I realised you can turn the canvas itself without having to move yourself or your tablet!

Layers are another part of digital that can be super useful, and I have to be honest but I don’t really use them a lot. I know a lot of artists create layers for every section of their artworks (so, one for the linework, one for colouring, a separate one for the background, etc etc...). And there’s something really great about being able to paint without worrying about smudging into a previous section of the painting. This works well for my work since I do a lot of bright backgrounds. I also often create a lot of ‘versions’ of my works, so it’s useful to be able to change the background without affecting the main figure of the piece! (I have to say that I often work in one big layer when I’m doing paintings, just because I like how it feels more like ‘traditional’ art that way, but layers are such a brilliant tool, and definitely something you should play around with!)

The eyedropper tool is another one that is really useful! Although I never colour pick from my reference photos, I know some artists find this useful when they were just starting out (especially if you’re not sure what colour to make shadows or how to mix skin tones, etc etc). The eyedropper basically means you don’t need to mix your colours every time

Part 4 - Just some other things I wish I had known about when I was starting out lol...

This last section is just dedicated to a few things that I would have liked to have known when I was just starting out all those years ago.

First one is fluffy/textured brushes!

I spent most of my art life from 2013 until 2016 using ‘round’ brushes which are notoriously hard to blend with, so I’d recommend either downloading some fluffy/textured brushes (DeviantArt was where I got mine from a few years back, but there are probably other places you can get them for free too!) to your program of choice, since most of the programs I’ve used haven’t had fluffy/textured brushes as pre-set.

I may make another post about how I blend in my artworks if that’s something people would be interested in?

(this is an example of textured brush blending vs round brush blending... I usually opt for round brushes for rougher blending styles and the textured brushes for more smooth and ‘realistic’ blending... for a lot of pieces, though, I use both brushes (the round brushes are good for details!) in the same way that you use different sized brushes for real paintings!)

The next thing I wish I’d discovered earlier is the Brush Stabiliser option. Some programs may do this automatically, but the one I use (FireAlpaca) requires you to manually change the amount of stabilising you have on your brush. This is particularly useful if you want to draw neat lines or straight lines (the stabiliser essentially slows down the ‘ink’ as you’re drawing). I only recently started using the stabiliser, and although I still like having it mostly turned ‘off’ for doing sketchy work, it does make doing line work a lot easier, and also gives pieces a more polished look!

Next advice is to explore all the options you can in whatever program you use!

I feel like with certain programs, you can get overwhelmed by choice and you end up just using a few of the functions. But I’d really recommend just playing around with these programs, trying all the filters and editing options to get used to how the program works. You can often find interesting ways to adjust your artworks this way! In a way I’d recommend this way of working more than finding tutorials made by other people... Unless there’s a specific function you want to learn how to do, just having fun with digital art is a major part of it’s appeal to me!

There are probably a lot of other options I could go into, but this is already over 2000 words long, so I’ll leave it here for now lol! (I may do a part 2 though so... keep a look out for that!)

As always, if you have any questions to things I’ve said here, or are just looking for more advice, don’t hesitate to message me!

And if you like my work on here (art & blog posts) feel free to support me on my Ko-Fi! <3

#art advice #digital art #art advice for beginners #digital art for beginners #artist advice #digital art tips #artists on tumblr #just want to say again that i am not an expert at this at ALL lol #i just want to offer some really basic advice to anyone interested in starting out with digital!

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lils-of-the-valley · 3 years ago

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Kiss It Better

It was 1 am and I just wanted to write dumb skater boys kissing. I miss writing kisses and they should kiss and be happy and in love. They are in love, but they should also kiss. (Also I'm on mobile so I hope the read more works)

Edit: I forgot to put the AO3 link here Can y'all tell how exhausted I am?

Reki was no stranger to injuries. Really, it was concerning the number of times he had ended up in an emergency room after a skateboarding accident. But the pain barely fazed him anymore, especially not the minor pain of scrapes and bruises. At this point, it was a daily occurrence, either from bailing while skating or from ramming his hip into the corner of a table. The latter was a little more frustrating though.

“Dude, you don’t have to make such a big deal out of it!”

Big blue eyes stared blankly at Reki before diving back into his backpack, rummaging through it. Reki sighed as he leaned back against the concrete, propped up on his elbows, his head hanging back. Langa was being dramatic as ever, making a huge deal out of what was essentially nothing more than a little scrape on Reki’s left hand. Sure, there had been a bit of blood, but the cut was barely visible! It wasn’t anything to panic over. Yet, Langa had insisted that Reki stayed put, right where he had fallen, while he hauled the backpack back to Reki before plopping himself down onto the concrete. He sat cross-legged in front of Reki while he dug through the bag, muttering something about alcohol pads and bandages.

“Those band-aids are for you,” Reki said, his eyes fixated on the swirls of reds and oranges and purples in the sky. The sun had started to set, it seemed. “Since you can’t stand the sight of your own blood. Unlike you, I can handle it. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t need patching up.”

“And I say you do.”

The firmness of Langa’s voice drew Reki’s attention back to him, his piercing blue eyes sending shivers down the boy’s spine. There was something demanding in Langa’s voice, something protective, something… pleading? Langa was worried about him? Given the way he was looking at Reki, it had to be. And Reki couldn’t refuse him, not when he was looking like that.

“Fine!”

Reki huffed as he finally let his body flop down onto the ground. Langa seemed content with the answer, returning to his scavenger hunt through Reki’s bag. This meant that Reki would have to occupy himself without his skateboard since he wasn’t allowed to get onto it until he was fully patched up. Thankfully, the ever-changing clouds in the sky were distracting enough. A bunny. A dolphin. A flower. A-

“Found them!”

A blue sky stared back at Reki, startling the boy. Langa hovered above him, holding a few sealed bandages in front of Reki’s face, a boyish grin contrasting his usual reserved and serious expression. A boyish grin that made Reki’s inside twist, his throat turning dry. He knew he could touch, that Langa wasn’t some porcelain doll that would shatter under his calloused fingers. He knew he could touch, that Langa would never refuse him the pleasure of passing his fingers through the silky blue hair, the pleasure of touching that beautiful pale skin, the pleasure of feeling those soft lips, but still, Reki resisted. Still, Reki held back.

He pressed his palm to Langa’s chest, pushing him away ever so slightly as he pushed himself up on his elbows once more, his eyes avoiding Langa’s general direction.

“Again, I don’t actually need them. The scrapes will be gone in the morning; no use in wasting band-aids on that.”

“But I want to do it for you.” A beat of silence. Then Langa was ducking his head, the blue silk falling in his face and drawing Reki’s eyes back to him. “You know, since you always patch me up after I bail? I want to do that for you. I want to take care of you, Reki.”

Oh! Reki’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, now that was adorable.

How was Reki supposed to turn Langa away when he sounded like that? Looked like that? How could Reki refuse Langa who seemed so small, so vulnerable, and oh so adorable? It was simply impossible. So Reki gave in, gave in like he always did because it was Langa asking and Langa could get him to do anything.

“Fine! Fine!” Reki sat up, presenting his scraped hand to a starry-eyed Langa. “But only because you’re cute.”

“No!” Was that a pout? “You’re the cute one.”

Reki couldn’t help but giggle at the boy. To think that the stoic and socially awkward boy he had met only a little over a year ago could end up being an absolute dork, a dork pouting because he was called cute. Reki never would have believed it if someone had told him that this would be his normal. Reki never would have believed it if someone had told him that Langa would turn out to be this dorky yet adorable boyfriend. His dorky yet adorable boyfriend.

“Well? Are you going to patch me up or are you gonna stare at me all wide-eyed until the scrapes disappear on their own?”

Langa blinked a few times before quickly turning his attention to Reki’s outstretched hand, a ghost of a touch fluttering over the scrapes. Hesitantly, he glanced between Reki’s face and his hand before carefully pulling out an alcohol swab from the makeshift first-aid kit Reki carried everywhere he went. It was pretty obvious that Langa was not in his comfort zone, not used to be the one cleaning wounds. His hands shook ever so slightly as he wiped Reki’s hands clean, but it was the gesture that counted. It didn’t have to be perfect because as long as it was from Langa, then Reki would smile ever so softly as he watched him put on a band-aid with the utmost concentration. It was the kindness and the care that had Reki fall a little more in love with the boy in front of him. It was the little things that made his heart melt.

“And,” Langa pressed one last band-aid to Reki’s palm, his long fingers passing over the fabric before curling around Reki’s, “all done. All clean.”

“Thanks, man.”

As Reki pulled his hand back, Langa’s grip tightened as he tugged the hand back towards him, surprising Reki. He felt his whole face heat up as Langa planted a kiss right in the middle of his palm, slow and careful. Reki barely felt the kiss, but he could see it happening. And he could feel it in his face, the fire that had ignited in his cheeks, in his ears, in his brain. And when Langa’s eyes met Reki’s, lips still pressed against the calloused tanned skin, a smile played on his pretty lips, a smile that drove Reki crazy.

“Kissing it better,” Langa clarified. “You always insist on the magic of kissing it better.”

“You…”

Reki huffed, finally managing to pull his hand back and holding it defensively to his chest. Langa knew what he doing to Reki. He knew that he was the reason why Reki’s face must have matched his hair. He was fully aware that it was entirely his fault and the bastard still had the audacity of looking smug about it.

Reki felt his stomach flip as Langa crawled over him, his weight in Reki’s lap while his arms caged the boy. Something glinted in those blue eyes, something Reki had never seen before. Something that terrified him, but also strangely… exciting?

“Well,” Langa licked at his lips as he glanced down at Reki’s lips, sending an electric shock down the boy’s back, ��I could always give you a real kiss if you like.”

Reki’s mind short-circuited at the thought of having Langa’s hot mouth against his. He wanted, he wanted it so badly, but his body tensed at the mere thought of it. He wanted, he wanted with fiber of his body, but he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I’ll be real good, I promise.”

“Okay!” Reki half-shouted in embarrassment. He had felt his eyes go wide at Langa’s suggestive tone. He had felt the twist in his gut. His face, his whole body burned as he pressed his hands to Langa’s mouth, pushing him away. Langa laughed against his hand, pretty and muffled. “Man, you can’t just say that to me! You-! I-! Dude! No!”

Reki’s hands dropped onto his lap, squeezed between his thighs while Langa straightened out, still sitting on Reki’s lap. He was laughing, hearty and unguarded, which made Reki’s heart flip. His face was also flushed, his pale skin tinted with reds and pinks. He was so beautiful. Langa was just so beautiful.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he managed to huff out, finally calming his laughter. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Something twisted in Reki once more, though this time it felt more guilty than anything. He just wasn’t particularly good with PDA. Sure, he knew he was an extremely tactile person, his hand constantly brushing against Langa’s, their shoulders bumping as they walked side by side, but everything he did, it could be interpreted as just bros being good ol’ platonic buddies. He had always been a touchy-feely person, especially with Langa, but still, it wasn’t easy being affectionate in a romantic sense. Just holding hands made his hands all sweaty and gross, his nerves getting the best of him. And god forbid they actually kissed in public-! No, Reki wasn’t ready for that. It was just too much. Just the thought was overwhelming him.

“Sorry.” Langa’s voice had gone quiet as he shifted on Reki’s lap. Reki could see he was reluctant to move but ready to do so regardless. “I really didn’t mean to…”

“S’fine, dude. I’m just… public.”

The wind caught in Langa’s hair, pushing it out of his face as he quickly glanced around the dark skatepark. How was he so effortlessly beautiful? How was Langa so damn beautiful all the freaking time? How was it that even under the shitty streetlamp, he still looked like a prince straight out of a fairy-tale? And when he looked at Reki like he was also beautiful, as if he were the only person in the world, it made him melt. Those blue eyes were only for him. Only Kyan Reki would ever get to look into them like this, see the way they sparkled like snowflakes under a bright sun.

“There’s no one around?”

Oh. Was that hope in Langa’s eyes? In his voice? Was it desire? Want? Need? Langa who, despite being reckless and shameless, was always so reserved and good, did he really want to kiss Reki that badly? And since there was no one around… Maybe it would be alright? It wasn’t like they would be interrupted or caught. No one came around this part of town, especially not at this hour.

Reki’s eyes skirted over the deserted skatepark once last time before finding Langa’s eyes once more.

“Just one.”

“Really?” Excitement, that’s what made Langa’s voice just a tad higher than usual.

“You get one kiss. That’s it.”

A grin broke across Langa’s face once more, a grin that made him glow. “Isn’t that what you always say?” Reki sent Langa a look of disapproval to which he answered by putting his hands up defensively. “Fine, fine, just one. If you can stop.”

Reki sighed at the boy before tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

A breathless laugh broke from Langa’s lips before pressing them to Reki’s. Langa was like a drug; his kisses were the most addicting thing Reki had ever come across and it only took one for him to be hooked. His taste filled Reki, his sweetness hazing Reki’s mind. It wasn’t the first time he kissed Langa – it had already been weeks since their first kiss, clumsy in the middle of a shitty movie – but it didn’t mean it didn’t feel completely new each time. It had been weeks since that first kiss, but Reki just couldn’t get enough of his boyfriend’s mouth, of his kisses, of his touch. Especially not when Langa was licking at the seam of Reki’s lips, asking to be let in.

Everything happened in a blissful daze: the arms wrapping around Langa’s neck, the beckoning him closer if that were even possible, the slight fumbling to get comfortable, and the falling back onto the concrete, legs tangling as they always did. Sure, the cold ground wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a mattress, but with Langa’s arms acting like a pillow for Reki’s head, it didn’t matter. Everything was good, so good. It was so good, the feeling of Langa’s short, hot pants between the kisses. It was so good, the mumbling against each other's mouths, their names filling the little air between them. But nothing beat having their lips pressed together, wanting, needing the other. Nothing could ever beat that feeling.

Reki wasn’t proud of the whimper that left his lips as Langa pulled back completely, sitting up. The smirk was a cruel temptation. Langa was no fool; he knew damn well that he was torturing Reki as he shifted in his lap, his whole weight pressed into Reki’s thighs.

“You said one kiss, so,” Langa shrugged, lips pressed in a thin line.

“That was more than one, you fucking tease,” Reki muttered as he propped himself up on his elbows for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

“Pulling out the big, bad words, huh?” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Reki’s lips. Another whimper. Maybe even a moan. Reki wasn’t sure; he just knew he wanted more. “Wanna come over instead? Get some food, put on a movie, probably not watch the movie at all but it doesn’t matter since my mom isn’t-!”

“You stopped kissing me because you’re hungry?”

Laughter fell from Reki’s lips like the stars against the mid-August sky as his forehead hit Langa’s shoulder. He should have known. Langa had seemed hungry for both love-filled kisses and actual food.

Instinctively, Reki’s arms wrapped around the body against which he was pressed, feeling the light rumble of laughter and potentially of an empty stomach against his own body. Langa was warm. He was comfortable. He was safe. Langa was… home.

“Can we watch Spirited Away in your bed? No offense man, but your couch is shit to make out on.”

“You…” Langa shifted, causing Reki to peel himself off of him and look up at him. “You want to watch a kid’s movie while we make out?”

“It’s a good movie! And I’ve seen it like a hundred times, so I won’t be tempted to actually watch it.”

“No. I know you.” Langa’s hands found their way to Reki’s cheeks, holding his face ever so gently. “You’re gonna end up watching it. Again. For the third time this month.”

“Look! Look, it’s not my fault it constantly plays at my place! Chihiro just… she likes the movie because the main character has the same name as her. And I like it because… it’s good, man. Don’t hate on a good movie!”

Langa inhaled sharply, his eyes closed and his hands pressed against his lips. He looked like he was praying to whatever God was out there to hear him. “I can’t believe my boyfriend wants to make out with me while his little sister’s favorite movie plays in the background.”

“Well,” Reki shrugged and flopped back down on the ground, crossing his arms behind his head, “we could also not make out, I don’t care. It would be your loss, man.”

“No!” Langa was once more caging Reki with his arms, but this time, it wasn’t Reki that was panicking. “There is no fucking way I’m letting you off the hook that easily. You-!”

It was always so much fun cutting Langa off with kisses when he got a little too chatty. Every time, it would catch him off guard, his eyes growing three sizes for a fraction of a second before squeezing them shut. And his pale cheeks always turn a bright red, a color that, surprisingly, didn’t often blossom under his skin. Langa was almost always the one initiating the kisses, so having Reki be the one pushing himself up to catch his lips, it always left him a mess. Reki’s surprise kisses turned Stoic Langa, Cold Langa, Ice Prince Langa into this mess of dork, this stuttering and blushing mess of boyfriend.

Reki traced the line of Langa’s jaw, his eyes following the movement of his fingers. He had quickly learned that Langa melted at the touch, which made it a lot easier to convince him to do whatever it was Reki wanted. “You pick the food and I pick the movie or no more kisses for you.”

“Can it at least be Howl’s Moving Castle? I know you like that one too, but at least I won’t have the image of your little sisters seared into my mind while I try to kiss you senseless.”

“Fine, fine.” Reki’s fingers hooked Langa’s chin, beckoning him closer to press another kiss to his mouth. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Reki.” One kiss. “So much.” Two kisses. “Infinitely.”

#i still hate tagging shit #but here we are #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki x langa #langa x reki #langa hasegawa #hasegawa langa #langa #kyan reki #reki kyan #reki #fluff #like pure fluff #lils writes

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povcherry · 3 years ago

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The Love Test | DNF

Dream and George take a test to see if they are in love with their best friend

The intense red text was prominent on his screen. Frustratingly, the one time Dream agrees to playing bedwars with George and Hypixel is down.

Dream lent back in his chair, hands behind his head staring up at the ceiling. His room was dark, the only light shone from his monitors. Patches wrapped around his legs. A deep sigh left George, as he lay his head on his desk in exasperation, an empty subway wrapper by his face, the time on his monitor read 2:17 am, yet he wasn't tired. After being on calls almost consecutively with Dream for essentially a year, he had managed to sync his sleep schedule up with him, already in Florida time prepared for when he goes to live with Dream and Sapnap.

George was disheartened. He was looking forward to playing with Dream. They were both normally either too tired or busy editing or working to go on minecraft for fun, and not just for a YouTube video. But now that they couldn't play bedwars, they were bored and unsure of what to do. They only called each other so that they could play minecraft, but that wasn't an option anymore.

"What do you want to do now then?" Dream asks, his voice far away from the mic, so much so that George nearly missed what he said. He hesitated, staring at Dreams discord profile picture light up.

"We could..." He stalled, drawing out his words. He wasn't the best at making decisions, he was much to indecisive. "Do you want to stream GeoGuessr?" He suggested, silently hoping Dream would say no. He didn't really want to do anything, only talk to Dream for hours on end.

"Not really. My brain is too slow for that level of concentration." That earned a giggle from George, putting a small smile on Dreams face. He loved that sound. "How about we go in my merch vc? Me and ni- Sapnap had fun last time just listening to music?"

George was hesitant. The last time he went in Dreams merch voice call was during the sleep over with Sapnap and Dream. That ended up in a disaster of butterflies and George having to turn his phone off for a couple of hours just to distract himself from the 'dreamnotfound' mayhem they had caused yet again on twitter. He felt giddy just thinking about it, Dream whispering into the mic, loudly cursing when George beat him at 8ball. It made him dizzy thinking about it... thinking about him.

George didn't hate it though- the attention from Dream and the fans. Despite all the jokes and innuendos that they both do to mess with their fans, George knew there was some truth to it all. A deeper meaning to being called an idiot. The endearing term that Dream loved to use oh so much. George felt fluttery, wanting to be called an idiot at this moment.

"George?" He had been silent for a while, reminiscing.

"What would we do on there?"

"Just talk. Or listen to music. Whatever you want to do, George".

Without thinking, George clicked onto the icon for Dreams server. "Do you need to add me to the call?" He asked, unsure about how the podcasts worked.

"Yeah, I need to quickly tell my mods to open it first."

Within minutes, they where in the call, hundreds of people pouring in immediately, spamming the chat with things like 'GEORGE?!' and blue and green hearts. George stifled a giggle, nerves taking over him. Despite doing streams for a living with tens of thousands of people watching him, there was something more intimate with calling Dream in a private server.

"Hello" Dream broke the silence, welcoming all the fans. He chuckled, looking at the chat, "Yes, George is here today. Hypixel was down and we had nothing to do"

"Hi" George was unsure what to say, scratching his neck in awkwardness. It wasn't this weird when he was streaming. At least then they had a plan and chat was relatively easy to read. He was doubtful that this call would end well, what with his ignorance to some innuendos and jokes involving DreamNotfound.

"We thought we would just pop on here. We're kind of bored." Dream stated, unable to see what people where spamming in the #podcast chat. "I can't see what you guys are saying, i'll probably just read my twitch chat."

Half an hour passed and George was getting hungry and bored, nothing eventful had really happened so far except for Dream explaining his setup and chat freaking out over his galaxy mouse pad.

"I want food but all that's in my fridge is butter... oh and the BTS sauces and... uhm expired milk" George complained, looking through his fridge while still on the call.

Dream chucked, "Why do you have expired milk in your fridge?"

"Not the point, I just want food"

"Well get some food then" Dream counteracted. George sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting back down in his chair. His stomach rumbled loudly, calling out to his hunger.

"I'm going to order McDonald's." And with that George muted his mic, found the McDonald's number and ordered his food, in the background, he could hear Dream.

"Should i do a quiz?... yeah? Link some in the podcast chat." There was a long silence. George, long ordered his food, stayed muted, listening to Dream talk to his chat. He found it so endearing the way Dream spoke to them, as though they where a family. His voice soft and gentle as he scrolled through the chat looking for a quiz.

"Ooh, this looks interesting... oh, 'Am I In Love With My Best Friend?'. Sounds... interesting" George stopped. Everything seemed to slow down. Eyes wide as he looked at the screen infront of him, Dreams discord icon lighting up as he chuckled nervously. He wasn't actually going to do it was he? The room was getting hot for George, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to delve into the idea of being in love with his best friend, let alone his best friend being in love with him.

He quickly unmuted, ready to call Dream out on what he was doing, but Dream beat him to it.

"George, i'm going to do the 'Am I In Love With My Best Friend?' quiz" He laughed, opening up the link and reading out the first question. "do you catch yourself looking at your best friend?"

George stalled. They had face timed multiple times in the past, Dream only letting George see his eyes upwards, but George always found it hard for him to look away. He got lost staring at his best friends eyes. George quickly messaged Dream asking for the link for the quiz, if Dream was going to do it, so would George.

"Dream, check dm's" He rushed.

"Huh, what, why?" Dream asked, busy trying to still his own heart beat. He had always known at the back of his mind that he had romantic feelings for George, whether that is because he was just touched starved and was desperate, or because he genuinely wanted more than just a friendship with George, suppressing his feelings as to not ruin anything between them.

"Just read it." George urged, getting apprehensive, unsure whether he should just delete the comment and over analyse everything Dream says.

But before he knew it, the link to the quiz had been sent to George, a small smiley face underneath it from Dream. George was about to reply with a '?' to the smile, but Dream spoke up again.

"I just put 'once in a while', i mean, it's not like im never looking at you but i don't do it like.. all the time." George clicked all the time. He couldn't get enough of Dreams warm amiable eyes. His eyes were a kind of green that speaks to the soul of nature, of fresh wands of grass and new buds, and his eyes were that bright colour, bold and beautiful.

"Right," he snickered, " next question, 'are they the first person you call when something happens?' uhm... yeah, i guess. But not always, i mean i would call my mom first." He laughed, ignoring the fact that George was silent. George always called Dream if something was wrong. He wasn't in contact with his parents, Sapnap wasn't the most mature when it came to serious things, yes he was a great friend and he would be there for George if he needed, but Dream came first. George put Dream before everyone, at time even before himself.

"George?" Dream disrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You're being so quiet, everyone is asking if you're asleep" George looked at chat, Sure enough, between all the green and blue hearts, there where people spamming Georges name and sleep.

"Oh uhm no, it is 3 am though. Kind of tired." He said, anxiously looking at the next question, mouse already hovering over 'it's nice if i can'. George didn't wake up thinking about Dream, not always anyway. Just if they had fallen asleep on call together, or if they were recording a video that day.

"You should sleep." His voice had softened. He too was looking at the same question. Thinking about George staying up just for him made him feel giddy, but he also didn't want George to be sleep deprived.

George held back a smile. "I'm good, we're in sync bb" he snickered, knowing that would get a rise out of the chat. He could practically hear Dream roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh come on" He laughed, his voice low and raspy as he started to read out the next question. He couldn't get through it without laughing, however. "'Do you get jealous if he or she has a boyfriend or girlfriend?' Oh come on! I mean..." He started, George's scoff cut him off. "What?" Dream laughed.

"Nothing" George giggled

"To be fair.. no, but... i mean, wouldn't anyone?"

"Not really." George counteracted.

"Well, no. But! But! But! It would be one of those things where it's like, awe, now he's gonna be spending time, like, doing that, instead of like, with us. Like with like, me and sap. So, I'll put maybe a little. Right? Maybe a little.?" Dream stuttered, trying to defend his reasoning while George just giggled at his flusteredness.

George had already clicked 'ugh its the worst' already. He remembered when Dream had told him Sapnap was moving in with him. Now, George knew his best friends. He knew there was nothing going on between Dream and Sapnap, but something about them living together tickled George the wrong way. He was pissed off, to say the least. George wasn't normally jealous, but when it came to Dream, he became a different person. He almost didn't want to share Dream with anyone else... George wanted Dream all to himself.

"Dream, no one is arguing with you..." George whispered endearingly, a small smile painted across his lips.

The next few questions were uneventful. Dream still defended his answers despite no body calling him out on them. The chat was a blur of left ear jokes and and blue and greens. George answered 'yes' on the majority of the questions.

" Do you have dreams about them? Im- Okay! That's unfair, like, oh my god. Okay, I'll put sometimes." Dream rushed, desperately wanting to move onto the next question. He didn't want to tell chat, and especially George, about the dreams he has. No body knew about the desperation Dream has when he dreams about George. The want and longing to touch George in many ways than one. The heartache Dream feels when he wakes up because he knows the happiness his feels in his dreams could never be recreated.

"What?" George once again giggled. He was starting to have fun now. Seeing Dream embarrassed made George feel slightly better about his answers, but at this rate he was afraid the quiz would tell him he's so hopelessly in love with his best friend that there was no hope for him. "What do you dream about me?"

"You- you've had- you're- you're an idiot, you've had dreams! You've had one hundred pe- you've told me about dreams you've had!" He stammered, struggling to get his words out correctly without revealing too much. He was starting to get hot, the air conditioning in his room seemed to do nothing, the 'GNF' jumper he was wearing was suffocating him. He was suddenly finding it hard to breath under the weird pressure of these questions he had no obligation answering.

"What type of dreams, hmm?" George teased. He had his head resting in his hands leaning on the desk, taking in everything Dream was saying. George, of course had clicked 'all the time' about dreaming about Dream. Dream was on his mind 24/7.

"Oh don't even start with me, i know you've had dreams about me. You told me you've like.. texted me in your dreams or something. You.. you definitely have, anyway..." The two argued for the next few questions, and it was all smooth sailing for both Dream and George, until it came to the big one. The one that caused George to almost throw up the McDonald's that he had eaten a half hour ago.

Dream went silent. George could almost hear Dreams heart beating through the mic. He knew why, too. He saw the question. George had been dreading this. He chose to stay silent, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"Do you ever think about what it would be like to kiss your best friend?" Dream was silent for almost thirty seconds. He felt sick. The amount of times he had wondered what Georges lips felt like. Whether or not they were made for him. Perfectly molded to fit Dreams own. He dreamt about them constantly. The soft touch of lips. He was beyond salvageable. "Uhm, n-no. Of course not."

"Why did you take so long to answer?" George was apprehensive. He wondered whether Dream thought about kissing him as much as he did. George so desperately wanted to, he wanted to feel them on his own lips, wanted to know what Dream tasted like, how he smelt. He was forlorn.

"I'm just going to put, well... i'm going to put.. well there's no good answers. I'm just going to put 'yes but it would be like kissing my mom'". He lied, his mouse had been hovering over 'at least a few times a day', unsure whether to click it or not, but he knew the truth. He wanted to kiss George more than he ever wanted to do anything ever.

The rest of the quiz, George kept silent. If he opened his mouth, he would confess his love on the spot. He had finished all the questions, revealing a 32%. He was totally in love with his best friend. Desperately, pathetically and hopelessly in love. He needed help.

"Okay, last question" Georges ears pricked up at this, he was happy it was almost over. He needed to talk to Dream in private, even if it killed him. "Do you see them in your future?... of course. A lot of my future is your future. I don't want a future without you in it..." Dream whispered, muting his physical mic so that no one could hear his breath leave his body. That was the most intimate he had probably ever been with George in front of fans. He hoped he hadn't just messed anything up.

George still stayed silent. Dreams answer made him almost cry with happiness. He couldn't imagine a future without Dream.

Dream un-muted his mic to finish up the quiz, "It says, you are in love with a few things about your best friend, so it's likely that you could fall entirely in love with them if you... if things keep up the way they are right now." George was unsure of what to say. Chat was once again asking if he was asleep. Both boys took no notice. Almost silently, so silently George almost missed it. But he held his breath, staring at the monitor with fear. All colour had drained from his face. He was about to pass out.

"If.. if you're worried they don't feel the same way... you're going to have to find out how to shut your feelings off, you don't want to ruin what you have."... no one talked for a couple seconds... both of them waiting for the other to say something, until George plucked up the courage.

"I don't want to ruin anything, Dream."

George loved Dream, and Dream was sure he loved George.

#georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #dreamwasfound #gream #dreamnotfound #dnf brainrot #short story

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

Text

Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi! Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off when it came to Pigsy's rival. They make great content, give them a look! As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there. She edited this all in one night, the mad lad. Send love her way!! She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff! Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple. Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast. Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery. Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning. Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables. Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late. Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically. Listen to Pigsy bark orders. Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up. Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town. He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two. Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei. Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action. He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation. His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died. The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then. Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting. Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that. Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle. “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt. Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in. Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.”

At that, Tang has to snort. He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse. “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop. The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I! He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting! I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks! I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever! It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography. Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds, “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story. I even wrote an academic paper on them. Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?! Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Can you tell me one? Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow. “But I need something in return. A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately.

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid! I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens. “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%. Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth. “But this is a one time thing! I don’t have time for freeloaders around here. And not now! I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay! So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different. You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles. He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand. Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables. Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling. The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection. Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives? Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs. Pigsy gave him the job and the room. MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy. These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease. Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month. That is the only day that it is consistently closed. Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday. Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks. “Anyway, going on a walk? I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking. “I’m going shopping. Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks. He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense. I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before. His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in. “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks. “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.”

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch. He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants. If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere. It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved. He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home. And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself. He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face. Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him. Deliberating. Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern. He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development. He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment. There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space. Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered. The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison. It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet. He glances back at Tang expectantly. Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem. I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin. He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter. Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day. Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned. He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further. He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket. Don’t break anything.” Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf. There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it. He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left. Night.”

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine. Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay. Pigsy gets used to him, even. Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs. “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red. “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared. It’s the best he’s ever tasted. “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand. Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess. Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it. “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it. I mean, just look at the ones on TV!”

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway. “I like how the shop is. It’s small, but it’s good. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”

At that, Tang has to laugh. “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy. This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.

He’s been clearly shouting for a while. His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.

“I’ll kill em! I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath. It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it. He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together. Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists. The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself. Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space. Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions. Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out. “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now. It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK. MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter. “Like they raised him. Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age. Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath. He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this? This makes him furious. He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly. But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests.

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17. He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang.

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him. It never crossed his mind. Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.

Tang snickers. “I’ll drive,” he responds.

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel. And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record. I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right. But, I’d like to.”

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful. Tang looks away first. “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.” He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday. How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake. How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised. He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both. Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done. And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one. It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders. “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV. He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment. Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire. Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm. Small waves, rippling waters. Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works. He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same. And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics. Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life. That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds.

He says nothing else. Pigsy doesn’t press. Just turns back to making dinner. And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup. He takes a sip. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.

“They died. Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment. Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little. “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged. Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway. But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought. “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert. Quite the array of a meal. Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats. It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms. He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little.

The apartment becomes lived in. During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed. Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats. Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves. He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu. He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased? Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade. He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating. In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill. He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs. “The bed’s warmer,” he says.

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting. “Why, you cad! Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more. “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs. Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed. It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them. The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers. Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake. They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy. The bedroom is indeed warmer. Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head. Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face. He’s snoring. He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around. It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate. Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake. That he thinks he can coast forever. The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night. She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense. I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face. There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh! I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze. He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds. Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off. Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today. Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand. Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night. He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert. Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe. Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out. The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens. Runs a hand down his face. Sighs.

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up. He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work. Tang frowns. “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this even something?”

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy. A label defines, a label makes you inseparable. Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different. There’s a degree of separation, with that label. He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft. MK has others, Tang is just one. Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it. I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—”

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks. “Or am I just something you keep around? To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters. And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness. Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing. Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills. Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight. Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way. It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try. Of course Pigsy remembered. Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room. The door slams shut. Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch. It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day. Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door. Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly. Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay. MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs. He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy. In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed. Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave. Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open. He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes. “Get well soon. I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in. He should kick down the door, do something. Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now. There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home. There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.

Tang had settled into routines and expectations. The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction. He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk. You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say. He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable. Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo. To decide if he wants this to be set in stone. Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already? Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless. A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see. He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying. When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave? He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay. And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens. Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare. He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose. Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying? Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak. Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory. He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get. He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment. Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil. Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready. Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook. He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation. He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself. Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon. He takes a sip. His face remains carefully neutral.

Tang takes a sip a few moments after. He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth. “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush. “Shaddup. And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.”

Tang snorts at that one. “I doubt that. But, do tell. I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start. Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face. He needs to do more. He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter. It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know? This month is my charity month. I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’! Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won. That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers. “Where’s the fun in that? You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots. Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory.

Step three doesn’t really register. He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine. Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks. He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before. He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night. He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are. Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal. Some days, this happens. Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights. He tries a new recipe each day, because why not? Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable! Without blending! That’s like...did you use magic on this? Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time! I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same. I’m the only cook here. You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’. Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change. You clearly made it wrong! I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red. “Look, lady, you finished your meal. I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast. “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—”

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing. His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand. He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face. “I suggest you get over yourself. This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth. “And you don’t get to talk to him that way. If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised. Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting. But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl. Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.” “You don’t have to lie to me.” “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s. Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could. It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now. Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin.

He breaks away. Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event. His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses. There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock. The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s. The rock erodes, and becomes something new. Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

#lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #Tang #Pigsy #kitkat1003 #monkie kid tang #monkie kid pigsy

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weasleydream · 4 years ago

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Sirius, little Sofia and the Christmas tree

I feel like this one is so precious 🥺 I’ll never say it enough but soft Sirius is bae really

This one is for @wonderful-writer‘s ficmas challenge! Thank you for organizing such a fun event, love! My prompt was “Do you want to put the star on the top of the tree?” and honestly I fell in love with it!

As usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist

St-Mungo’s was a place with a special meaning. Of course, as a hospital, it obviously had an immense importance but it was one of the few places that was such a big part of James’, Remus’ Peter’s, Sirius’ and my heart. For James, it was because he had ended up there after particularly severe wounds from Quidditch when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. For Remus, it was because of this amazing nurse that had taken care of him after his first full-moon as a werewolf. For Peter, it was because he had always been welcomed with kindness when his father had stayed there for a while after having been hit by a strange curse. I didn’t know why Sirius seemed to be the most attached to this place. As far as I knew, he had never been here after having been injured and I doubted he had ever visited a family member here. I also knew for a fact that his parents hadn’t worked here for years before leaving the country for an abroad mission like mine. But despite this apparent lack of link between him and St-Mungo’s, I eventually understood how he felt bound to the place. So bound that, a few days before Christmas 1977, he announced to us he would spend Christmas eve at St-Mungo’s.

“I thought we were staying at Hogwarts all together.” I frowned. “Why this sudden change of mind?”

I glanced at Remus, who shrugged, and at James and Peter who were eyeing Sirius suspiciously.

“Is that where you spent Christmas last year?” asked James, who ignored our interrogative looks.

Sirius looked away and I could have sworn he was blushing.

“It’s a promise I’ve made…” he mumbled.

He seemed afraid that we would make fun of him or something, but nothing like this happened. Everything in him, from his sparkling eyes to his straight posture, everything was showing how important this promise was for him and never would we have laughed for such an essential mission.

James fell back on the couch of the common room, the one that was just in front of the fire, and put his arm behind his head before releasing the golden snitch he always had with him.

“We’ll have to ask Minnie to let us five leave school for Christmas eve, then. Do you think Lily will want to come with us?”

Remus threw a sarcastic remark that only him had the secret and I caught Sirius’ smile which, in my opinion, had nothing to do with James’ dark red cheeks.

_ _ _

Strangely, Professor McGonagall hadn’t even tried to refuse to let us leave for Christmas eve. In fact, it was quite the contrary: she had accepted almost immediately after having addressed a knowing smile at Sirius.

“I wonder why she accepted that quickly…” said Peter as soon as her office door was closed behind us.

Remus elbowed him, hissing that she could still hear us, and only spoke when two corridors separated us from Professor McGonagall.

“I’m pretty sure it’s because of Pads.”

“Obviously. It has to be because Sirius already went there last year and she had to know it.” answered Peter matter-of-factly before waving his wand in front of my eyes. “Y/N! You still with us?”

I removed his hand, my eyes still fixed on Sirius’ back. He was a few meters in front of us, walking next to James who nudged him playfully. Since he knew we would accompany him, Sirius seemed less exuberant, less loud, and I was pretty sure it was because he was scared. Whatever had motivated him to cancel our Christmas together at Hogwarts wasn’t something he had ever told us about, that was for sure. And it probably wasn’t something usual for him, or else he would have kept it a secret.

“Let her stare,” smirked Remus. “You won’t be able to stop her in anyways, Wormtail, you should know it.”

Peter laughed and shook his head. Remus imitated him and nudged me. I groaned, used to this almost constant teasing that had begun at the beginning of our previous year.

“Shut up, Moony.”

_ _ _

The street was crowded, way more than usual. The Muggles seemed even more pressed that they were at any other moment of the year. They had their arms full of bags probably containing various presents and any kind of food. A woman who was holding a plastic box against her ear pushed me hurriedly and continued her rushed race to whatever was stressing her. The movement caused me to trip and I would have ended the nose directly against the hard ground if solid arms hadn’t wrapped around me.

“Maybe one day you’ll learn how to walk properly!” Sirius winked.

I was sure my cheeks were red and that they didn’t stop darkening even when his hands left my waist, leaving my skin almost burning through the wool of my Christmas sweater.While Sirius left and disappeared through St-Mungo’s entrance following James and Peter, Remus patted my shoulder with a broad smile.

“Admit it, you tripped on purpose.”

“To make a fool of myself? No way.” I groaned.

“Come on, you may be a fool but Sirius thinks you’re a cute one.”

Remus threw me a mysterious glance and disappeared too, leaving me alone in the street with my thoughts and the Muggles. Eventually deciding to join the boys, I crossed the magical barrier with a sigh.

It had been a while since the last time I had stepped in this hospital during Christmas. It had always brought me betterness and guilt to be there, perfectly well and with my family whereas a lot of patients here were alone. The worst to me was the bunch of kids that practically lived here, kids whose parents weren't with them with or without a good reason, if there was really a good reason for this.

Sirius led us through the hall and we took the stairs to the cafeteria’s level. In my memories, this lever was the most decorated during the end of the year but it was nothing compared to how decorated it was now. The walls were covered in drawings representing Christmas trees, Santa Claus, snowmen and a lot of other coloured items representing Christmas, all of these drawings coming from children. Each window was adorned with bright red ribbons, Tinsels and wreaths were disposed wherever they fitted. In the middle of the cafeteria, from where all the tables had been removed, a big tree that hadn’t been decorated yet had the pride of the place, and around this tree were gathered nine kids. They were all wearing Christmas-related clothes, and a little girl even had a headband with reindeer antlers. Two little boys and the girl with the headband rushed toward Sirius, their little arms wide open and their eyes sparkling.

“Sirius!”

“We were waiting for you!”

Sirius hugged the two boys and then wrapped his arms around the little girl.

“How are you little princess?”

“I was scared you wouldn’t come…” she answered shyly.

Sirius smiled softly and ruffled her hair, causing the headband to almost fall. She replaced it, giggling, and extended an arm to mess up Sirius’ hair too.

“You’ll decorate the tree with us?”

“Of course! Let’s make the most beautiful Christmas tree ever. After you!”

Sirius glanced at James, Remus, Peter and I. His eyes were as bright as the kids’ and my heart swelled at the sight. Then he rolled up his sleeves and headed to a group of three kids to help them open a box of decorations. With barely a glance accorded to each other, the boys and I joined the little groups of kids to help them.

Christmas carols were resonating, both from little bells floating everywhere in the room and from the kids, my friends and I. Slowly but surely, the tree was becoming the prettiest Christmas tree ever. Thanks to these adorable kids, it was putting on its most beautiful colours. Even though it probably lasted quite a long time, it felt like we had only been there for a few minutes. I was having so much mun, I didn’t want this moment out of time to come to an end. It was too light-hearted, too magic, I wanted it to last forever.

“Lost in your thoughts?”

Sirius walked to me and stopped by my side. We both turned to the tree around which the kids were debating on which star they should put at the top of it.

“You came here last year, right?” I asked curiously.

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded and I looked at him. He had a light smile on his lips and his eyes were sparkling. “To be honest, I don’t even know why I came here in the first place. I should’ve been at James’ but… I don’t know. I was feeling bad and I left. I came here and I saw most of these kids. Yes, they were already here.” He added when I gasped. “They were so sad and I just- I couldn’t let them have a Christmas as crappy as the one I was having. The nurse on duty was half asleep and she asked me to keep them busy so I helped decorating the tree…”

“And you promise to come back this year.” I finished softly.

Sirius scratched the back of his head and smiled almost shyly.

“I’ve come back a few times already. There’s- there’s this little girl, the one with the antlers. Her name is Sofia. Her parents… Let’s say they weren’t especially loving with her. She reminds me of myself, you know? Except that she has absolutely no one. I- I just don’t want her to be alone.”

“Sirius, that’s-”

“Sirius! We’ve chosen this one!” suddenly exclaimed Sofia while waving a golden star.

Sirius immediately joined her and kneeled so that his face was in front of her and asked with a smile:

“Do you want to put the star on the top of the tree?”

“Oh yes!” she beamed and opened her arms to Sirius.

He lifted her up effortlessly, extending his arms so that the little girl could reach the very top of the tree. Delicately, as if it was the most precious thing in the world, Sofia put the star at its place and all of us applauded. She seemed to be as glowing as the star. Sirius pretended to drop her and her laughter filled the cafeteria. The kids surrounded Sirius and Sofia.

“You know what? I think your tree is beautiful.” declared Sirius who ruffled a boy’s hair.

“This is our tree!” corrected the boy, whose name was Tim.

The nurse on duty - who was fully awake - broughts biscuits and tea. The kids, joined by James, Peter and Remus, gathered around a table to share this well deserved snack. As for Sirius, he stopped next to me.

“I believe you were going to say something.”

“I was going to say that this… It’s incredible, Sirius. You make them so happy!”

“They make me equally happy.” he murmured.

I turned to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Does that mean you’re a softie?”

“Shut up, Y/L/N.”

We laughed and Sirius wrapped his arm around me . Slowly - because I was now walking into an unknown territory - I rested my head on his shoulder. Far from flinching, he even did the same and we stayed like this, looking at our friends who were making fools of themselves to make the kids laugh. A strand of Sirius’ hair fell in front of my eyes and I didn’t even bother to remove it, afraid it would break whatever was enveloping us. And then, suddenly…

“Will you kiss already?”

James and Remus were smirking and Peter was smiling as broadly as the kids. I looked up: there was a piece of mistletoe that was slowly appearing above our heads. I felt Sirius’ other arm pulling me against him. Without losing a second, I crashed my lips on his and intertwined my hands in his hair. Even the whistles of James couldn’t have made me react, at the moment Sirius seemed to be the only part of my world.

_ _ _

It was very late at night, now. Half of the kids had fallen asleep while the boys and I had told them stories, curled up ones against the others. Not Sofia. Comfortably snuggled in Sirius’ arms, her thumb was in her mouth and her eyes were wide open. She even groaned slightly when the nurse in charge announced it was time for them to go to bed.

“You can’t be tired for the opening of your presents tomorrow!” she said.

The kids who were asleep were woken up and the joyous group left the cafeteria. Tim and Sofia stayed a bit longer.

“Will you be there next year?” asked the little girl, who was in front of Sirius.

The latter kneeled and shook hands with her.

“I’ll come back even sooner, that’s a promise little princess.”

Sofia nodded, laid a wet kiss on Sirius’ cheek, waved at us and left. Tim grabbed the bottom of Peter’s sweater.

“And you? Will you come back?”

Peter nodded with energy and James and Remus smiled broadly.

“Of course we’ll be there. And you know what? We’ll organize a competition.”

“The biggest chocolate eater will win a special prize!” exclaimed Peter.

“You should begin to train, you have a master in front of you!” added James on the tone of confidence, pointing at Remus with his thumb.

“Shut up, Prongs.”

#hailey's ficmas wc #ficmas 2020 #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauder era #marauders imagine

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years ago

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Blossoms in Flight

Estelle is having trouble working on her next book, so a visit from Rita was more than welcome - and possibly give her a solution to her writer's block.

Fandom: Tales of Vesperia Characters/Pairing: Estelle/Rita Mordio Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: So here’s a 3 month late bday gift for @taco-night-frenzy ! Please forgive. :) Enjoy some lesbians trying to fly together and it (mostly) turns out okay!

Inspiration just wasn’t striking.

Estelle put her pen down, heaving a sigh that traveled from the very pit of her lungs until it left her mouth. She had been at this for a solid twenty minutes, having cleared her schedule to give her some well-needed writing time. And yet, as the blank piece of parchment before her told her…the words wouldn’t come.

She just couldn’t understand it! She had all the essentials down for a productive writing session; a recently cleaned-up desk where a simmering teacup was set next to her right, flowers placed on the windowsill to give her room a pleasant fragrance, a locked door so that no well-meaning knight (Flynn) could come in and ask if she needed anything, and she had even put up some nice pictures on her wall, a few paintings depicting landscapes and wildlife. Many of them were so pretty that she found herself staring at them for quite a while… or was she just finding an excuse to not do the task at hand?

Estelle shook her head, even tapping her temples with her fingers. “Focus now! You can do this!” She had the habit now of talking to herself when she tried to get into a creative mood, though always making sure her door was locked before she did. “You’ve written one book, now it’s time to write another! So…let’s get started!”

Another breath, taking back the quill pen in her hand. She could hear the children from town playing outside, but she had made sure to lock the window to minimize outside distractions. It was the best way for her to concentrate! Although even just thinking about the outside got her curious to maybe leave her room for a break… Wait, no! This was the problem!

“Focus…” Estelle whispered, taking another deep breath, staring daggers at the page as if to will her words into existence. “Focus…”

The children outside were being quite loud though – sounding as if they were just at her room, knocking their hands against the wall! But she was on the second floor, so that was clearly impossible. It must have been just wishful thinking anyway… She liked to ta her walks outside and read her latest book to the group of children. In some ways, that had been her own source of inspiration as well-

“ -elle! Estelle!”

Oh, sometimes they’d shout her name like that too, especially when she was lost in thought, looking over the great tree of Halure, with its pink petals that floated over them all. She had only moved to this town a few months earlier, along with a few trusted knights, including Flynn, for protection. But she had never felt safer. Never, except when with-

“Estelle!! Open the window already!!”

A sharp gasp left her throat, prompting her to stand up. Her chair was knocked on its side from the motion. “What? Who’s- who’s there?” Was it that ghost that the children sometimes spoke of again…?

“I’m right here!!! Hello?!”

Oh, wait, someone was actually at her window. And going by that voice…

A smile lifted her face as she turned. “Rita? Is that you?”

Her home in Halure wasn’t too tall, but with her room on the second floor, only birds and the like would make it to her window. Often she would open it to the see the town outside, along with the pink petals that floated on the warm breeze, sometimes catching onto her hair. (And with her hair the same pink shade, she would rarely notice the petals until someone such as Flynn helpfully pointed them out). But instead of the town, she saw a sight that was even more heartwarming and exciting.

Rushing to the window that she nearly stumbled, her hands pressed against the glass to push it open – and nearly Rita along with it.

“Agh! Careful!” Rita flailed a bit but latched her fingers onto the windowsill, her brown hair a bit frazzled. She struggled with the action, especially as she seemed to be carrying a sort of mechanical contraption on her back.

Estelle stared for a moment before she realized to grab onto Rita’s hands to keep her steady. “I had no idea you were here! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t have to worry that much.” Rita sighed, gripping back Estelle’s hands. But she didn’t move to go through the window, at least not completely. The window was tall, enough to take in Rita’s entire height, so she deftly placed her feet on the windowsill, looking down at Estelle. “I was just out here knocking on your window for the past ten minutes…”

Estelle gasped. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I was just so busy trying to… well, focus for a while.” She shook her head, pushing away such worries. “But, I didn’t know you’d visit me!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rita frowned at that. “I told you I’d see ya again, just after I finished my latest project.” With that announcement, she jutted a thumb to the machine strapped to her back. “In fact, I used this to go and visit you!”

Estelle’s eyes widened with awe. “Wow… is that a new backpack?”

“It- It’s more than just a backpack! See the fan blades here?” She gestured to the things, currently very still, numbering about four blades altogether, seeming to stick out from Rita’s back like metal wings. “It’s my new flying machine. I told you that I’d show it to you.”

A memory jogged within Estelle. “Ah, that’s right! You did tell me that. I apologize. It seemed to have slipped my mind…” Still, she looked at the flying machine, how compact it was, fashioned from metal. “And all without any blastia?” Always she was impressed by the girl’s genius.

“Of course! It’s utilizing the law of physics anyway. Aerodynamics and such, so you just need to determine the lift, the weight, the drag and the thrust. Though mine works a little differently because of the shape of this, but I still have to calculate how the force of gravity affects it, and if enough thrust from the propellers can lift me up…”

Estelle nodded very slowly. She was impressed! Even with all the information making little sense to her.

Rita noticed. She blinked, cleared her throat, then crossed her arms. “Anyway… I was just in town… wondering if we could get tea together, you know…”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I know how busy you are with research.” Estelle clasped her hands. “And I have plenty of honey this time!”

“Well, good! Tea is only good with honey, so you should always have plenty!” Rita was really quite adamant about this, which Estelle well-remembered. And if honey made Rita came by for tea more often, she would always make sure to have enough on hand.

The girl remained standing up on the windowsill though, occasionally adjusting the straps wrapped around her torso (perhaps trying to get it off?). Sometimes a rotor blade hit the sides, but Estelle didn’t mind the noise of it. In fact, she found herself a little in awe of the sight, Rita’s silhouette against the backdrop of the sky, where the stray petals of cherry blossoms floated in the breeze. They fluttered all around Rita, who didn’t seem to notice them in the slightest, too preoccupied with her machine.

Estelle must have been staring for far, far too long. “Uh, what is it?” Rita asked with a raised eyebrow. “I-I almost have this done so just get the tea ready!”

Estelle flushed just then. “Oh, Rita it’s not that! It’s just, um…” Recently, the words always seemed to escape her, not just from her pen, but just through speaking. It was as if anything significant thoughts she had just seemed to flitter away from her mind, like frightened birds. But Rita was right in front of her, so at the very least, she could keep track of what she wanted to say… “It’s just, you look really heroic standing up there right now!”

It was clear right away that Rita had no idea what she meant. “Huh?” Although her face also seemed a bit red. Flying must have taken a lot of energy and exertion, which made sense as to why she wanted tea so much. “I don’t…well… I mean if you think so…”

But the longer Estelle looked at Rita, the more she believed the image before her to be true. “Yes! Especially with the cherry blossoms falling around you. Like something out of a novel…” At that, she paused, blinked, then clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s it! The new protagonist should be someone like you!”

Rita seemed to get even redder, and Estelle wondered if maybe the heat of the day was getting to her. “W-what? Estelle, can you make sense please?”

Ah, that’s right. She hadn’t explained it at all to Rita. That was rude of her.

“Sorry. Actually… you caught me at a weird time.” She finally decided to move, going over to a side table in her room where a teapot and some cups were placed. Luckily, the water inside was still hot, and she carefully arranged a chosen tea bag for Rita’s own cup. “You see, I’ve been trying to start my new book for the past hour, but nothing’s coming to mind. It feels like I’ve hit a roadblock, so to speak.” She sighed, pouring the water into the cup. Oh, and of course added in some honey from a small dispenser nearby. “My first one came to me so easily, I just don’t understand what the problem is…”

“…Huh. Can’t say I relate much to that.” But once she turned to Rita with filled teacup in hand, she saw the girl scratch her head, looking at the floor. “Sorry. That was thoughtless to say.”

“Oh no! That’s alright.” Estelle shrugged, once again looking up at Rita against the window. She still looked so heroic, and also just so very cool. She wondered if it was possible to have a painting like this… It was just too bad Estelle couldn’t draw very well. “Maybe I just need to do something a bit differently… I’ve already tried so many different tea brews already.”

“…You really think the kind of tea you’ve been drinking is the issue here?”

“Well, this one time I accidentally switched out my chamomile tea with the ginger one, and it had me up all night!”

“Hmm…”

For a while, Rita seemed to have not heard her, preoccupied with thinking, which happened sometimes. Estelle would usually just let her go through it before interrupting her with anything else. But whatever her musing was, it didn’t last long.

Rita turned her head just over her right shoulder, looking out into the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, casting hues of orange light against Rita’s hair. The petals continued to float around, doing so in such intricate patterns, it seemed that they danced about her. Even the wind picked up, gently rustling Rita’s clothes, including the yellow ribbon wrapped around her arm.

Once again, Estelle could do nothing but stare.

“Well, if you need more inspiration for your book…” Rita said, before fully turning back to her with a smile, one that was full of confidence. “I think I know a way to help with just that.”

Estelle still held onto her teacup, blinking occasionally. “Really?”

“Yeah! The thing is, you’re going about this all wrong.” Rita then finally jumped from the windowsill onto the hardwood floors of Estelle’s room. She did so without any thought to what she still wore on her back, which must have been lighter than it looked. “Just sitting around waiting for inspiration isn’t gonna cut it. You have to go out and look for it! If I waited for inspiration to go and continue my research, I’d just get nothing done. And if something still isn’t working out, I move onto something else. It’s as simple as that.”

Estelle nodded along, fascinated as Rita paced about her room, spilling out advice that was truly so inspiring. “But then… where can I find my inspiration?” she asked with a bit of reservation. “I’ve tried taking walks around Halure, speaking with the children… but I keep having trouble just writing down a few words at most.”

“That’s routine, Estelle. And while routine is nice, it gets boring and expected.” Rita stopped her pacing, facing Estelle with crossed arms. “I only write for academic research instead of any creative writing, but it sounds like you need a new perspective.”

Maybe here was where Estelle got a little confused. She tilted her head. “A new perspective?” How could she do that?

Rita apparently read her mind then. She asked her question so matter-of-factly. “Ever saw Halure from above?”

This was the only time Estelle ever felt just a bit unsure around the genius researcher that was so dear to her.

“Are you sure this is the best way?”

“I told you that it’s fine! You don’t think I’m strong enough, is that it?”

“Oh no! I just worry I’ll hurt you if we’re not careful…”

But as Estelle looked up at Rita from above, she saw the determination in her eyes, the way she pouted cutely like so when she was being, perhaps, just a little bit stubborn.

The reason she was above was because Rita had instructed her to lay down, so that way it would be ‘easier.’ Estelle didn’t question it, and so she complied, using the bed in her room as the best place for her to lay down straight. Rita stood by her bedside, eyes hard, arms crossed.

“…Am I laying down wrong?” Estelle questioned. Sometimes she didn’t always understand directions very well…

“No no, it’s alright! Just… thinking how to do this right.” Rita took a deep breath, then uncrossed her arms to stretch them out. Her face was still a bit red, and Estelle wished she had served her the tea a bit earlier. But Rita had declined, determined to help her find her inspiration, as she had said.

With the flying machine still strapped onto her back, Rita stretched out her arms, then nodded. “Okay! Just be sure to hang onto me once I got you up.”

Estelle, slightly nervous, nodded. “Got it!” Still, she worried. Rita was a bit shorter than she was…

Could she really carry her that easily?

Rita had sounded excited at the idea she herself proposed, and Estelle couldn’t help but be caught up in that same excitement. But, now that the prospect was happening, a few doubts popped in her head – mostly concerning herself. For one thing, her dress was probably not the easiest thing to deal with for the person who would carry her…

But before she could voice any more concerns, Rita brought down the goggles she always wore on her head, placing them over her eyes, effectively hiding them away. Then she was bending down, arms slipping underneath the other girl’s back and legs. “And… okay, just, gotta use my knees…” Rita paused, her face a bit near Estelle’s, the heat from her cheeks a bit apparent. “Uh…”

“Are you alright?” Estelle asked, feeling ashamed. “We don’t have to do this if you changed your mind-”

“I didn’t! Don’t assume that!” And with a pout, Rita slipped her hands further so that she got a better grip on Estelle. “I’m just preparing! Okay… one, two…three!”

She lifted Estelle up so quickly that she almost tripped.

“AAAH I-I mean! I have this, don’t worry!” Rita re-balanced herself, holding up Estelle much more securely. She stood up straight, legs trembling slightly, taking deep breaths every so often. “Hurry and…hold onto me…”

“Oh, right!” Estelle wrapped her arms around Rita’s neck, head leaning into her shoulder. “This good?”

“Y-yeah…” Rita turned to look at her, mouth half-open as if to say something. It was hard to see her expression with those goggles on… But then she turned away again. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

Estelle nodded. “Okay!” Still, she hoped she wasn’t too heavy for her…

But she knew better now to make any mention of it. So, she stayed cradled in Rita’s arms as the girl marched over to the open window, careful to keep her back straight, all while muttering, “All in the knees… Just like Karol said, all in the knees…”

Estelle’s lower half of the dress practically engulfed Rita’s arms, at least from what she could tell from her angle. Maybe I should say something… But the thing was, she liked being carried this way.

Rita then hopped back onto the windowsill. The suddenness of the motion made Estelle squeak. Rita’s arms shook, but only for a bit. And then it seemed as if she ran straight off the edge out into the sky. “Keep your eyes open!”

Because Rita told her so, that was exactly what she did.

It wasn’t the first time she had been up in the sky – far from it in fact. Back when she traveled with everyone, they would ride on Ba’ul and the ship he carried, over towns and cities, over the sprawling grasslands, the oceans that seemed to lead forever into the horizon. She’d feel the wind in her hair, raise her head up to the stars, drawn to the brightest one.

But it was different now.

Held close to Rita’s chest, and hearing the whirr of the rotor blades of her flying machine above them both, Estelle felt something much more different now. Her legs dangled in the air, the petals flying close to her face, bringing with her the scent of the cherry blossoms… and she couldn’t help but keep her gaze on Rita’s face, the goggles covering her eyes to protect her from the wind.

Rita seemed to notice, and though she couldn’t see her eyes, she had a feeling the girl had been caught off-guard. “I-I didn’t mean keep your eyes open on me!”

“Oh?” Estelle half-shouted, the wind carrying away both of their voices.

“At Halure! Look at Halure! Y-you can look at me later!”

Estelle did worry excessively that she had done something wrong then, but with Rita’s insistence, she finally did so, following the petals that drifted around them, to the houses that lined the pathways of the roads, to the trees themselves that extended so high above the town and into the sky. Rita flew around the branches, moved along with the wind currents, all as children shouted excitedly from below.

“Told you I could carry you easy,” Rita announced, eyes straight ahead, the rotor blades continually whirring behind her. “Now you got a new view! Is it helping?”

And though Estelle did look all around her, in awe at the height they were at, at how even with Rita’s arms, there was always that faint sense of precariousness, one that sparked something wonderful in her heart. It was exciting and wonderful, and with the setting sun, the town had never looked so beautiful just now.

But even with all of that, her eyes kept going back to Rita, who had always been so, so inspiring to her.

She had to let her know. “Rita!”

A little shake, Rita turning to Estelle in surprise. “Huh?! Don’t just scream in my ear!”

Estelle was too happy, wrapping her arms around Rita’s neck even tighter, hugging her close. “You just look so very cool right now!”

“Estelle, wait! I’m gonna lose control of my flying-!”

Too late. A brief tilt in the air, messing up the already uneasy momentum that they had, and soon enough, were flying right for that same tree, pink petals flooding both of their sights.

When the great tree had been dying, its leaves wilted and its branches drooping low to the ground, so many had lost hope for it. Estelle had felt a desperate wish in her then, one that she could barely bury down, and didn’t want to. Even as monstrous blood infused with the roots, she had begged, she had pleaded, and that alone had been enough to bring it back.

If only she could do such a thing for her very own self so easily, with just a wish. I want to feel like I can do something again. But sometimes, she realized, one had to look outside of one’s own self to find that inspiration.

As Rita and Estelle flew haphazardly, they landed against one of the branches, with a blanket of blossoms cushioning their fall. Rita flailed, Estelle now effectively on top of it. “Agh! I got cherry blossoms in my throat!”

Still, Estelle couldn’t let go of her. She nuzzled her head against the others, feeling so giddy. “You’re just… so great, Rita…”

“You could have hugged me at any other time!”

Her smile hadn’t left, even as the rotor blades now whirred a little less effectively, their mechanisms a bit clogged from all the petals that went into its crevices. If this solved her creator’s block, she wasn’t sure just yet – but she wouldn’t trade this experience for anything else.

#tales of vesperia #rita mordio #estellise sidos heurassein #ristelle #fanfiction #oneshot

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imaginedhaven · 4 years ago

Text

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Two

Link to Masterpost

So I realized today I hit 50 followers! Wow. That’s amazing, and I love you all so much. Plus, it was so inspiring I got to work on some more prompts for this wonderful little AU. I combined two prompts in this part:

1. “Are those slippers?” / “Is that you being mean? AGAIN?”

-and-

2. “You don’t know how to change a tire?” / “Give it a rest, would you?”

As I mentioned last time, I am still taking prompts for this universe! It’s been a great time playing in this particular AU, and of course I have the rest of the story vaguely sketched out but it’s been way too much fun incorporating these prompts. Hope y’all enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin was still marveling at the turn in her morning as she got dressed for work in the afternoon. She and Rowan had spent an hour or so finally getting to know each other a little like they probably should’ve when he first moved in, only stopping when he had to leave to go on a run with one of his coworkers. They still had quite a ways to go, but Aelin already felt more at ease than she had previously.

She still felt a twinge of embarrassment at how it had happened, but she had gotten herself into more awkward situations before and Rowan had seemed content to not bring it up further.

Aelin hummed along with the music playing on her phone as she wriggled into the dark pants that served as the bottom of her work outfit and then sat to braid her hair back. In her month and a half working behind the bar at her current job, she had learned in a single shift that leaving her hair down was absolutely not worth it; the golden waves that she was so proud of had an annoying tendency of getting in the way while shaking drinks, and choosing to tie them back instead left her hair much neater at the end of a long shift. Lately she had taken to braiding the long strands into a crown around her head, the style elegant enough to please her but practical enough to survive the night.

Smiling with satisfaction, Aelin pinned the last few strands in place and stood to leave. She took a few extra moments to glance in the mirror and make certain that her shirt was presentable enough for work before grabbing her keys and heading down the stairs.

She made it all the way to the driveway before her good mood evaporated.

“Fuck,” she whined as she stared at her car. It had been fine when she had gotten in, or she thought it had been. But now in the daylight the left rear tire was obviously flat, almost cartoonishly so. There was no way she would be getting in to work on time, not with her car out of commission.

If he had been home she would have asked Aedion for a ride, but he was absent and his car was garaged wherever it was he put it while away so that he could save on his insurance payments. That left trying to get in touch with her coworkers to see if they could pick her up.

Taking a deep breath and preparing to grovel, Aelin scrolled in her phone to Lysandra’s contact information and was about to press the call button when she heard a surprisingly welcome voice from the edge of the driveway.

While Rowan’s voice was a relief, his words certainly were not. “Are those… slippers?” he asked.

Aelin crossed her arms, not ready to deal with this kind of interaction when she was still trying to figure out how she was going to get to work. “Is that you being mean again?” she retorted, shuffling her feet. The motion only served to draw attention to her choice of footwear, however, and when she looked back up at him she was met with an expression she could only call amused exasperation. She sighed and decided to end this probable fight before it could begin, if only to preserve the remnants of her sanity after an already-stressful day. “I always wear slippers when I drive to work,” she admitted. “My work shoes are great when I’m actually on my feet, but I hate driving in them.”

“All right,” he allowed. “I can’t say I relate, but I suppose that makes more sense than anything else I was coming up with. Doesn’t explain why you’re staring at your phone like it’s your only lifeline instead of actually driving to work, though.”

At the reminder of exactly why she was stuck here and not at work, Aelin sighed and wordlessly gestured to her tire. He glanced down at it and then back at her, clearly confused, and began to laugh.

“Oh, what is it now?” she demanded, immediately on edge again.

He crouched beside the tire and braced his hands on his knees, inspecting it as he continued to chuckle. “You don’t know how to change a tire?”

Just as it had a few hours ago, Aelin felt heat flood her cheeks. “Give it a rest, would you? So what if I never learned, I didn’t exactly have anyone around to teach me.”

Aelin bit her lip to stop the words from coming out, though she had already revealed far too much. Even if it was true, and even though the theme of the day had been building some kind of camaraderie with her roommate, she firmly believed there was such a thing as oversharing and that had been it.

A small part of her brain noted that she felt more exposed now than she had been literally exposing her backside to him just that morning, but she carefully stifled that thought to be dealt with hopefully never. Instead, she blurted out, “And I’m not sure I have a spare anyway.”

Rowan gave her a skeptical glance. “Open your trunk.”

“What?” Aelin asked, stunned. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

Deciding to humor him, she did, and in less than five seconds he had opened a compartment and revealed exactly what he had been looking for, a spare tire as well as a few tools. “Oh.”

Rowan shook his head. “Most cars have the essentials in case this happens on the road. The replacement isn’t meant to be driven long-distance, it’ll only get you to the nearest repair shop. I’m assuming you don’t have time for that.”

Aelin nodded. “I’ve only got about an hour before I’m supposed to be at work.”

“All right. You have tomorrow off?”

Aelin checked the picture of the schedule she’d saved to her phone. “Yeah, tomorrow and Monday are my ‘weekend’,” she replied.

Rowan pulled the tools out of the compartment and straightened. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to put the replacement on now, because that tire’s flat enough that you’re risking damage to the rim if we let it sit and that gets expensive fast. I can drive you to work tonight, and tomorrow we can take it to someone to see if you can get away with patching the tire or if you need new ones.”

Aelin stared at him, surprised. “Wait, you’d drive me to work?”

“Would I say I’d do it if I wouldn’t?” he retorted.

Before today, she would’ve bristled at that comment and perhaps even snapped back at him. However, through their talks after his aunt had left she’d learned that he had an incredibly dry sense of humor bordering on outright sass. With that knowledge in mind, she bit back her immediate urge to fight back and instead simply said, “Thank you.”

Rowan’s head spun around to stare at her, and she shrugged, uncomfortable under the intense focus of his gaze. “What?” she asked. “You didn’t have to offer, but I appreciate that you did. Honestly, before you got here I was running down my list of coworkers, trying to decide who was most likely to pick up.”

“You may still want to see if one of them can bring you home,” he cautioned. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I’m not exactly used to staying up that late and I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Aelin laughed at the admission. “And here I thought you were the life of the party. Have you ever done something just because it was fun?”

“Says someone who is currently reaping the advantages of my lack of a social life,” he snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be grateful.”

“I can be grateful and still comment on your life choices.”

Rowan carefully set one of the tools next to the tire and got to work, pointedly ignoring her and leaving her with nothing to do but watch him.

Even before today she’d noticed in a distant kind of way that her roommate was unfairly attractive, for all that he didn’t seem to do himself any favors. That recognition was only affirmed as she watched the muscles of his shoulders and back while he worked to change her tire. He hadn’t even had the time to change out of his running clothes, and sweat lingered at the back of his neck, darkening the short strands of his hair.

She’d never bothered to ask if he’d naturally gone completely grey at a strangely young age or if he simply dyed his hair that color, but either way she could admit it suited him in a way she wasn’t sure would work on anyone else. Paired with piercing green eyes and angular features, what would have been a noteworthy feature on anyone else was a stunning combination on him.

It was really too bad that they barely tolerated each other. And now that they were roommates, she knew too much about him to be swayed by looks alone. All it took was one recollection of him reorganizing their living space and those thoughts retreated to the back of her mind where they belonged.

It was just in time, too, because she realized belatedly he was speaking to her. “—got lucky,” he was saying. “I’m no expert, but I think they should be able to just patch this and you won’t have to get new tires.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.

Wordlessly, he rotated her tire—which she noticed was now freed from her car—and pointed at a large nail driven right through the rubber.

“Oh.”

“Here, stuff this into your trunk while I get the spare on and then we’ll get you to work,” he said, rolling the tire in her direction. She rushed to comply, and by the time she had tucked it away as neatly as she could manage he had finished his part of the job as well. “All right, get what you need and we’ll go.”

“I already have what I need,” she replied.

He looked at her, gaze moving from her braided hair down to her slippered feet, and said, “Your work shoes?”

“At work,” she said.

“And you’re not bringing food when you’re working a full shift?”

“Rowan, I work in a bar. They have food there.”

Her statement granted her a withering look that promised a painful end to her admittedly-unhealthy usual diet. “Do you even have food in the house?”

“If you’re going to judge me, I’m not going to answer that,” she evaded.

“Fine. We don’t have time to fix that right now anyway,” he muttered. “Get in my car, and I’ll get you to work.”

They drove in silence the entire way to the bar, but it was somehow less uncomfortable than Aelin would’ve expected. Maybe there was something to be said for utterly humiliating yourself in front of your roommate, after all. She could only go up from here.

As they arrived, before she could slip out of his car she turned to face him. “Hey, thank you,” she said. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He waved off her thanks with a single gesture. “I know you have my number. Just text me if you need me to pick you up as well.”

As it turned out, Lysandra was able to get her back home after her shift and she texted Rowan about a half an hour before her shift ended, receiving no reply. But as she crept into the house, she noticed a sight that made her freeze and then smile. Rowan was passed out on their couch fully clothed, phone prominently placed on the coffee table as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for her message.

Not willing to risk waking him, she quietly crept up the stairs to her room, but the image lingered for quite some time as she prepared for sleep herself.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #243: Chain of Command!

May, 1984

In this issue! The Vision takes command! Scarlet Witch fights a fire! Starfox battles bandits! And Earth’s Mightiest Heroes return from the Secret Wars!

Its one of my favorite sub-genres of comic covers! ‘Here’s a bunch of stuff going on in this issue’

Vision and his new hat make a good central element for the various other happenings to happen around. It doesn’t work quite as well as the Wizard’s control panel but its still good.

Last times on Avengers: Vision walked into an invisible wall and was stuck in a healing tube for a while. His recovery was hastened by Starfox connecting him to the Titan supercomputer ISAAC. While tube-bound, Vision detected several anomalous energy surges. Leaving his tube, Vision led the Avengers to Central Park to investigate where a large structure appeared and whisked away Hawkeye, Wasp, Thor, Captain Marvel, Captain America, and She-Hulk!

Bring them back, anomalous energy surge!

This time: Vision faces the press.

Not only have many Avengers vanished, so have the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, and others. But its too early for Heroes Reborn!

Vision: “Certain irresponsible people have gone so far as to suggest a conspiracy to rob our world of its greatest heroes, to soften us up for some imagined invasion. Those are just rumors!”

Well, I didn’t think that before but I certainly am now!

Who let Vision be the person speaking to the press?

Apparently Vision did as he’s named himself the chairman in absence of Wasp.

What, Scarlet Witch doesn’t get the nod? She’s been with the team longer.

One reporter, not at all soothed by Vision’s insistence that there’s definitely no conspiracy going on, asks Vision to comment on reports of an alien invasion out of West Virginia.

Since Vision hasn’t received confirmation about the alien wraith menace, he basically tells the press ‘yeah i’ve heard of that but can’t really comment. BUT I can confirm that the Avengers are going to meet with a bunch of people from the National Security Council which I assume is going to be about the alien wraiths but who can really say!’

Watching this press conference on Air Force One, Henry Peter Gyrich says a swear.

Henry Peter Gyrich: “@#$%$ android!! Why doesn’t he give them our location and air speed while he’s at it?!”

Mr. Sikorsky points out that the meeting isn’t exactly classified and that the Washington Post reporter would have mentioned it if Vision hadn’t.

But Gyrich is still peeved because he thinks Vision should have consulted the NSA before giving a press conference.

This makes me feel gross but Gyrich actually agrees with me that Vision isn’t doing a great job of allaying people’s fears with this press conference.

Reporter: “If worse comes to worse, how do you plan to deal with the potential for civil unrest?”

Vision: “In the same way the Avengers have always dealt with it. We have always been strongly supportive of civil authority at all levels -- and we’re not about to change our position now! The public should not feel that they are unusually threatened in the current situation!”

Ironically, this press conference is being played on a tv at a bank that is currently being robbed. And there’s a bunch of hostages who probably feel unusually threatened in the current situation.

But the irony giveth and takeith away.

When TV Vision says “Never let it be said that the Avengers abandoned their responsibilities to --” Starfox shows up to punch some bank robbers.

Probably thinking ‘oh thank god, some dumb adventure finally.’ He just wants to punch people and have adventures.

And punch some bank robbers he does do, until one of them takes a woman hostage and says he’ll shoot her if Starfox doesn’t let him walk out the door.

Annnnnnnd.

Yeah. Uh.

Starfox does a thing?

His head glows pink and the bank robber’s head glows pink and he suddenly can’t stop laughing and now he’s Starfox’s best friend.

My god, he can make people drunk with his mind?? So this is his secret power!

Truly, he is the mightiest Avenger...

Anyway, Starfox turns his new best friend over to the cops, showing he’s no friend at all, and then flies off.

The giggly bank robber staying giggly as he obligingly walks into the police van, weirding out the cops.

Meanwhile, the Avengers press conference at the Avengers Mansion ends.

A reporter: “Psstt! Do you believe any of that”

Another reporter: “Suurre, just like I believed that Nixon wasn’t a crook!”

Wow, sweet politics dunk.

Geez, Vision, you got politics dunked on. You did not convince people in that press conference at all...

Vision: “It did not go as I’d hoped! It is the duty of these people to probe and question, but by the manner of their questioning, I could tell they didn’t accept my reassurances. If their reaction is a common one, my speech may have done more harm than good.

He floats up through the ceiling, giving Mockingbird a startle.

They have a talk to establish that Sue, Franklin, and Alicia from the FF books are staying with the Avengers due to the rest of the FF catching a bad case of disappearing.

Vision has invited Mockingbird to stay with the Avengers until they find out what happened to Hawkeye.

Mockingbird: “Look, Vision, don’t give me false hope just because I’m a newlywed. Level with me... Is there any chance that Hawk’s still alive?”

Vision: “This is not the first time Avengers have disappeared. There is always hope.”

He’s got a point. The Collector for one is constantly collecting the Avengers. Sure, he’s dead now but this is a superhero universe.

Vision then floats up through another ceiling, giving Mockingbird another startle.

Mockingbird: I will never... never get used to that!

Vision floats up into the communications center where Scarlet the Wanda Witch is monitoring the monitors. She tells him that there’s been no more news on the disappearances.

Vision: “Then we must draw encouragement from the fact no bad news has been received.”

Scarlet Witch: “I didn’t say no bad news had come in! Agents Gyrich and Sikorski radioed that they’ll be arriving on schedule and they want to see you right away! Gyrich didn’t sound happy.”

Hahahahahahahahah. I love that Gyrich arriving on schedule is bad news. Because he’s the worst.

Wanda also updates Vision on her progress in contacting reserve and inactive Avengers to help cover the sudden personnel shortage.

She’s contacted Black Panther, Wonder Man, the Falcon, and Black Knight who are standing by for an emergency alert. She hasn’t been able to contact Hercules or Black Widow.

Huh. Wonder what they’re up to. I was sure that the Champions book was dead by this point.

She offers to contact Quicksilver but Vision tells her to hold off.

He asks her where Starfox is and she tells Vision that he went out to handle that bank robbery thing we saw him handle.

Vision: “That’s excellent! Now more than ever, the Avengers must maintain a high level of visibility! And responding to day-to-day emergencies is an ideal way to do it! Stopping a bank robbery accomplishes more than a dozen news conferences!”

Especially one of your conferences, zing!

Sorry, Vizh! It was just really bad!

A fire alarm comes in over the monitors and Scarlet Witch runs off to handle it. Because she was handling it on the cover. It wouldn’t do to create a time paradox.

As soon as Wanda leaves, Vision slouches down into a chair in his Visiony way and consults the giant holographic head of ISAAC, the great and powerful.

There’s so many giant heads in this book lately.

ISAAC has apparently kept the link to Vision going since Starfox hooked the two of them up. Vision seems okay with the fact that a supercomputer is linked to his brain.

Vision: “That explains the greater memory capacity I’ve felt lately!”

And with the fact that its a two-way street, with Vision having access to ISAAC’s data... and vice versa.

Vision is smiling and everything seems to be looking up but this still bodes.

Anyway, the synthezoid bemoans that the disappearance of half of the Avengers has allowed him to rise to a position of authority but that it doesn’t seem to matter.

Vision: “I must lead a team of respected Avengers, if I am to meet my goals. But our most revered members are missing. A new team could be assembled -- but without Thor or Captain America behind me, the public will never accept what I have in mind.”

ISAAC: “You reason people will not fully trust an artificial man, a synthezoid such as yourself. But you need not convince all of them... only a few select individuals!”

Vision: “Of course! And in my expanded capacity, I have the means to do just that!”

Um.

Umm.

Seems shady.

Seems shadier that the ‘means to do just that’ involves intangibling to the electronics laboratory.

MEANWHILE ON THE MOON

Love saying that. Thank you, comics.

Meanwhile on the moon, Quicksilver and Crystal have a household discussion.

They decided not to expose Perfectly Human Baby Luna to the terrigen mist in The Thing #3 but none of the Inhumans have experience with human babies. And Crystal has decided that what she really needs is a “good down-to-earth nanny!”

Literally, a nanny from Earth. But one that can deal with Inhuman society.

Quicksilver muses that he may know just such a person.

It’s Bova, isn’t it? It better be Bova.

But are Inhumans really so incapable when it comes to human babies? There’s a lot of Inhumans that aren’t externally mutated at all. Wouldn’t a human baby just be easier to care for?

And do the Inhumans really expose their babies to the mists? Based on Inhumanity event, it doesn’t matter when a latent Inhuman is exposed, they’ll develop powers anyway. So why not wait until they can walk and talk?

Your society is silly, Inhumans!

Meanwhile, over at the fire, there is a fire. Right in the heart of midtown Manhattan, a place you wouldn’t generally want to be on fire.

Scarlet Witch offers to help but the fire chief on site is skeptical about what she could do to help.

She quickly confirms that there are no civilians in the building and that the firefighters caught inside are wearing oxygen masks and tells the firefighters to keep hosing down the buildings.

Then she gets to her witchy work.

Using the awesome and OP power of probability manipulation, she manipulates the probability that all the oxygen in the area will just decide to not go near the fire.

OP AF.

But its a big thing to do so she can’t do it indefinitely. So she tells the firefighters to hose the buildings to drop the temperature so it doesn’t reignite when the oxygen rushes back in.

I do love how OP probability manipulation is. Without even needing to be straight up reality alteration!

People complaining that Wanda is too powerful to write around, she can sit comfortably in the ‘can move all the gas around but it takes effort’ level!

Do Anything powers makes her a good wild card for whatever nonsense you need to happen and one of the more powerful Avengers without being so powerful that she’s difficult to write around in a team context.

Anyway, as foreshadowed, Gyrich and Sikorski arrive and Gyrich immediately gets to Gyriching, complaining that it was too easy for him to access the mansion with but a simple card swipe.

Henry Peter Gyrich: “See here, Jarvis, it’s not that I don’t appreciate courtesy, but no one should be granted entrance without a security check!”

Jarvis: “Indeed, sir! Anyone might steal your card! That is why the two of you were scanned by a dozen or more devices by the time you passed our gates. You’ll be happy to know that your identities were verified. Otherwise our defensive systems would have dropped you where you stood!”

Sikorski: “D-dropped?”

Haha, eat shit, Gyrich.

Jarvis leads the two to meet Vision in the electronics laboratory.

Vision has. Made an interesting fashion choice.

You’ve seen it on the cover and boy does it also happen in the book.

Vision explains that the hat is some testing equipment he made to check the hardware after his recent time stuck in a tube. But its all good. He’s operating in peak condition and feeling amazing.

Gyrich isn’t impressed or assuaged and asks Vision if he was trying to start a panic with his press conference.

Vision: “Admittedly, I may not be the Avengers’ best spokesman, but, given the circumstances, I was all we had! I do appreciate and understand your concern, though, and I’m glad you’re both here. As you said, we’ve got a lost to discuss!

Vizh, you’re going to get the Avengers operating out of city buses again.

Meanwhile back over at the fire, while the fire chief is thanking Wanda for her help, a big flash lights up the sky, just like when the Avengers were spirited away last issue.

Wanda commandeers a police car to drive her to Central Park. You can do that when you’re an Avenger and have A1 (steak sauce?) priority.

Starfox also spots the flash while flying around the city and Mockingbird spots it from the Mansion.

In Central Park, on the exact spot where the six Avengers vanished, five of them plus Iron Man return. Also that large structure from before reappears too.

Only one issue and several days in-universe and the Avengers are already back! Minus She-Hulk. Where the hell is She-Hulk.

Iron Man (I’m assuming Rhodey) immediately takes off to go do Iron Man stuff. I think his armor has changed but I haven't been following the Iron Man book close enough to know for sure. I just don’t think the armor usually has little shoulder antenna.

The Avengers that were headed towards the giant flash start arriving for the happy reunion. Since Mockingbird was right across the road, she arrives first and throws herself into Hawkeye’s arms.

Awww.

Scarlet Witch asks the heroes returned where the hell they were and Cap says

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!”

Naw, just kidding.

He says he’ll Explain It All when they get back to the Mansion. Because for reasons, he’s decided its best that the public not know about the Secret War.

Probably so the event’s title makes sense? Yeah, probably.

The cops that brought Wanda to the park go uhhhh but we need to take statements about where you’ve been so Cap(tain America) flashes his Avengers card which means he can do what he wants.

Captain America: “I’m afraid that any statements we make must be submitted at the federal level first. You understand.”

And the cops go yeah that sounds legit.

BUT WHAT ABOUT SHE-HULK?

Well, she joined the Fantastic Four, of course.

Wanna know why?

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!”

Yeah, we don’t get any more information except that she’s taking the Thing’s place on the foursome.

What happened to Ben Grimm?

Captain America: “You can find out all about it in the Secret Wars limited series, on sale soon!”

It be like that.

So this isn’t the narrative reason but here’s the doylist reason. When Stern and Byrne were collaborating on that Annihilus story, Byrne decided he liked writing She-Hulk and that he wanted her. Stern apparently was cool with this and the character was shifted from one team to the other.

A couple years later, Byrne is going to write the Sensational She-Hulk series which sets the tone for the character. But based on an FF liveblog a friend is doing, Byrne does not hit the stride with She-Hulk while she’s in that book.

I’m a bit annoyed because I was really enjoying her in Avengers.

In a bit of a sad comedic beat, cabs still don’t want to stop for the seven foot green woman, even now that she’s wearing an FF uniform.

She-Hulk returns to Avengers Mansion for the post-event debriefing meeting where she runs into Captain Marvel looking melancholic.

Monica has come to a decision after being whisked away to an event for several days.

Captain Marvel: “I called my parents to let them know I was okay... In case they wondered where i was lately... and there was no answer!”

She-Hulk: “I take it they don’t know about your life as Captain Marvel yet?”

Captain Marvel: “Not yet. And after all we went through -- in that insane Secret War, I definitely want them to know, but -- !”

She-Hulk: “You’re not sure how to tell them?”

Captain Marvel: “Yeah.”

Yeesh, I wonder how Spider-Man dealt with disappearing for several days. He’s always on the knifes edge of his life just falling apart completely.

Captain Marvel and She-Hulk join the rest in the main assembly hall. Wasp and Vision are off in a private meeting. He was handling chairmen duties and making decisions and such while she was gone so she probably needs to debrief him personally.

As Hawkeye points out, the Avengers have two chairmen now and nine members.

Minutes later, Wasp and Vision emerge from the... I dunno, sub-assembly hall? Secondary assembly broom closet? Wherever they went to have a just them talk.

Wasp calls the meeting to order.

... And then immediately steps down as chairwoman??

;___;

RIP Wasp’s Totally Sweet Time Leading the Avengers, issue #217 - #243.

T-twenty-six issues isn’t a bad run...

I guess someone else should get the chance.

Like Vision. Who Wasp nominates.

Cap’s Biggest Fan Hawkeye nominates Captain America instead but Cap defers. His civilian career (cartoonist, I think?) has been pretty hectic.

So how about second her nomination of Vision then hmmmmmm Wasp suggests.

And that’s how Big Plans Vision gets voted the new chairman.

And he’s got big plans!

First! Since Thor and She-Hulk are going to be too busy doing Thor and Fantastic Four stuff to be active Avengers but are too cool to just completely cut from the roster just because Byrne decided he gets She-Hulk now, Vision creates a new type of Avengers status.

Vision: “I propose the establishment of a special ‘detached membership’ status. You would function as active members when you were available, and reservists when you were not.”

She-Hulk: “Hey, that sounds ideal.”

Thor: “Indeed!”

Everybody’s happy! Except Hawkeye because he can count and he’s still counting to seven when the max roster is supposed to be six. And he’s got a bad feeling that he’s unlucky number seven!

But Vision’s big plans don’t stop at saying that She-Hulk and Thor can pitch in whenever they’re around.

He’s also proposing the creation of a second team on the west coast. Some kind of............. West Coast Avengers, perhaps.

Between Gyrich and Sikorski arriving for the meeting with Vision and now, Gyrich has managed to get reassigned to new duties. Somehow.

Anyway, that means his understudy Mr. “I hate the superhero genre” Sikorski is their new NSA liason.

Mr. Sikorski: “I have spoken at length this afternoon with both the Wasp and the Vision, and I am prepared to offer full governmental backing for the establishment of a West Coast branch of the Avengers. I’ve been convinced that it’s a... logical solution. Perfectly logical!”

Weird to have an ellipses but okay.

And the person Vision has chosen to lead this new team?

None other than Hawkeye!

Oh, Clint, your dream is coming true and all you had to do was be vaguely antagonistic and obnoxious in the vicinity of the Avengers off and on for years to establish yourself!

Vision: “You’ve had years of experience as an Avenger, and you’ve worked with nearly everyone who’s ever been a member. You and Mockingbird can relocate quickly...”

In fact, its imperative that he do! He do relocate and get the West Coast team up and running ASAP!

Vision: “Mr. Sikorski has shown me frightening evidence of a new threat to freedom worldwide! Unless we prepare ourselves, this planet could be overrun by an alien race known as -- THE DIRE WRAITHS!!”

Huh. I guess that journalist was onto something.

And I guess its ROM time?

No. We had a Secret Wars, remember? And while that was doled out over a year, I’m going to go a little faster.

So next time, some Secret Wars.

Although, it was just the one war actually.

Follow @essential-avengers because you think I’m a cool person. Like and reblog because you have your reasons.

#Avengers #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #the Wasp #Starfox #Mockingbird #Hawkeye #Thor #Captain America #Iron Man #James Rhodes #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #She Hulk #Essential Avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

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k-llama-llama · 4 years ago

Text

Setting Boundaries

Monsta X AU: 8th member

Zoey x Monsta X

Zoey will not stand for intrusion into her apartment.

A/N: welcome to the first post of august! ALSO FYI check out my patreon (patreon.com/kllamallama for exclusive posts!)

Requests are CLOSED…but your feedback is still super important to me.

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

Zoey was startled awake by the sound of breaking glass. She shot up in bed, eyes darting around, expecting to see a burglar breaking into her bedroom. Instead, she was greeted by an empty room, with even her boyfriend missing.

She blinked, still trying to wake herself up, when she heard muffled voices. She frowned swinging herself out of her bed. She grabbed a sweater off of the floor (it was Seungcheol’s and he refused to pick up his clothes no matter how hard she tried), and pulled it on over her tank top.

Making her way out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the voices got louder. However, she quickly realized that instead of a burglar intent on stealing their things, it was a group of boys who were also intent on stealing their things.

“It is way too early for this.” She leaned in the doorway.

“Oh, hey Zo.” Seungkwan waved from the couch, where he was munching on a bowl of cereal.

“Did we wake you up?” Hoshi asked, drawing her attention to the source of the noise she’d heard earlier. Him and Seungcheol were knelt over the shattered remains of one of their cereal bowls, attempting to sweep the shards into a dustpan.

“Well, I thought we were being robbed, so yeah.” She crossed her arms. “Honestly I might have preferred that.” She looked back at Seungkwan. “Are those my fruitloops?”

He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “Probably.”

Seungcheol stood from the floor, walking over to his less-than-impressed girlfriend. “Sorry, babe. I was trying to make them be quiet.”

He leaned in for a kiss, and Zoey leaned back.

He frowned. “You’re mad.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth.” She countered. “But why are they here?”

“They wanted breakfast.” He offered. “And we had food.”

“That’s fine.” Zoey sighed. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Hey Mom, do you have another bowl we can use?” Hoshi called.

Zoey blinked slowly, trying to figure out whether she’d actually just heard things right. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

“Uh, Mom.” He answered, scooping the last of the shards into the dustpan. “That’s what we all call you.”

“What?” She turned to glare at her boyfriend. “Care to explain?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um….I meant to warn you about that.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“How long have you guys been dating?” Seungkwan asked.

“Seriously?” She smacked Seungcheol in the arm. “You’ve been letting them call me ‘Mom’ this whole time?”

“I don’t let them do anything!” He protested. “They just do it. Not usually around me and you.”

“How am I a mom?” Zoey demanded. “I’m younger than like half your group! Do I look pregnant or something?”

“Say no!” Hoshi said quickly.

“Not at all.” Seungcheol shook his head. “They just….like, I’m the leader and fans joke that I’m a dad, so with you being my girlfriend they called you mom.”

She snapped her fingers. “Is that why Dokyeom sent me flowers on Monther’s Day?”

“Yes.” Seungkwan confirmed.

“He did?” Seungcheol groaned. “I’m sorry. I promise they’ll-“

Zoey tuned him out, her gaze zeroing in on Seungkwan’s hair.

“Why is your hair wet?” She demanded, walking over to inspect.

“What?” He sunk lower into the couch, trying to hide behind his bowl of cereal.

It didn’t work. She stopped in front of him, bending down and grabbing a fistful of his hair. It was, in fact, wet, and slid out of her grip when he scrambled away.

“Tell me it’s raining outside and that’s why your hair is wet!” She crossed her arms.

“I showered, thank you very much.” He rubbed his head.

“Where?” She asked, knowing full well that he wouldn’t have traipsed through the streets of Seoul with wet hair.

“Inyourshower.” He mumbled.

“What was that?” She poked his arm, prodding the answer out of him.

“In your shower!” He shouted, running away to hide behind Seungcheol. “Make Mom stop bullying me.”

Seungcheol, for his part, had the decency to look like he wanted to jump out of the window.

“In our shower?” Zoey exclaimed, looking at her boyfriend with wide eyes and holding her hand to her chest. “In my, walk-in, marble shower with pink lights and essential oils?”

“I even used your body wash.” Seungkwan stuck his tongue out.

“Shut up.” Seungcheol begged.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Zoey leaned on the back of the couch, reaching down to grab a handful of Seungkwan’s cereal.

“It’s not that serious.” Hoshi snorted.

“IT IS!” Zoey shouted. “It’s my shower, in my apartment! I was asleep. I didn’t say you could come here at any hour of the day and eat my food and use my shower and break my dishes! This is supposed to me our place! Our does not include-“

“Okay, baby.” Seungcheol walked over, gently patting the top of her head. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She pouted, leaning her head on his arm. “Make them leave.”

“I can’t make them leave.” He told her. “I can make them buy you a new bowl and a new body wash.”

“Hold on a second!” Seungkwan protested. “You said I could-“

“And make them promise never to use my shower again.” She begged.

“It’s his shower too.” Hoshi said.

“Oh my god.” Zoey held a hand to her forehead.

“Don’t worry, honey. It’s your shower, in your bathroom.” He rubbed her back, glaring at his group mates. “They won’t ever use it again.”

“Good.” Zoey said quietly.

“Now,” Seungcheol lifted her chin to look at him. “You’re going to go get back in bed, and I’m going to make you a bagel and a coffee, okay?”

“That sounds nice.” She nodded. She was still half-asleep, and certain that her outburst was largely as a result of her exhaustion.

“Okay, go watch your drama.” Seungcheol gently pushed her back towards the hallway.

“You can apologize whenever you want.” Seungkwan smirked.

Zoey actually hissed at him as she walked by.

“Seriously?” Hoshi asked as soon as she was gone. “It’s your apartment too.”

“She’s my girlfriend. If she wants to ban you guys from the bathroom, you guys are banned from the bathroom.” Seungcheol answered simply, grabbing a large mug from the cupboard.

“You mean that, because she has sex with you, she can do whatever she wants.”

“Sure, that too.”

#monsta x #monsta x au #monsta x imagines #monsta x 8th member #female kpop #female member kpop #female!kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 33

“Fumi?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a story.”

“A story?” he says, glancing over. In the vent there’s nothing but the soft squelching of our cleated feet and a drip-drip-drip of a flowing river of sluggish, phlegmy mucus running along a divot over on the left. I nod.

“Yeah, a story. Like, about work. Ranger stuff. I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.”

He laughs. “A few, maybe,” he concedes.

Getting across into the actual flesh of the Pit from the wreck of the LVC had been easier than either of us had thought it would be. The gantry we had been looking for was long gone by the time that we got to the bottom of the LVC, with the only evidence of its passing being a couple of rigid metal rods and torn, rusted grating, but above us was our lucky break – due to the way the Visitor Center had fallen, it had actually cut into the Pit’s gullet on the way down, leaving a long, jagged scar of porous tissue in its wake and, at the very bottom, a gaping, partially-healed hole leading directly into what Fumi said was once the trail downwards to the Gastric Sea. It was a little hairy to begin with; the wound had ruined the previously neat trail, and the Pit had begun to reclaim it. Paths branched off, seemingly at random, that our maps had no record of. Here and there we’d see skittering things darting away from our flashlights, fleeing into pores or deeper, smaller vents we couldn’t see into.

Just copepods, Fumi had said when I asked. Harmless unless you’re alone and they’re feeling particularly brave or hungry. But even so I noticed that he kept his hand resting comfortably on the butt of his pistol, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice, and so I emulated him, and kept a wary eye behind us as we picked our way through the nest of tunnels and warrens and veins.

After I while I became afraid that we might hit a dead end and that we’d not be able to get through to the trail proper, which Fumi said would curve up and around down to the ballast bulbs, but just when I was getting to the point where I thought I might say something about it the vent widened out and Fumi had let out a triumphant whoop. We’re on the right track now, he had assured me, pointing to where we were on the map, and I had let a little involuntary shudder of relief pass over me because finally, finally we could really get going.

Now we’re clambering through a stinking vent that once housed a pedestrian trail. The thing Fumi hadn’t really mentioned is how long it would take. The path that looked so easy and short was in actuality four or five miles, a solid two or three hour hike in an environment like the Pit. My leg is holding up alright so far, especially now that I’m doing less running and jumping and falling, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do more than a couple days’ worth of this. Even with the boot I put my foot down occasionally and get a worrying, bone-deep twinge like a jolt of electricity, feeling like it’s running up some magic conduit from my heel all the way to the top of my head.

You can still see the remains of the trail here and there. Plastic placards, partially dissolved and stained beyond legibility, peeking out from behind masses of tumorous flesh. Rusty chain-link here and there, little strips of it grown over by pale, moisture-slick skin. If you look too closely at anything down here you shudder.

“Alright, I’ve got a story for you,” Fumi says. “Most of the work we do involves escorting supplies down to the deeper installations within the Pit, looking after science teams, making sure nothing and nobody bothers the few little extractions operations for stuff like ballast and bone plates. It’s a lot of wildlife control, basically. Very, very occasionally we’d do interdiction stuff. People get in, try to hide out in here, do all kinds of crap. I remember hearing a story about some guys who were running a drug lab in a trailer out on the very edge of the restricted area on the surface. Only got busted because Makado had to rush out somewhere in a hurry for something or other, I don’t remember what exactly, and she took a helicopter and they happened to fly right over. That really made her crack down on the topside ranger teams, let me tell you.”

“Topside?”

“So basically there are two teams,” he explains. “Us, the Sergeant’s team, we’re Venterial Ops. Anything underground, inside the Pit, we handle. That’s why we have Elena, for example. I don’t know if she told you but her main specialization is cave diving, she used to be in the Coast Guard. The other team is larger, they hang out in the other barracks topside. Overland Ops patrols the surface of the restricted area, handles anything that doesn’t concern the actual Pit itself. A lot of people don’t realize this but the restricted area isn’t just, you know, the Pit, it covers a whole lot of the ground above as well. You need manpower if you’re going to patrol it. With me so far?”

“Yes,” I nod. “So the overland team, they never go down into the Pit?”

“Oh, they train in it occasionally,” Fumi says, waving his hand. “But not to the extent that we do. It’s expensive and difficult and time-consuming just because the Pit is not a particularly good environment to make mistakes in. What if you can’t recognize a digestive pit or a triocanth sign? I mean, there are so many ways to die down here if you’re careless, especially now that we’ve cut down on our impact down here so much. If you’re stuck down here your options are either getting to the Control Center, getting to one of the very few listening stations and outposts we still have down in the depths of the Pit, or trying to call for help. That’s it.”

“So it’s easier logistically to have two separate groups like that?”

“Yeah, exactly. It hurts the overhead a little but if everybody was Pit-trained they’d be spending even more on them, so…”

“Right,” I say. There’s a long stringy mass of fibrous tissue stretching from the roof to the pitted ground, and I duck around it, let Fumi pass behind. “So what was the story?”

“Oh, right. So we were escorting some science folks down to that listening station in Oyster’s Shame. Shift change, essentially, except they way they do it is two weeks on, two weeks off. They rotate like that, make sure nobody’s spending too much time down in the Pit, that kind of thing. There are health checks that they have to do. If you’re in Science, half the time you’re up in a lab over in the science building doing egghead things and the other half you’re down here in a lab doing egghead things,” he laughs.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” I suggest, and Fumi nods.

“Exactly. So we’re taking these guys down, pretty simple trip, one we’ve all done dozens of times. One of the science guys is new, and he is just absolutely gushing over everything he’s seeing down here. Some sort of environmental scientist type, real nerd. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nerd but sometimes you just – certain people fulfill the stereotype more than other people, right? Anyway, Crookshank decides to play a prank on the guy. We’re taking a break for lunch and Crookshank pretends to lick a nerve ending in the wall. Now, first off, don’t ever do that, but Crookshank is – was – a maniac and you can’t keep him down. This egghead sees Crookshank do it (of course, he didn’t actually do it, just pretended to) and starts to freak out, but Crookshank is like ‘oh, it’s cool, it enhances the flavor in these MREs, you should try it.’ And of course Slate gets in on it, because Slate has – er, had – the mind of a middle-schooler and can’t resist clowning around, and together they gradually convince this nerd that it makes your standard run-of-the-mill MRE taste orgasmic.”

“Why shouldn’t you lick nerve endings?”

“Have you seen anything down here that you’d want to lick?”

I try unsuccessfully not to think of Elena and end up just shaking my head.

“But on top of that,” Fumi continues, “Pit nerve fibers can do weird things to the human nervous system. Not usually permanent or even really harmful things…just weird things. A big one was an ability to see into the ultraviolet spectrum. You might have heard about that; they made some big breakthroughs in optics in the 80s thanks to experiments with Pit nervous tissue. But there can be weirder stuff too – occasionally you’d see some spooky things going on in the Cord thanks to all the nerve tissue there. Intrusive thoughts, ‘occult’ stuff like objects levitating, seeing things out of the corner of your eye, ‘hauntings…’ in some places down here there are still little alarms that go off if they read too much nervous activity. So you can imagine that it might be a bad idea to lick one.”

“What happened to the guy?” I ask. The further we’ve gotten the more horribly rank the air has grown, to the point where we both have put on our helmets. The path we’re following opens out after a torturously twisting, intestine-like track and we find a series of bulbous, swollen sacs protruding from the floor and the walls, filled with a noxious, chunky liquid a lot like raw vomit. I can feel my gorge rising and I fix my eyes resolutely on my feet and end up just taking shallow breaths through my mouth for the long ten or so minutes it takes for Fumi to guide me through to the other side. We squeeze through a rough, suppurating sphincter and find a set of stairs, so rusty and dilapidated they might as well have come straight out of a Silent Hill game. Here and there long strands or trickles of flesh have melted or grown through the chain-link cage surrounding the stairs and pooled in rough, saggy, wrinkled puddles on the floor. It’s such an unspeakably bizarre image that we both stop and stare at them.

“I bet those feel…absolutely horrible to step on,” Fumi says.

“I’m not stepping on any of those,” I murmur.

“And with the cleats…” Fumi continues.

“Oh god,” I say, wrinkling my nose. A particularly swollen one seems to glisten at me. “Why does it do that? Why does it grow stuff like this?”

“Why does the Pit do anything?” Fumi shrugs, jerking his head forwards. “At least we’re on the right track. This is the staircase down to the ballast bulbs.”

“Is it even safe to walk on?”

“Do you see a different option?”

“Fair point,” I grunt. I take a ginger step forward and put my weight on the stairs, cringing inwardly. My foot nudges against one of the nodules of flesh. I can feel it pressing against me through the fabric of the suit. I grimace and take another step, and then another. “Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

We get a couple of flights down before I remember. “Oh, right – what happened to the guy?”

“Which guy?”

“You know,” I say. “The nerd who licked the nerve ending.”

“Oh, right. It made him see…something. Gave him the fright of his life, ended up pissing himself in his suit.”

“Oh,” I say. I had been expecting something funny but this just seems sad. Fumi reads it in my face, nods at me.

“Yeah,” he says. “Elena actually got really pissed off at Crookshank for that one. They’ve never liked each other very much but that little stunt kind of pushed her over the edge. They got in a shouting match right there and the Sergeant had to break it up.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “That’s my girl,” I murmur.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Uh, well it turned out that she was sleeping with the nerd and that’s why she was so heated about it.”

I look at Fumi for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious.”

I think about it and then shrug. “What?” I ask. “Am I supposed to get jealous?”

“I just find it so strange that you aren’t.”

“That’s in the past,” I tell him. “I don’t care what she did before we met, I care about how she treats me. I mean, she has to have treated me pretty well to get me to risk my life for her like this.”

“True,” Fumi admits. “Or maybe you just don’t value your life very much.”

Before I can think of a response that would be both truthful and a denial of the accuracy of that statement, Fumi takes a step forward. As he puts his weight down on the next step the staircase groans sonorously and we both freeze. I feel a little stab of fear piercing the bottom of my stomach and reach over quickly to grab the guardrail, for all the good it’ll do me. We stand there frozen for a minute, maybe two, waiting for the entire thing to collapse, and when it isn’t forthcoming I slowly, gradually unclench my insides and put my weight back on the step.

“Jesus,” I murmur.

“Yeah, these are probably a little unsafe.”

“You think?”

The next four flights go by quickly. The blobs of flesh haven’t spread this far down, or at least they haven’t yet. The meat beyond the retaining walls, buckled in places, is a strange, waxy tone that makes it look like it’s fake. If it didn’t shudder and writhe in time with whatever alien rhythms govern the Pit’s heartbeat I’d think it were a model.

Ahead of us, rising like vapor off a bog, I can smell the stench of ballast, combined with the familiar meaty Pit-smell pervading the air, along with something earthy and sour that lingers at the back of my throat. It makes my heart race and my gorge rise simultaneously. That accidental encounter with Crookshank in the ballast bulb…I had never been so scared or so turned on in my entire life. The memory of it leaves me vaguely nauseous.

“You doing okay?” Fumi asks, nudging me.

“I’m fine,” I murmur through gritted teeth. I do not want to throw up in this helmet. I take a deep breath and then let it out. I’m okay. It’s going to be fine. Elena is down here and the ballast totally healed her and everything is fine, just peachy-keen. We’re going to kiss and hold hands all the way out of here and then…

“Do you really think she’s down here?” Fumi asks.

“Where else would she be?” I say. “It’s either here or she’s dead somewhere and I’m still trying to be optimistic at least.”

Fumi says something else but I’m not paying attention. We’ve finally reached the landing, and past a pair of crooked, bent, rusted doors is something that must have once been a utility corridor for servicing the machinery used to keep the ballast pools running. The entire corridor is so thickly covered with dense, clustered mushrooms that I can scarcely see any surface that isn’t completely blotted out by coarse white fungous flesh.

“Shit,” Fumi murmurs.

The acrid, weird smell is stronger down here and I’ve finally recognize it – it’s the reek of those horrible, throat-coating spores from the nightmare of the fungal jungle deep down in the Pit’s rancid guts, where Marcus and Peter and Erica and – and Klaus had died.

Where I had killed Klaus.

Thinking about it makes me shiver. This past day – there hasn’t been time to think. Everything has been sweeping me along with the same force and velocity as a riptide. I haven’t had time to – to acknowledge it.

Unbidden, the image of him clapping his hand to his throat springs to my mind. The gun had felt like a dead weight in my hand. It hadn’t even felt like my hand, it had felt like I was controlling it at a distance, like I was playing a video game. I remember the way his eyes had widened in shock and how he had staggered back, the knife clattering out of his trembling hands. He had tried to swipe at me with it even then but the strength had left him.

I’ve already sealed my suit. I hadn’t wanted to waste the filters or the battery before by running the rebreather but these spores aren’t going to give us a choice. I don’t want to be hallucinating again.

At the end of the hallway is a door. It takes the two of us some serious effort to pry it open, levering at the rusted, mossy handle, but once we get it open we stumble into what must have once been one of the main baths. The fungus grows here too, in greater size and density. There are things living here; a dozen little things scurry and hop and slither away from us, darting away from the reach of our flashlight beams. Some of the mushrooms, the bigger blue-veined ones with the caps that look like they’re melting, visibly deflate as we rake our lights over them, puffing out clouds of hazy spores.

“I’m not sure that Elena’s here,” Fumi says softly, looking around. I feel my insides tighten even as he says it.

A massive hole has broken open in the tile over on the far end of the pool. I think I see something within it move. I reach over and tug at Fumi’s sleeve. “Fumi,” I hiss. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Over there,” I point. “Inside that big fucking hole, I thought I saw –“

“Whatever you saw,” Fumi tells me, “it wasn’t Elena. If she even came down here, she’d have taken one look at it and then turned right around and left. You said that Erica took her helmet. Look at all these spores. Do you think that –“

“God damn!” something cries out of the murk and darkness down at the far end of the pool. The milk-white ballast seethes incontinently beneath the wan glare of our flashlights, and I can feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. “God damn!” it repeats.

“That’s Elena,” I say.

“Roan, no,” Fumi says. I shoot him a look like he’s gone mad.

“Listen to her,” I tell him. “That’s her voice! I’d know it anywhere.”

As if to punctuate my argument, the voice cries out again. “Oh god! Oh fuck!”

I charge forward, stomping into the ballast with reckless abandon. “Elena!” I call out. My heart is jumping in my chest and I have to consciously force myself not to grin madly. Elena is here! God, she’s here! I was right, she did come to the ballast bulbs, she did –

“God damn!”

“Roan, stop!” Fumi yells from behind me. I can hear him starting to stomp after me but I don’t have an iota of brainpower left to devote to the question of why he’d want to stop me. The ballast ripples around my legs, but it’s relatively shallow, at least this end of the pool. I hope I don’t have to swim in it to get to her.

“God damn!”

“Elena, I’m coming!”

“STOP! Roan, it’s a –“

My foot catches against something in the ballast and I lose my balance. I try to catch myself on my hands but the pool deepens just ahead of me and I end up pitching face-first into the murk. “Goddam,” I mumble. I don’t know what I tripped on, it feels like a log or something, but that doesn’t make a ton of sense to be down here. What is –

The log wriggles to life and wraps itself around my ankle. I have enough time to let out a small, terrified squeak before it whips me bodily off my feet and starts tugging me through the ballast towards the hole in the tile. I hear a splash from behind me as Fumi wades it, and I realize that I’m screaming.

Another rope or vine or tentacle joins the first, and this one fixes around the thigh of my other leg. I reach down, fighting against the thing’s pull, and get my hands on my pistol. I jerk it out of the holster so fast that I almost lose it, flick the safety off, and then fire off three rounds into the darkness lurking where the tentacles converge, but I don’t think I hit anything. Another tentacle seizes around my wrist and though I try to get loose, I end up dropping the gun.

Fumi calls out from behind me but I can’t pull myself together enough to answer him. Another tentacle has fixed around my midriff, another around my neck, and it squeezes so tightly that almost immediately I see stars bursting in my eyes and everything goes off-kilter like the world’s been tilted.

My flashlight skews across the face of the thing that’s tugging me in and for a moment I can’t comprehend it. It looks like a…a flower, all folds and delicate fleshy petals, but the colors are off. I can’t think, I’m not getting enough oxygen.

A mouth opens in the center of the flower, unfolding like a piece of origami. I see delicate, foot-long, razor-sharp teeth, almost translucent in the light.

The tentacles around my neck and leg loosen, and then drop me entirely. I smack into the surface of the ballast and rapidly sink under. I’m still too woozy to do much about it other than flail my arms helplessly. The air is hot and stuffy in this helmet and I can feel a tingle somewhere along the side of my ribcage, accompanied by a stinging wetness that makes me realize my suit has a hole and ballast is leaking in.

I can’t think, my brain feels like it’s been unplugged. I’m going to drown inside my suit down here and I can’t do anything about it –

The last tentacle loosens and slips away and then I feel hands tugging at my arms. Without thinking I cling to them, the slippery ballast making my grip clumsy. I batter against my rescuer, trying to get a grip on them. There’s a horrendous noise filling the air, making the ballast vibrate with the force of it. Amid the torrent of sound I can hear someone yelling at me, telling me to stop, and when I crack my eyes open I see Fumi tugging me closer to him and trying to swim us away at the same time. I get my arm around his waist and we both dip under.

“Fuck this,” he says when I come up next and then he cocks his arm back and punches me in the side of the head. I go limp immediately and for the next few minutes I am not quite unconscious but I am definitely woozy enough to let Fumi drag me bodily out of the pool and then pick me up and carry me out of that horrible room and back to the staircase we came in at.

I manage to hobble up two flights of stairs on my own before I stumble and Fumi has to let me lean on him to get up another two. Up here the air is clearer and I can finally pop my helmet and breathe in deep, grateful gulps of it without feeling the spores trickling in and lining my throat. I sit down heavily on a step that isn’t encrusted with bloody moss and lichen and give Fumi a bleak look.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid,” I mutter. Fumi tries to put his arm around me but I shrug it off. “Goddam it, I’ve been so stupid.”

“Roan –“

“Fuck!” I shout. It echoes up and down the rickety staircase, my own voice reflected back at me in a mocking tone. My neck and arms are still sore and if I close my eyes I can feel that horrible thing’s tentacles or vines tugging tight around my throat and choking the life out of me…

“Roan,” Fumi tries again. “You aren’t stupid.”

“Elena was never down here,” I say. I can hear the cheerlessness in my voice. “She’s probably dead someplace ten minutes from the Cord. I should never have –“

“Roan!” Fumi barks. I look at him, not bothering to wipe my eyes.

“What?”

“Roan, you have to stop trying to throw your life away,” he says. His eyes are dark and serious and suddenly I find I can’t meet his gaze. “No, look at me,” he says.

“I’m really not into this paternal bullshit,” I start, but Fumi takes my head in his hands and very gently turns it so I don’t have any choice but to stare into his eyes. I almost slap him. At the very least I snarl out the beginning of an imprecation, but Fumi just stares me down. “I don’t –“ I start, but he shakes his head.

“Your life isn’t over,” he tells me. “You still have plenty to live for.”

“But if Elena’s dead –“

“Fuck Elena! Even if Elena were dead you’d have something to live for. When we find her do you think your relationship with her is going to last very long if you’re just hanging your entire existence off of her?”

“I – “

“I don’t need you flaking out on me right now,” he tells me. “When Ellis died, I –“

“Ellis?”

“Oh, fuck it. Forget it,” he says, standing up. “Do whatever the hell you want, you want to be a clingy son of a bitch when we get to Elena, be my goddam guest –“

“No, Fumi, I’m sorry, I didn’t –“

“Forget it, I said,” he tells me. My cheeks are burning. I’ve gone and broken the camel’s back. Of course him and Ellis were close, but…it doesn’t matter.

“Fumi, I didn’t mean –“

“Elena’s alive,” he says, his voice harsh. “Or at least she was, recently. Because ballast sirens can only repeat sounds they’ve heard. She probably pried open a door, took one look at that place, said ‘god damn!’ and ‘oh fuck!’ and left, and the siren’s probably been parroting it back for the better part of a day since then, hoping something would be stupid enough to wander into reach…”

“How was I supposed to know?” I yell. “How was I fucking supposed to know? I’ve never heard of a fucking ballast siren! I don’t know what they do!”

“I was yelling after you telling you not to go!” Fumi shouts. “If you had just fucking listened to me you wouldn’t have –“

“Yeah, well you fucking punched me!”

“I punched you,” he hisses, taking a step towards me, “because you were fucking panicking. You were going to drag me down with you and if I let you, we both would have died back there. I had to make you go limp, so I punched you! Of course you probably would have been okay with the two of us dying, given your fucking martyrdom fetish –“

“I don’t have a martyrdom fetish!”

“Then fucking act like it!”

“Fuck you!”

“You need to calm the fuck down,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “I can’t believe you talked me into this damn-fool errand. I had no idea you were such a –“

“Fucking leave, then,” I tell him. There’s a part of my brain screaming at me to stop, but I can’t stop. I’ve already let the words out. “If I’m so much of a fucking burden and too much of a loose cannon then fucking leave. Just go back up. I’ll find Elena myself.”

Fumi’s face falls. When he speaks his tone is gentler. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to –“

“Just go!” I yell, pointing up the stairs. “Just fuck off!”

“Roan, don’t do this.”

“Just leave!” I say. My voice is thick and raw and I realize that I’m crying. “I can do this myself! I don’t need you!”

“Roan, you –“

“Go!” I shriek, and then before I know it I’m clambering to my feet and pulling up my sleeves, clenching a fist and getting ready to swing at him. Everything’s taken on a red tinge, even redder than normal down here in the Pit, and the horrible throbbing thump of my heartbeat is ringing in my ears like an immense drum.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Fumi says, throwing up his hands, and then he turns and hurries up the stairs.

I stand there for a long, long while, breathing hard, letting all of my anger drain out of me. Eventually I feel empty enough to find a nice clear spot on the rusty steps, brush away the mushrooms and polypous clumps of pooled flesh and sit. I think about burying my head in my hands, but I don’t.

After a moment I take out my radio from its holster on my belt and look at it. Fumi had warned me not to even try anything with it, he’d said that it’d be easy for anyone listening in, such as the FBI or people in the Control Center, to triangulate my position and there’d be no guarantee Elena would even have a radio to respond with if I did try to call her.

But I don’t see another choice. My hand is shaking a little and I feel as though if I stand up I’d just fall right over again. If I don’t do something I’m going to have a panic attack.

I crack the radio up to its broadest range-band and hold down the broadcast button. I can’t think of what to say. Eventually I shake my head and then lick my lips and give it my best shot. “Elena?” I ask. My voice catches a little but I swallow hard and force it back down. “Elena, it’s Roan. If you’re – if you’re out there and you can hear this, l-let me know. Please.”

I let the button go and then wait, heart pounding. I try to keep myself from counting the seconds, but I can’t. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty. I stop after a minute and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the hot tears from leaking from them. She’s not out there, she’s dead or trapped somewhere without a radio, I knew it was a long shot, I shouldn’t have even bothered. If I hadn’t bothered I could at least pretend that –

The radio clutched loosely in my hands crackles to life. I glare at it, half-expecting to hear Fumi chew me out for using the radio in the first place.

“Roan?” Elena says. “Oh, my god, Roan, baby, is that you? Oh god, is that you?”

Continue with Part 34

Back to Table of Contents

#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #original writing #mystery #alt lit #thriller #Novel #disaster #caving #Michael Crichton

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jaminjims · 4 years ago

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i love you’s || k.nj

synopsis: you could never stop saying ‘i love you’ to him because he was everything you ever needed.

pairing: kim namjoon x gender neutral reader

genre: oneshot! fluff, fluff, and more fluff (and maybe just a tiny little bit of angst but its barely noticeable)

warnings: n/a

words: 1.7k

a/n: omg kinda nervous to release this fic because it’s in a different style than i usually post in but i thought it was really cute and with all the literal angst i’ve been publishing, this would be like a breath of fresh air. so here it is, and yes before you ask, this IS based off of the dream i had of namjoon that i said i would write like three millennia ago. i hope you guys like it!

“Namjoon, come on. I don’t want to wait in the long line.” You whined as you pulled your boyfriend by the hand.

He laughed and smiled that dimpled smile you adored so much, “Ok, ok. I didn’t know you loved smoothies so much, babe.” He linked his fingers with yours and then kissed the back of your hand.

You giggled and leaned your head against his shoulder, “Well, maybe if you came out of your studio every once in awhile you would know.” By your teasing voice, Namjoon knew you weren't actually criticizing him about his work.

It has been awhile since the two of you have been out together for a full day like this and you wanted to cherish every moment you got with him. Namjoon often lost himself in his work, but you could tell he really loves what he does, so you didn’t mind as much when he spends hours at a time working on music.

But that didn't mean you didn’t miss him. You were always up waiting for him when he got home later than usual. You would bring him lunch when you weren't to busy yourself and talk about your days. It was the little things that made him fall infinitely more in love with you.

“I’m just happy you're with me now, though.” You said as you smiled up at him.

He squeezed your hand and leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Lets go. I thought you didn’t want to wait in the line to long.”

You snickered and started dragging him to the smoothie booth again. “Haha, you are so funny.” You mumbled sarcastically.

He laughed again and jogged a little ways to catch up with you. He un-linked your hands to instead put his arm around your shoulders. The both of you waited in the smoothie line for awhile, just discussing life, until it was your turn to order.

“I would like a banana smoothie please.” You looked over at Namjoon and couldn’t help but admire his face as he looked up at the order menu. He was wearing a black turtle neck tucked into dark blue jeans.

‘Is it hot in here or is it just me?’

You didn’t catch his answer to the girl getting your orders, but you did notice when he took his arm from around your shoulders to grab his wallet. But you stopped him before he could get out any money.

“Yah, I’m paying.” You said with finality while Namjoon sighed in response, shaking his head with a smiled on his face.

“Yes, anything for you.” He said. But was it just you or did it sound teasing?

You huffed out a laugh before responding, “Well now I wanna let you pay.” Even as you said that though, you gave the cash to the lady at the register. She looked between the two of you and smiled endearingly before handing back your change.

Namjoon pulled you to a table close by so you could wait for your drinks. The mall around you was bustling with people and you were glad he seemed to find a relatively quiet (well at least quiet for a mall) place to sit.

You grabbed his hands from across the table and just starred at him. Which people would have thought was creepy if it wasn’t for the fact that Namjoon starred back at you with just the same amount of adoration.

“What you starring at me for?” He question as he squeezed your hands.

You shrugged in response, “I just love looking at you, I guess.”

He smiled his dimpled smiled again and looked down at the table, breaking eye contact. You couldn't help but smile at how bashful he was.

When your orders were called he got up from his seat and went to collect them. You took this chance to move your chair next to his so you could be closer to each other.

He came back and put your smoothie in front of you while he started to drink his. Once he sat down, the both of you talked about everything you could. Having deep conversations like this was one of the reasons why your relationship worked so well. The both of you believed that communication was one of the essentials in a relationship, and the both of you tended to talk about what's on your minds all the time so it was something you excelled in.

“What do you think your future looks like?”

Namjoon looked out into the busy mall, “I don’t know, honestly.” He then turned to look at you. “But I do know that you’re in it.”

The blush on your face was there before he even finished his sentence. “Ugh, stop being so sappy.” And even though you said that, there was a big smile on your face and the fluttering in your heart made you jittery.

The both of you talked for a little more before your smoothies were gone. You both got up and went to throw your trash away, but before you could continue walking around, you grabbed Namjoon by the waist and pulled him in for a hug.

He was surprised at your gesture but settled into the embrace none-the-less. As he wrapped his arms around you, you sighed out, just enjoying the moment.

“You know, you’re a very good hugger.”

His chuckle reverberates through his chest. “You tell me that all the time babe.”

When you didn’t let go of the hug after a little while, he got a little worried. “Hey, are you ok?”

You hummed and shrugged your shoulders, “Yep,” you looked up at him and smiled big, “I just love you a lot.”

~**~

“Can we go? Please?” You said as you gave Namjoon you’re best puppy dog eyes. You had pulled him in the direction of the “Kiddie Section” in the mall and you were currently pointing to a ride that looked like it would fit a six year old, definitely not you, a full sized adult.

“You’re such a kid.” He snorted. “You will most definitely get stuck in that thing.”

“No I won’t.” You said, hitting him on the arm.

He sighed good-naturedly and pulled put a quarter to put into the - to him - small death like contraption they called a little kids ride. It was a tiny red car that was painted on the front to look like a clown. Like come on.

You sat down and just your knees took up all the space, but you somehow fit yourself down into the tiny seat and you then pester Namjoon to take a picture.

He snaps a picture and then he smiles and sets it as his new phone background.

“Jonnie, uh, so like...”

He looks back over at you and can’t suppress his groan because he was right and you did end up getting stuck.

“Oh for the love of... Ok, what do you need me to do?”

“Can you pull my arms up while I try to get my legs about from under me?”

The both of you try to get you out for about ten minutes before you finally twist your body the right way to get out, but while you do, you hit your knee hard.

“Babe, you ok?” He asks as he helps you sit down on a nearby bench.

You rub your knee and grimace. “Yeah it just hurts a lot.”

He sighs tiredly but still has a smile on his face. He then puts his phone in his back pocket and bends down in front of you. “Come on, get on, love.”

You frowned, “But I don’t want to hurt you. Besides, you’ll get tired.”

He turns around and flicks your forehead, “You have no say in this.”

You laugh a little and accept his piggy back ride. The two of you walked, well Namjoon walked while you were carried, around the mall. You were window shopping while talking and occasionally you would make a joke that would make the two of you laugh.

You both got ice cream after about an hour of walking around and you leaned up (you were still being carried) and placed a kiss on Namjoon’s cheek. “I love you lots.”

His dimple smile made your heart swell and he tightened his grip around your thighs.

“I love you more.”

~**~

“Hey, wanna see a movie?” Even though it was a question, you made it sound like a statement.

The both of you were sitting on a bench outside at near-by park. Watching and listening to the wildlife and children play about.

“Mm, what do you wanna see?” he stated as he continued to draw lazy patterns on your shoulder with the hand that was around you.

Your eyes brightened up and you smiled, “I don’t know, maybe the new Scooby-Do movie?”

He snickered and looked over at you, “Of course you would say that.”

You narrowed your eyes, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He leaned in and kissed your nose, “That I would do anything for you, even see the Scooby-Do movie.”

You took the chance and kissed him on the lips, a smirk in place, “Hey, I heard it was actually good.”

“Mhm, lets go. I want to get the earliest one.”

He pulled you up by your hand (since your knee didn’t hurt that much anymore) and intertwined your fingers, walking toward the movie theater connected to the mall.

You purchased the tickets while he got the snacks and you two made your way to theater number seven, where the starting credits where just beginning to start.

When you sat down, you took both of Namjoon’s hands in yours and preoccupied yourself with playing with his fingers. It was actually something you really liked doing because his hands were really smooth.

While you were waiting for the movie to start, he looked over at you with a soft smile on his face and adoration in his eyes. He couldn’t believe that he had someone as great and amazing as you in his life.

Right as the movie theater was dimming down to get ready to play Scooby-Do, you looked up and caught him staring at you.

You smiled shyly, “What?”

He shrugged and leaned in to kiss you. When he pulled away, you opted to snuggle up into him, to be as close as possible.

“I love you.” you whispered as the movie started.

You didn’t think he heard you but he leaned his head on top of yours and felt him smile against your hair. “I love you more.”

[end]

end note: there’s not much for me to say other than i had myself melting at this one you guys. and i hope no one was to thrown off by the writing style! oh and also! i love ya’ll! that’s it. that’s all i had to add

~**~

masterlist

request something!

taglist: @boba-tea1206

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x male reader #bts x female reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #kim namjoon fanfiction #bts fluff #bts rm #rm

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mordoriscalling · 4 years ago

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Stay or Sail Away (5/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (@geraskier-trashh @negativenuggetz)

A/N: oh lord this wasn’t supposed to be 3k words long XD Hope you like it tho!

***

It was a bad idea to tell Geralt not to wear all black. Well, the scarf is grey and the coat and the shoes are black, but they don’t matter. Geralt’s just taken them off to reveal a three-piece suit and a shirt with two top buttons undone, the clothing in a deep, navy blue colour. His eyes stand out beautifully against it. Geralt in navy blue makes Jaskier want to weep and it’s only half-past noon. To add to Jaskier’s tragic swoon, Geralt’s hair is braided away from his face into a lovely plait at the back of his head (which Jaskier suspects is Ciri’s doing). It just shouldn’t look as good as it does. Geralt is so stunning today that words other than what the fuck do not begin to cover it.

Not to blurt out that in lieu of a greeting, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and exclaims, “Ahoy, captain!”

Geralt snorts with disgust. “Never say that again.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Come in, come in,” he says as he ushers Geralt into the living room, “make yourself at home. Are you hungry? It’s last chance for a snack before I put on some eyeliner and we’re off!”

“Eyeliner?” Geralt repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, to finish off this look!” he replies as he gestures at the floral Gucci suit he’s wearing. The outfit’s actually demure considering his usual fashion choices. Bright colours and ridiculous patterns are his go-to but today is the first day of his life when he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Much. “Help yourself with something from the kitchen if you want,” he says over his shoulder, already leaving for the bathroom.

The makeup takes just a minute or two – eyeliner application has become much less of dark magic with practice. He decides to put on some pretty pink lip gloss as well because, although he’s going to spare his family today and won’t flaunt his queerness at them, he still has to do something. It’s not at all because he hopes his fiancé might like it.

(Geralt’s suit)

(Jaskier’s suit)

When he strides into the living room, he poses like a model and asks, “How do I look?”

Geralt, who sits on the couch, stares him up and down. His gaze almost makes Jaskier blush, so does his smirk. Both border on appreciative. “Really good,” he says.

Since Jaskier expected some mean comment, he almost topples over in shock at the compliment. He sputters, definitely flushing a bit, but quickly re-establishes a working link between his mouth and his brain. “Of course I do, darling,” he replies with a wink. Geralt smirks in that sexy way again. Jaskier has to give himself a good mental shake to stop staring. Clearing his throat, he starts thinking out loud, “So! Have I got everything for the party? I’ve got Geralt, and then the present, and then... Ah! The rings!”

Jaskier sits down next to Geralt and pulls the box out of the pocket of his jacket. Raising the lid, he reveals two rings seated within, one silver and one gold. “Should I kneel?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs with delight, then takes out the silver ring and passes it to Geralt. It’a simple but chunky band with tiny engravings. Jaskier figured Geralt wouldn’t appreciate anything too showy. Geralt takes it and inspects what’s engraved on it. “What kind of flowers are those?” he asks.

“Buttercups,” Jaskier explains, “That’s what my name means. My grandma always told me I’m a jaskier.”

Pretty but poisonous. It’s extremely fitting.

Geralt only hmms and slides the ring on his finger. It’s a perfect fit but it’s no thanks to Jaskier’s genius deduction or anything; he simply knew Geralt’s ring size because Geralt told him. After their phone conversation regarding ring preferences, family drama and other things, they kept talking. Geralt even began starting conversations by himself – he’d send some texts about Ciri like “Ciri says hi” or “Ciri’s playing that song again”. It made Jaskier melt every time.

“Look what you bought me in return, darling,” he says, smiling excitedly, and puts on the gold ring. It’s much more flashy than Geralt’s – a signet with a three-dimensional head of a wolf. “White Wolf” is apparently Geralt’s nickname and a pseudonym of sorts. Wolves are his favourite animals, too.

Jaskier holds out his hand, putting it next to Geralt’s on the couch, and admires the rings on their fingers. “They suit us,” he says quietly

Geralt hmms. “They do.”

The drive is two hours long. Geralt insisted on driving even though it’s Jaskier’s car. Jaskier has a suspicion that driving is an excuse not to listen to him as he’s going over the essential family drama, but it’s mostly for his own sake anyway. He just wants to delude himself that Geralt will be well-prepared for everything and all will go smoothly. They will be fine. They must.

When they pull up in front of Jaskier family’s mansion, panic and second thoughts wash over him alternately in cold and hot waves. As they walk out of the car and Geralt hands him the keys, Jaskier hides within himself and observes the reality unravel a sense of detachment. He doesn’t want to be a part of the upcoming disaster.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier only looks at him helplessly. Geralt offers him his arm and Jaskier takes it like a lifeline. He clutches on it, the touch grounding him, as they walk towards the front door silently.

“Should’ve guessed you were rich,” Geralt remarks as he takes in the mansion looming before them.

“My success in music is all my own,” Jaskier replies feistily, “it took me ten years.”

Geralt wisely doesn’t say anything else and Jaskier settles down, letting out a shaky breath. He always gets very defensive of his achievements. Sis parents paid for nothing; he never asked them to. He hates that people assume differently.

The entrance hall is empty when they invite themselves in, but not for long. Just as they manage to take off their coats, they hear someone coming down the stairs. Jaskier looks up to see Rozalia, his older sister. She’s only one year older than him but doesn’t look a day over thirty. In appearance, she’s all mum: luxuriant dark locks, cat-green eyes, tan skin, and regal features.

“Julek!” she exclaims with a smile and rushes down the stairs into Jaskier’s open arms. They laugh when their bodies collide.

“Hey, horror sister!” Jaskier says, the words their special greeting.

“Hey, wild brother!” Rozalia replies, as tradition commands.

When Jaskier releases her from his embrace, he goes on to introduce Rozalia and Geralt to each other.

“So this is your fiancé,” Rozalia drawls after she and Geralt shake hands, clearly amused, and looks Geralt up and down. “Holy shit. I can see why you kept him a secret.”

Jaskier purses his lips, putting a possessive arm around Geralt’s waist. “Roza, you’re married.”

Rozalia only smirks, then turns on her heel and starts walking down the corridor towards the living room. “Everyone! Julek’s here!” she announces loudly.

“Julek?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier as they start following Rozalia.

“Diminutive of Julian,” Jaskier explains quietly.

“Sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Jaskier snorts under his breath but doesn’t reply. The sensation of detachment from the reality is there again and Jaskier doesn’t fight it – the distance between him and everything else wards off the impending panic attack.

Like in a dream, he sees his other sister Amelia, who’s five years younger than him, marching towards them, her mop of short golden curls bouncing up and down as she walks. With her sweet face and wide blue eyes (just like Jaskier’s, which they both got from their dad), she looks like an angel. (Spoiler alert: she’s not. She can be the worst. That’s kind of the youngest’s privilege, though).

When Amelia hugs him and Jaskier introduces her and Geralt to each other, he’s still in a daze. Amelia walks on his side as they all enter the living room, chatting about something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it due to the ringing sound in his ears.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles.

Jaskier looks into the sun-like, concerned eyes. The warmth calms him down.

He takes in everyone in the room: his parents, Alfred and Wanda. Amelia, Rozalia and her husband Silvio. Dad’s brother, uncle Konrad, with his wife and son Ferrant. Mum’s sisters, aunts Maria, Hanna and Anna with their husbands. All watching Jaskier and Geralt expectantly.

Jaskier puts on his best smile and lays a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. “Everyone, this is Geralt Rivia. A Royal Navy commander,” he says and observes, delighting in the array of shocked reactions his family display. “My fiancé,” he adds with pride that he doesn’t even have fake.

A round of introductions follows. Geralt shakes everyone’s hands and says nice things like “honoured to meet you finally”, “Jaskier told me so much about you” and “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier”. It’s actually pretty convincing, Jaskier has to give him that. Still, it doesn’t stop one of the questions Jaskier dreads the most.

“But why didn’t you tell us anything, darling?” his mum asks as everyone sits down at the table in the dining room.

This is it, Jaskier thinks mournfully, this is when it all goes to hell. At least Geralt sits next to him. It would be a quick departure – Jaskier will just grab his fiancé and run out of the house.

“Exactly,” Amelia seconds, her slender arms crossed before her chest, “it isn’t like you. You would tell the whole world about your engagement in some wild Twitter thread.”

Shit. She got him there. “W-well, I...”

“I asked him not to,” Geralt comes to the rescue. At the confused looks from everyone around, he goes on, “Not until I go on at least one more deployment and Jaskier’s absolutely sure he wants this. He should have it easier in case he changes his mind. Fewer people know about it, less painful it is to announce.”

Jaskier’s dad frowns. “But why do you assume he’d do that?” he inquires, regarding Geralt with suspicion.

“Being in a relationship with a marine officer is hard,” Geralt replies with a heavy sigh and makes a dramatic pause. Jaskier’s family looks at him with almost bated breath but he takes his time, the bastard. He already has them hanging off his every word. “My deployments are rarely shorter than nine months long,” he confesses ruefully.

A stunned silence falls over the room. Jaskier’s family stare at him with disbelief – they all know Jaskier wouldn’t be able to survive a relationship like that, not with how needy he can be.

Of bloody course Geralt would take it too far at the very start.

“But I’m stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims as cheerfully as he can, “Won’t have anyone else but Geralt.”

“Well, that’s all you,” Amelia says, and Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t appreciate Amelia’s inquisitive mind. She’s always had the tendency to analyze and look into everything until every fact and detail adds up. Her character makes her the perfect heir to the family business, which she’s agreed to gladly. Ever since she made that decision, Jaskier choosing music is much less of a painful topic for their family. And so, Jaskier certainly values his younger sister’s nature of constant question-asking, but not in moments like this.

Amelia appears to already know what is going on here and Jaskier only prays she’ll be nice enough not to delve into it too much. Maybe some warning glances from Rozalia and begging ones from Jaskier will stop her. Maybe.

Food is served, alcohol starts flowing. Jaskier’s family begin asking Geralt about himself but Jaskier always tries to twist the conversation so that questions about their relationship don’t come. Until they do.

After they sang dad happy birthday, told him their wishes and gave him the gifts, it’s time to eat the birthday cake. Just when Jaskier puts half of his slice on Geralt’s plate (he doesn’t even like cake), Silvio asks, “When did you two meet?”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but it’s Geralt who says, “It was two years ago. I walked into a bar where Jaskier was playing. He asked me for a review of his songs after his performance.”

Geralt has the audacity to smirk at him so Jaskier, just to be a little shit, adds, “In three words or less!”

Geralt doesn’t appreciate this contribution judging by how he narrows his eyes at him. Jaskier knows they’re treading a dangerous ground – in their stupidity, they didn’t discuss the details of their “first meeting”. Geralt started it, though.

“And what did you say?” Silvio questions.

“That they don’t exist,” Geralt replies without a beat, still staring Jaskier in the eye.

“Whaaat don’t exist?” Jaskier’s father says what Jaskier himself almost blurts out.

“The creatures in his songs,” Geralt explains.

The affronted noise that leaves Jaskier's mouth is beyond his control. “It’s folk! The genre allows for fantastical elements like that!” He huffs. “But you know, Geralt with his commander mind always wants the facts and only facts.”

“So you don’t like Julek’s singing?” Rozalia asks Geralt.

Geralt denies this with a shake of his head. “Jaskier sings beautifully,” he replies, “Like a siren.” He lays his hand on Jaskier’s and looks into Jaskier’s eyes. “My siren,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier has to gape a little. He barely restrains himself from mouthing are fucking serious? because, really, Geralt can’t just say things like that. When he regains his composure, he decides to be mean. “I told you not to call me that, dear heart,” he says, “Not exactly flattering. Sirens lured sailors to their demise.”

Geralt does that lethally adorable head tilt and answers, “Still would go for you.”

He can hear aunt Maria cooing in the background, bless her heart, but Jaskier almost doesn’t register it. His attention is fully on Geralt – there’s something new in his gaze, beneath the teasing glint. Something guarded, tentative and true. Jaskier cocks his head to the side just a little bit. Geralt notices the question in the gesture (they’re really getting good at reading each other, aren’t they?) and answers by raising an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jaskier experiences the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach when he understands – it’s an invitation. He accepts.

Geralt’s lips stretch into a small smile and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand on the table, intertwining their fingers together. Jaskier’s heart almost gives out and he grins, giddy like a teenager who’s just found out their crush is reciprocated. It’s not that far off from the truth anyway.

Uncle Konrad asks Geralt about the Navy. The two of them start discussing working in the army but Jaskier only half-listens, too focused on cherishing the feel of Geralt’s palm engulfing his. Until Geralt takes his hand away, that is.

With a displeased grunt, Geralt takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The screen displays an incoming call. “I should take this,” he says apologetically and quickly walks out of the dining room.

The moment Geralt leaves, the assault is unleashed upon Jaskier. His family bombard him with so many questions and remarks at once that he only hears what Rozalia sitting next to him says. “Didn’t know you were into older men,” she comments, swirling the wine in her glass innocently.

“He’s forty!”

She frowns. “Then what’s the deal with the hair?”

Jaskier freezes in panic. Fucking hell, what is the deal with the hair? He has no idea. Geralt refused to answer his questions. “W-well,” he stutters out, “it’s really... uhh...” He clears his throat. “Not my story to tell. Geralt doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rozalia hums, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “How mysterious.”

“He sure does seem mysterious,” uncle Konrad chimes in, “And...”

“Quiet?” Ferrant suggests.

“Taciturn?” Silvio supplies.

“Closed off?” aunt Hanna adds.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Jaskier cuts in, interrupting this merry-go-round offering of adjectives before it spirals into everyone calling Geralt a brute.

“It’s not,” aunt Anna reassures, “It’s just that... I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how on earth the relationship is even working with him being like this and you being, well...” she trails off and gestures at Jaskier with her fork. “You.”

“Frist off, I’ll take this as a compliment –”

“Of course, dear.”

“ – and secondly, even though we’re different, our differences only keep things... interesting, if you get my meaning.” Jaskier throws in a telling wink, and his uncles chuckle.

“Julian!” both his parents cry out, scandalised.

“Honestly,” Jaskeir goes on, unmoved, “deep down, he and I are quite the same.”

“Indeed?” Amelia asks, “Is he also a bastard at heart?”

“Yesss!” he hisses out, wildly pleased. Sometimes he loves Amelia’s analytic mind.

“He actually seems like a sweetheart,” his mum says, warming Jaskier to his very heart. He loves his mum so much – she always sees the best in people.

“He’s both, really,” he replies, “He’s certainly a sweetheart to his daughter.” Jaskier delights in shocking his family once again. Then, an idea pops up in his mind, “If you ask him about her, he’ll open right up.”

Before anyone can ask anything else, Geralt returns. After taking one look at him, Jaskier knows something is wrong. There’s tension about him but his face is a blank mask.

“Something wrong, love?” Jaskier whispers, barely realising that he even said the endearment.

“Work,” Geralt grunts.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s father says, “Julian tells us you have a daughter?”

Geralt face lights up immediately. It’s such a charming sight. Jaskier’s chest constricts with how everything in him screams and begs don’t ever go.

“Yes,” he answers and launches into talking about Cirilla – how old she is, where she goes to school, what she likes doing. How she loved to paint her little hands on the walls when she was six. Soon after that, everyone shares funny stories about children, either their own or themselves as kids.

Jaskier zones out a bit, too busy wondering why Geralt took his hand away when he reach for it.

Later, Jaskier’s parents invite Geralt to stay for the night, which makes the fake-fiance scheme a success; they wouldn’t allow someone who they thought to be a stranger to sleep in their house.

Geralt doesn’t take them up on their offer.

TBC

Part 6

***

A/N: Rozalia is the Horror while Jaskier is the Wild 💕 (Amelia is the nasty angel baby. They adore her for it. Must protecc).

(Also, I love making up OCs, can you tell? XD)

#myfic #geraskier #the Sailor and the Singer AU #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #fake dating #geralt x jaskier

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