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cyn-00 · 5 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 12 - "can't lose you"

Season 11, episode 18 "A beautiful disaster". This is straight up how I would've preferred the episode to go

I have to say some things! 1) This one was litterally the last good and easy idea I had, it's gonna be a while before I can find some more Moreid inspiration since now I'm at season 12...(and you know what that means *crying in the club*) 2) I kinda didn't wanna spoil anything until you actually READ it (like I want there to be "plot twists" and stuff), though if you have a good memory you've already spoiled it for yourself lmao

y'all I edited this at least 3 times over the past months and it still...kinda...sucks. Please keep your expectations meek *curls into a ball*

Read it on AO3

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Derek furiously stormed out of Hotch's office, slamming the door behind him.

"Morgan!" he heard Aaron's voice calling his name from inside, mad that he had interrupted their argument in such a rude and disrespectful way.

It was the first of 3 days of Derek's suspension. However, that morning he'd been called in by Hotch to be given yet another bad news. Probably the worst news Morgan had ever received from him.

Since Strauss had passed away, the BAU had felt like they were somewhat off the hook, disciplinary measure-wise - but nobody had the guts to admit it out loud. On that specific occasion, though, Morgan had fucked up big time - there's just no other way to say it.

A few days before that, they were working on a case in Chicago's south side - Derek's hometown - where a "vigilante" had murdered 5 people among prostitutes, homeless and drug addicts, some of them barely 18 years old, by choking them. Clearly, that case really got under Derek's skin, so when the team had finally located the unsub, he snapped.

JJ and him had arrived first: it was dark and sketchy, hence she wanted to wait for the others, but Derek had vanished into the alleys before they'd even got a chance to actually SEE the guy.

Morgan had supposedly chased the unsub for a while, guided by just his dark shadow, until he lost him altogether. The unsub surprised him from behind a dumpster, making him accidentally drop his gun; so, obviously, the dynamic had quickly transitioned into a fist fight. Derek had got lucky enough that the rest of the team had found them and stopped the unsub before he could choke him with his forearm, against a brickwall.

So yeah: he had really screwed up big time. And even being the most comprehensive and tolerant chief that Mateo Cruz was, he couldn't close an eye on that one. So he suspended him for 3 days - basically, from the next case coming up.

But the suspension was nothing, NOTHING compared to what Hotch had just told him.

Derek was halfway to his own office, but heard the door of Hotch's office open again far behind him.

"Morgan!" Aaron's voice got louder as he reached him and grabbed his arm to stop him. Derek turned around.

"I-I'm sorry, Hotch- look. I'm not mad at you, I get it, this wasn't your fault." he sighed in resignation, shaking his head, seeing that Aaron's raging features had quieted down - probably because he immediately understood where Derek was going with that. He stayed silent for a while, wearing a lost expression.

"I just don't know how to tell him." he finally confessed, lowering his voice and directing his gaze toward Reid from afar, who was entering the bullpen through the glass doors along with JJ, right in that moment - which meant that luckily he'd heard none of that argument, at least. Not that that was of much comfort anyway, considering the news he was gonna receive in a few minutes.

"I know." Hotch said apologetically, patting a hand on Morgan's shoulder before heading back to his office. Seeing the growing anxiousness in him, and how much there was on his plate already, he decided to let him deal with that, figuring that scolding him for his previous behavior was only gonna add to it all.

JJ was chatting with Reid about something while walking past the sliding doors. Rather than talking with him, though, she was talking to him: he wasn't really listening that much, let alone participating.

Since the day Derek had made that mess, things hadn't been very good between him and Spencer - to use an euphemism. And everyone had noticed it. They had a big fight right after what happened; a second fight as soon as Derek had told him about the suspension, and - icing on the cake - they hadn't spent a single night together since then, staying at their own places: one might think it wasn't too bad, since after all only a week had passed, but considering that they ALWAYS went home together, it was...bad.

Being kind of everyone's counselor, Penelope almost always knew each and every side to the same story - not that the others wanted to, but she had such a persuasive way of making one spill whatever they had to spill. For said reason, she'd felt sure enough that she could reassure both Spencer and Derek that the situation of tension between them, that feeling of being lost and not knowing what to do, was just temporary.

Hence, Spencer came up with an idea to try and patch things up, an idea that had been wandering in his head for a while now, but he'd always wanted to wait for the "right" time. He figured that was the right time.

He raised his eyes from the floor and saw Hotch and Morgan, each heading back to their own offices. But Morgan got suspended, he thought, so the only reason why he would've had to be there was that Hotch had specifically asked him to. And there was no way on Earth that could be a good sign.

"...Spence?" JJ tried to catch his attention, seeing that he had stopped walking all of a sudden and was now looking up with a confused frown on his face. Receiving no answer, she shifted her eyes too, to see what could be so interesting that got him staring that intensely.

"Uhm- what is Derek doing here?" she asked, finally acknowledging the distraction.

"I don't know. I'm gonna go figure out though." he replied without shifting his eyes from Derek's office door, closing behind him.

"If...if you don't mind, I mean." he added politely once he'd regained awareness of his surroundings, now giving her puppy eyes.

"Come on now." she said rolling her eyes, wondering why he even doubted that she would let him go. "Go ahead! Do what you have to do." she nodded, affectionately patting her hand on Reid's shoulder.

Derek was in his office with the lights off, hunched over the desk to lean on his arms and, obviously, his back was facing the door.

"Hey, uhm...can I get in?" he heard Spencer's muffled voice from outside, knocking on the door.

Derek suddenly opened his eyes, feeling his breathing get heavier by the second; a sensation of unbearable coldness flowing inside his veins and freezing his blood.

Receiving no answer, Spencer chose not to get in yet, afraid to bother him.

"Der- I- I have to tell you something... Are you alright?" he kept talking to him through the door. His voice was so gentle, Morgan was dying inside at the idea of having to tear him apart with the things he had to tell him.

Derek kept ignoring him, so Spencer figured he'd just come in. He closed the door behind him and put his satchel on the floor, switching the light on.

"...What was that thing with Hotch about?" he asked nervously, fiddling with his hands.

Derek didn't move.

Spencer took a few, slow steps toward him, till he could finally see his face. He seemed... concerned, to say the least: his jaw clenched tight as if trying to contain the urge of throwing up, his eyes were open but glued to the floor; his whole body looked petrified, while on the other hand, his brain seemed to be working overload: it was almost as if he were keeping something from him - which he was, unbeknownst to Spencer so far.

"... Derek?" Spencer called him softly with an expression of deep worry, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

Derek flinched at Spencer's touch, like his skin was so hypersensitive that even so much as a stroke of fingers through the cotton fabric of his henley was enough to bring him back to reality and finally face him, straightening up.

A part of Spencer was faintly relieved that he'd managed to awaken him, but the most part was utterly freaked out by his demeanor, bringing him to instantly take his hand off of him.

"Can I tell you something first?" Derek managed to finally speak up, his voice deep and slightly wavering, only adding to the discomfort possessing the man beside him.

Spencer nodded worriedly.

Derek sighed heavily, trying to find the right words to tell him what he had to tell him; his forehead was already glimmering with cold sweat. Problem was, there were no right words to announce something like that: he was expecting Spencer's reaction to be nothing short of sheer distraught regardless.

"Spencer, I- I'm leaving." he ultimately stated, getting to the point without mincing his words.

Derek had to leave. That was the terrible news Hotch had given him about 15 minutes before.

He had made sure Morgan understood that neither him or Cruz had had a say in that decision. He'd also made sure to remind him - but that, Morgan knew already - that the Board had been considering to transfer him for months, due to a series of reasons, and that mistake was just yet another excuse added to their list. Moreover, Hotch said that the Board had cared enough to specify that among those reasons, Derek being a risk to the stability of the Unit wasn't one of those. In reality, he was convinced at least as much as Morgan was, that that one had been the ONLY effective reason leading to his transfer: proof of such thesis was in the fact that, during all those months, the Board hadn't been sly enough to avoid hinting here and there that Derek had been, quote unquote, "more of a damage to the Unit than a valuable resource" for some time now.

The second those words left his mouth, Derek saw a painful scowl crinkle the space in between his boyfriend's eyebrows. The man was looking sternly into his eyes without blinking, although his visibly trembling breath was betraying that apparent composure.

"W-what do you mean?" Spencer asked after a few seconds of silence, during which he had tried to wrap his mind around that idea, even though he understood what that meant perfectly.

"Hotch said..." Derek paused, shifting his eyes to face the floor, unable to bear with the look Spencer was giving him any longer. "...he said that the Board have been thinking about transferring me to another unit since October. But that last...that last slip, gave them the final excuse."

"Transfer w-where ??"

"DC headquarters." Derek answered, aware that the fact that Washington DC was just an hour car ride from Quantico didn't make any difference. For that matter, it could've been 12 hours: how near or far wasn't the problem.

"Wasn't the suspension enough?" Spencer questioned further, incredulous.

Morgan merely shook his head.

"And you couldn't just say no??" the other added - quite naively on his part - raising is voice, which was getting a bit squeaky as it always did when he was mad.

Derek sighed, frowning. "No, kid, look-"

"Just- don't call me names right now, I wanna know WHY you didn't refuse ?? After all it's nothing but a damn job offer, no one can force you to quit if you don't want to!" Spencer interrupted him before he could even explain, as his sadness was morphing into pure anger.

"It's not a job offer, Spencer. It's- I don't know, it's like when years ago JJ left: Strauss forced her to." Derek explained as crystal-clear as he could, trying not to sound too annoyed by how straight up dumb Spencer was acting in that moment.

Reid stayed silent for a while, gaping and squinting his eyes at him, like he was trying to figure out something that Derek didn't want to confess.

"Is it because you want ? You want to leave?" he asked more calmly. That question only proved that he hadn't even physically heard what Derek had just told him.

"What the hell- are you even LISTENING to me?? Do you realize that what you're implying makes no sense? I don't want to leave, it's either this or being fired altogether, do you understand? I have NO say in this, I have no choice what so ever." he paused, letting out a quivering sigh.

"Fuck, Spencer." Derek concluded like that, with his arms spread open and an expression full of all the rage that he had tried to keep buried inside so far, because he knew he should've had to be prepared for such a reaction. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't tried, though.

Hearing someone scream at him like that always scared Spencer a little, he had to admit. But when Derek screamed at him, it was not only that: it was also painful, because it meant that he was the one hurt and scared in the first place. And, to Spencer, there was nothing scarier than the person who had always protected him and stayed strong for him turning into a scared person.

His eyes filled with tears of frustration, but he was determined to keep looking firmly into Derek's while spitting out to his face what he'd been holding inside since the beginning.

"You did have a choice, though." Reid started, gulping immediately after to try and steady his voice. "You said it yourself that you've known for months the Board were keeping an eye on you- and I KNOW they specifically have a problem with you for no apparent reason - there's no denying that. But exactly because of that, you should've been more careful. You chose to play rebel, untamed, indipendent like you always do when someone wrongs you, and I get that, I- I admire you for that to be quite honest, most of the times, but not this time. Because you know that your voice counts as much as zero to the Board, Derek- you have no power over them, none of us do- not even CRUZ or HOTCH for God's sake! And once again you chose to jeopardize your position, instead of stepping down and getting over your ego." he stopped for a second to quickly wipe off a tear that managed to escape his eye.

"And you knew this would affect me, too." he sniffled. "You KNEW that."

All those things Spencer said - partially right - left Derek speechless and with his heart shattered into a million pieces. Did it even make sense to apologize? To say a corny "I'm sorry"? What would that get him - or either of them?

So he just stood there, jerking his tingling eyes away from him because he couldn't keep up with that stare any longer.

Spencer's phone buzzed. He took it out of his pants pocket and read Garcia's text.

"New case! Briefing in 5 mins ;)" it said. If only she knew what Derek had just told him, he thought for a second.

"We-uhm...I have a case." Spencer said, his voice hoarse.

Derek clenched his jaw and ran a palm over his face, as the knot in his throat tightened tenfold: a case meant that they were gonna see each other again in 3 or 4 days at best. He hated the idea that they were splitting up like that, mad at one another.

Spencer had already picked up his bag and was about to open the door, when the other spoke up.

"W-wait, you said you had to tell me something...?"

Spencer sighed and took his hand off the doorknob, turning around. He hadn't forgotten about it - you can't put "Spencer Reid" and "forget" in the same phrase. He was hoping Derek had, though.

He stepped closer, searching for something in his jacket pocket. Without saying anything, he picked out a key and handed it to him.

Derek took it, looking into Spencer's eyes.

"Is- is this the key to your place?" he asked with his mouth hanging open, hesitant to wrap his mind around what Reid was implying with that gesture.

"I was planning on asking you...to move in with me." he shrugged, unable to keep the angry-and-outraged-tone thing going on because of the look he was giving him. "I thought it would bring us together but, look- I don't even know, at this point. I'm gonna let you choose what you wanna do with it." he concluded, resuming that unfazed attitude from earlier.

Derek wanted to wrap him tight in his arms and cry on his shoulder. He wanted to undo what he'd done and go back to how things were before. He wanted to run his fingers through his silky curls and tell him that he was sorry, sorry for letting the impulse of the moment overpower his rationality, and for not having thought of him when doing so; sorry for not having paid attention; sorry for having snapped at him a few minutes before; sorry for ruining everything: he wanted to say that corny "I'm sorry" despite having just decided against it. He wanted to crumble on the floor and hug his knees like a child, whispering a million "I love you"s while Spencer caressed his head, telling him that it was ok, that he had forgiven him. But it wasn't ok. Not anymore.

Morgan dismissed all those options, deciding instead to simply place a hand on his tear-dampened cheek; a hand that was shaking at the only concept of being rejected in a few seconds.

"Spencer...please." he murmured, unable to get a hold of the trembling of his bottom lip and the gradual blurring of his vision; symptoms of a raw cry he'd been keeping at bay for too long.

Spencer shook his head and slowly took Derek's wrist, pulling his hand away. He turned around and opened the door at last.

He froze in spot when Hotch appeared right in front of him, about to knock.

"I was right about to call you, we're all in the conference room already." he said to him with a slightly concerned look, seeing the upset expression on his face.

"I'm here now." Reid replied with an unsettling coldness, getting out of the room by quickly slipping through the gap between him and the door jamb.

Hotch stood there for a second, without actually entering the office, staring at Morgan with a look that said everything there was to say, needless to pronounce a syllable.

He sighed and walked away, heading back to the conference room.

- 7 days later, 12:30 am ca.

The team were on the jet, 30 minutes from Quantico, after a case in Phoenix, Arizona - long case, long flight. During which, Reid made sure that he was sitting alone.

He knew that Morgan had tried to call him, several times, and even left a message, but he just couldn't let himself get distracted while working on such a hard case.

Now that said case was over, though, there were no more valid excuses to keep ignoring him: he picked out the phone from his pocket and sighed, preparing himself for whatever Derek said in that voice message.

"Hey, look- I know you're ignoring me on purpose, and I get it, alright? But, just- call me back, please ?" there was a long pause, followed by a deep sigh. "I miss you, kid. Bye."

Spencer's heart broke in half. He didn't know what to do: he felt like he'd been too harsh on him but, at the same time, Derek had really messed up, and he wanted him to realize that he couldn't just bury the hatchet like nothing happened.

Another thing that was bothering Spencer was that he couldn't even tell the others. He was the only one that knew about Derek leaving, besides of course Derek himself and Hotch. For the past week he'd really had a hard time trying not to break and just blurt out everything, each time JJ had asked him what was troubling him so much and if he had made up with Derek; or, way worse, each time Garcia had called, admitting to him that she'd tried to reach out to them both, hoping at least one would spit it out. But, as much as he was still holding a hell of a grudge on him, Spencer could've never brought himself to be disrespectful to the point of telling everyone. Morgan had to do it, on his own terms, once they got back.

Spencer's flood of thoughts was interrupted by Hotch, approaching him - to be fair, he was quite surprised that he had decided to talk to him just then, 30 minutes from landing. He literally had hours of flight to do it.

"Can I sit here for a second?" he asked politely. Spencer nodded.

Aaron sat down, leaning closer to him with his hands crossed on the tray table.

"I don't want what I'm going to say to sound like a lecture, partly because it's not really my business and partly because you surely have already figured it out on your own." Hotch said straight up but quietly, aware of how Reid didn't like the others knowing about his personal stuff.

Spencer frowned, without saying anything yet, allowing him to continue with his speech to have actual proof that he was about to say what he guessed he was about to say.

"I need you to understand that the Board would've transferred Morgan anyway sooner or later, regardless of this specific mistake. They've been thinking that he isn't suit to stay in our Unit for a while now." he continued, looking straight into Reid's eyes to catch his reaction. It kinda was what Spencer had guessed he was gonna say.

"I-I know that. Point is, he should've been more careful anyway. Maybe at some point they would've given up...I-I don't know." Spencer answered ingenuously, toying with the buckle of his satchel resting on his lap.

"Yes, he should've been more careful. But no, they wouldn't have given up." the other man replied, getting to the point like he always did.

"All I'm saying is, try not to make things harder for him..." he paused. "...and for yourself." Hotch concluded, confident that he'd understand what he meant.

Spencer finally raised his chin, following the other man with his big eyes as he stood up and went back to sit where he was sitting before.

- an hour and a half later (2 am ca.)

Spencer walked up the stairs of the building - more accurately: dragged himself up the stairs - and got to the front door of his apartment. As he searched for the keys in his pockets, it came to his mind that he probably had to text Derek back, at that point. Even though it was 2 am, which meant he probably wouldn't have replied until morning, he felt like it was only fair to at least let him know that they were back in Quantico.

He opened the door, turning on the lampshade over the dresser, and dropped his jacket on a chair along with his heavy bag. He breathed out a slightly nervous sigh while staring pensively at the phone in his hand.

"Back home...sorry, long case. I'll call you in the morning ?" he pressed 'send' without thinking about it too much. Again: it was 2 am, he was too damn exhausted to stress over a text.

As soon as he put his phone back in his pants pocket, he heard a buzz, like another phone notification buzz, somewhere in the room. Spencer widened his eyes open like he suddenly had some sort of intuition.

He quickly picked his phone back out of the pocket and browsed through his contacts to make a call.

Spencer heard the unknown phone once again buzzing through the silence of the room, so he kept the call going to try and locate where the faint noise was coming from. Following it, he slowly made his way around the couch, which faced the window - not the front door.

He hung up the call and brought a hand to his mouth as a silly smile appeared on his face: Derek was lying down on the couch, sleeping. Of course he wasn't able to see him before.

He was wearing one of Spencer's huge, grandpa-like sweaters, which Spencer really only used when he was too lazy to do the whole button-down + tie + cardigan + jacket thing - almost never. He didn't wanna wake him up, aware that it was very late; on the other hand though, seeing him like that made him want to hug him so bad, and feel his warm touch, and the subtle smell of his skin, and hear his deep voice that made his insides flutter.

Spencer quietly sat on his heels on the carpet, and stared at him with heart eyes for a while.

He couldn't resist the urge, and decided that it wouldn't hurt anyone if he carefully reached his hand out to stroke the man's chin with his thumb, light as a butterfly.

Derek suddenly woke up, gasping.

"Spencer-" he softly called out his name; a faint hoarseness in his voice. "You scared me" he added with the widest smile.

"I- I'm sorry, I couldn't just let you sleep." the other replied, smiling shyly before running his tongue in between his lips.

"I tried to stay awake waiting for you..."

"Yeah, I figured" Spencer giggled.

They stared into each other's eyes for a while; Spencer's thumb inching a little upwards to brush on Derek's bottom lip - both of them pretended he'd done that unconsciously.

Suddenly, he averted eyes and took his hand off of him. His smile faded away, as if the fight they had a few days before had popped back to the forefront of his mind, coming from some place until then hidden.

Spencer gulped and tucked his hair behind his ears; one of many nervous tics of his. There were still a couple things he needed to get off his chest.

"Listen, uhm...I don't want you to beat yourself up too much over this like you're the only one to blame for it- I mean, I'm not talking about the Board, I know you're already aware that they've always had some...you know, doubts, about you, wha-what I mean is that I made some mistakes, too" Spencer finally said. He got back to looking at him and sighed. "I said some really stupid- and mean, things."

Derek stared at him with sad eyes, slightly shaking his head. "Kid-"

"Wait, I owe you an explanation, please." Spencer interrupted him immediately, with pleading eyes.

Morgan nodded, not without a moment of hesitation, though.

"When I said that thing about you having an inflated ego and-and I, basically I implied that you are selfish...that's so not true, because what you did that night was the opposite of selfish, and all these things that you do sometimes, putting yourself at risk...that's irresponsible, but not selfish." he paused, as if rethinking what he'd just rushedly said.

"You're NOT selfish. That's literally one of the most untrue, dumb things I could've said. But- but I was scared! You know? And that's what I do when I really care, I-I can't help it really, I ramble and say stupid thi-"

"Spencer." Derek stopped him right there, placing his warm hand on his jaw.

"I know. All of this, I know. But what it's done it's done, keeping on feeling bad about it and wondering if things could've gone differently it's just not gonna do us any good." he swallowed. "If-if anything, it's just gonna break us apart. And I can't think about that. We're gonna figure it out, you know..." he lowered his voice to almost a whisper, too afraid of the weight of what he was about to say.

He started running his fingers through Spencer's soft hair, a gesture that neither could quite explain how it worked like magic to calm down both of them - ok, NOT true. Of course Reid could explain why physical contact was notoriously soothing. What he couldn't explain, was why for him that applied only to Morgan's touch.

"I just can't lose you over this." Derek said at last, once the magic had worked.

Spencer's heart melted like when you hold a chocolate too long in your hand. Like Derek had held his heart too long in his warm hand.

"You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever." he hurried to reply, right a second before leaning closer, cupping his boyfriend's face and pressing their lips together.

Derek wrapped his arms securely around him, without bothering to sit up; the hand already entangled in his hair slid a few inches downward to massage the back of his soft neck. He let Spencer's tongue tenderly slip into his mouth, squeezing him tighter to get deeper but keeping it slow and intense. He wanted to take his time to savour his sweetness, that velvet-like way only that man's tongue had to melt into his mouth during the most lazy, chaste and gentle kisses as well as the messiest, hottest, most needy ones. He hadn't felt one of Spencer's kisses for so long that he just wished it could last for hours.

The other's sugar mouth started to slow down until that gum-mushing kiss was over altogether.

Much to Derek's relief, Spencer only parted his lips from his for a few seconds, in order to steady his breathing, and started sprinkling quick pecks on his mouth right after; one leading to another like cherries.

Derek couldn't bring himself to stop him.

"I...missed you...so fucking m'ch" he kissed back, "you and...your stupid kisses" another one, " 'nd I...love you."

After maybe 10 of those suffocating pecks - not enough, if he had to be honest - Derek pulled back slightly.

"Come here." he ordered, patting his hand on the cushion beneath him and shifting closer to the backrest of the couch to make space for the skinny man.

Spencer nodded immediately and stood up to quickly kick his shoes off and untie his tie. He laid down onto his side next to Derek, facing him to keep staring into his eyes.

They stayed like that for some minutes, relishing in the quiet. Spencer was so tired he inadvertently closed his eyes, at some point, still with a hand resting on Derek's temple.

"Can't believe you didn't notice this sweater is yours." Derek mocked, keeping his voice down to a whisper but well aware that the other was still awake.

Spencer giggled and shrugged briefly, without even bothering to open his eyes.

"I did, actually. It just looks better on you."

Derek snorted. "Doubt it, pretty boy."

They drifted to sleep a few moments later, into the comforting warmth of each other's bodies.

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vegetacide · 5 years ago

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Whump●tober - Human Shield

Veg-notables: Ya.. so this happened… sorry in advance.

As always, thanks to @gumnut-logic cause she just rocks and is a great parachute-less cliff diving instructor…

Thunderheads are my peeps. You guys are the best.

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Please don’t hit me, I had no control over where this one went. It’s all the TaG bois fault.. They made me do it….

Characters: Alan, Kayo, Scott and a Vegetable

Whumptober - TaG universe

Previous part HERE

4. Human Shield

Enjoy…

oOo

God, why had he done it? The question circled about in Alan's head endlessly and he was no closer to the answer then he had been when he parked his ass in the hard plastic seat at his brother's bedside.

With a groan of displeasure, he dropped his tired head into his hands. The exhaustion and worry weighed on him heavily and the walls he'd erected around his emotions were beginning to fail under the pressure. This just wasn’t fair.

The last week had been test in endurance, an all too common occurrence lately for International Rescue. The last 24 hours though, a complete nightmare. What had started out as standard operation had turned into a complicated mess of secret agendas, hidden rooms and black market profits or so he had gathered from the little snippets he’d heard from Scott’s conversations.

Alan used ‘conversations’ very loosely though as it had been much more like a verbal assault and evisceration. Scott; when prompted, was truly masterful and scary at assassination by oral expression. Alan was pretty sure that whomever the words had been directed would be licking their wounds for some time to come.

Not that any of that creative expression was going to change their current predicament in any way.

Staring blindly at the floor, Alan rubbed at his aching, tired eyes and the whirlwind of this thoughts started up again, circling back to the beginning for a joyful trip down memory lane.

The snap shots of what his witnessed first hand at that facility made his breath shudder and he clenched his lids to stymie the threatening tears.

‘I will not cry. I will hold it together.’ He repeated it like a mantra in his head, lips moving along though no words came out.

Virgil had only been unconscious for a short time but in that brief measure Alan swore he had lived a life time. The heft of his brother’s frame slumped against his shoulder as he’d half dragged, half carried the pilot from the newly ignited inferno was an experience he never wanted to revisit.

The blood; there had been so much of it, had stained the side of his own uniform. It had seeped into the joints of his chest plating, the seams of his flight suit and had taken hours to get out of the crevasses.

He’d though at the time as he scrubbed away the evidence of the days events, that everything was going to be just fine. Virgil was home and resting in the medbay. Being monitored around the clock and tended by his loved ones.

The idiot had insisted after being patched up for what their family considered a minor laceration - twenty sutures in all - that being home would be more beneficial to his well being and recovery then being cooped up in some GDF medical ward.

Scott being Scott, hadn’t put up much of a fight and had conceded when Virgil had expertly sweetened the pot. Alan could still see the look in brother’s gaze and hear pleading in his voice as he’d all but begged.

‘Scott, you know you won’t be satisfied unless you can mother hen.. I’ll submit to whatever you want without complaint. I just want to go home.’

Scott had sighed. The simple sound speaking of the many years and gray hair that the family had added to his tall frame. With a single nod, a doctor’s sign off and a bucket full of antibiotics and they’d all headed home.

It had been the wrong move and the repercussions of that decision had yet to fully be revealed.

Within hours of them setting foot on their island paradise the fever had started. Minor at first and brushed off easily with a top of on drugs, wound cleaning and a bandage change. They were tired, worn down and stressed so the temperature spike had been attributed to that.

A mainland doctor had been consulted just to be safe and the orders of bed rest had been repeated.

The fever had climbed and the delirium had set in not long after.

They’d had to resort to restraints just to get him to Auckland. Even with him being drugged and out of it, Virgil was a powerhouse. It had taken himself, Scott and Gordon to get him secured and stowed away on Two for the short trip to the mainland. By the time they’d arrived; engines pinging as they cooled from being pushed so hard, Virgil had slipped into a coma.

Why? His tumultuous mind spat out again.

Why had Virgil insisted on coming home?

Why had Scott let him?

Why had his big, stupid brother used own body as a shield? The idiot didn’t have chest plating like he did, so why?

Walls crumbling, Alan cracked wide open. Tears welling and spilling over his cheeks. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening. Virgil was dying and they couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The fleet of Doctors didn’t have a clue as to the cause. They placated and offered their sympathy but they were doing everything they could. Virgil just wasn’t responding to treatment. The wound was clean, surgery had confirmed that there was no debris or shrapnel present. Still, the infection raged on.

More tests were being run. Infectious Diseases had been brought in to assist but still they were doubtful and had said as much to the family.

The news had destroyed their Grandmother. The usually strong battle axe had just lost too much over the years and the down cast eyes and shaking heads of the doctors broke her.

A sedative had been administered and the calming presence of Lady Penelope had steered her to a private waiting room to rest.

The others? Well, Alan suspected they weren’t faring much better than he was but he hadn’t conversed with them to verify. They’d just ghosted in and stay for a while and ghosted back out again, registering much more than that had been beyond Alan.

Regaining some semblance of control over himself, Alan wiped at his face and looked over to the bed and the still figure that laid upon it. Monitors blipped with readings for heart rate, oxygen saturation levels, blood pressure and temperature.

He was well versed in form and function of each machine and in this situation he wished he wasn’t. All they did was emphasis that death was creeping into the sterile room one blip at a time. Turning his gaze away from them almost immediately, he took in the ghost like appearance of his sibling.

Virgil’s hair hung dark and limp over his sweat dampened brow. Dark shadows bruised the hallows of his eyes, lightly tacked shut with surgical tape. An intubation tube snaked down his throat and was feeding his failing lungs oxygen via a mechanical ventilator. He looked waxen and unreal except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Every manner of mechanized assistance was being utilized and even to Alan’s young mind, he knew things were bleak. He’s seen and been witness to just too many things to think otherwise.

Reaching over he took one cold hand in his own and dropped his head to the back of it, mindful of the IV lines and O2 monitor. “Virgil, please.” He begged, his breath hitching as a new wave of tears threatened. “You can’t do this to us…”

The soft hand that landed on his shoulder surprised him and made him squeak in a way that he didn’t care for. Jumping up and turning, he came face to face with the one person that had been missing through all of this.

Tanusha “Kayo” Kyrano, stood pale and for the first time since he had known her, small before him. A twitch of a smile, tweaked the corner of her lip but it didn’t reach her red rimmed eyes.

“Hey.” Her voice was hoarse,

“Kayo..” Alan didn’t know what to say to her. Really what was there that he could say. Instead he opened his arms in invitation. She accepted and stepped into his embrace, strong, slender arms wrapping around him, head falling to his shoulder.

Holding her slim form he whispered in her ear. “I am so so sorry…”

She pulled back from him, eyes flashed with a hint of anger. “This wasn’t your fault, Alan so don’t you dare blame yourself for it.”

Alan swallowed, shocked by the strength of the vehemence behind her words. “Kayo….”

“No!” She cut him off. “The blame lies in someone else’s hands and I will not let this family suffer more for their actions. Do you hear me?”

Alan nodded.

“Good.”

It was then that he noticed Scott standing by the large windowless door. His arms crossed protectively over his chest, shoulders slouched, his dark brown hair in complete disarray as if his hand had carelessly racked through it countless times.

Piercing blue eyes stood out in stark relief and looked directly into his own, his brow arching up in question.

Alan gave a nod in understanding and stepped back from Kayo, hands resting on her arms. “I’m going to go take a walk.. I need some air. Do you want anything?”

Kayo’s weakly shook her head, her pale green eyes now glued to the bed.

Giving her arm a supportive squeeze, he stepped past her and made for the door. Passing through on the tail of Scott into the busy hallways beyond.

As the door started to quietly close, he glanced back and pulled up short.. His hand shooting out to bar the progress of the hinged obstruction that was determined to separate them.

He watched unable to command his body to move as the solitary tear carved a path down Kayo’s finely boned face. Her lips were moving in what he could only guess was silent prayer as her fingers twirled a strand of Buddhist prayer beads. The length sliding through her daft digits over and over again with each silent utterance.

The pain blooming in his chest caused his breath to catch in his throat and Alan grabbed at the door frame to steady himself. This wasn’t fair. Oh God, it wasn’t fair.

And as he stood vigil, bearing witness to the sad, tender moment between his fallen brother and his adoptive sister the soft light of the setting sun peeked through a small fissure in the blinds. Haloed, Kayo lent down over the shell of a once strong man, pressed her brow to his own and wept.

oOo

Next part HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober #whumptober2019 #no.4 #human shield #thunderbirds are go #thunderbird 2015 #thunderbird fanfic #thunderbird fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #at death's door #the prompt made me do it #sorry not sorry #prompt fic #going wild #please forgive me

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pinkrival · 5 years ago

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anonymous said: Could you make a post about Peony and Petunia's backgrounds as well as how Bede recruited them and their relationship with him? Really like your blog btw!

aww, thank you, anon!

originally i was just going to link back to the post i originally made about them and then maybe expand on what i already wrote... but then i decided that was boring, so i did you one better!

-------

❝ it seems lady opal has picked a successor. ❞ nan mentions offhandedly over tea one day. ( she isn’t really your nan, but in a town as small as ballonlea, everyone starts to feel like family eventually. )

you arch a brow. opal had been looking for someone to pass down her title to for as long as you could remember. you would have been lying if you tried to say you didn’t spend much of your childhood dreaming about taking the role for yourself. nothing came of it, of course; you and your sister both dropped out of the gym challenge when kabu proved too difficult a roadblock to overcome, and that was the end of your professional battling career. still, you look to peony, trusting her to read the silent question in your eyes.

she dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and asks, ❝ what are they like? ❞

nan ponders this for a moment, then says, ❝ he’s... interesting. ❞

and that was the end of that.

-------

even in a town as isolated as ballonlea, the champion cup is a big deal.

the employees at the tiny general store had been gathered around the telly, mumbling to each other during the intermission before the finals. ( they only dragged out the old television during this time of year, you knew. it was too distracting, otherwise. ) one cashier was begrudgingly handing money over to another — from his grumbling, you pieced together he had bet on the champion’s younger brother to come out victorious.

❝ — can’t tell me you aren’t miffed by all this, too! ❞ he was still ranting when you walked over to the counter and started unloading your groceries. impidimp nudges your leg and holds up a chocolate bar, eyes pleading. ❝ petunia! ❞ you look over at the sound of your name, snatching up the candy and placing it with the rest of your purchases. ( impidimp cackles victoriously. ) ❝ who are you pulling for, huh? hop, right? hop should’ve been the favorite to win! ❞

you glance at the screen, then back to him. you shrug. no preference.

it only takes a few minutes to bag and pay for your groceries. the walk home isn’t a very long one — yet another good thing about living in a town as small as ballonlea. the streets are even more deserted than usual, with everyone likely at home and glued to the telly, waiting for the intermission to be over. it’s only you and peony this year. mum and dad are off in unova, busy working on their next big pokemon musical ( they made you promise to record the finals ) and nan is at the stadium. had to take care of something, she said. you assume it has to do with lady opal and the new successor.

you make it to the cottage ( hopefully ) before the intermission ends. it takes a bit of finagling to get the door open with your hands full, but you manage. impidimp races inside, waving around his half-eaten chocolate bar like it’s a prize.

❝ PETUNIA! ❞ your sister shouts as you’re unloading the snack haul. you think maybe you cut it a bit closer than intended — but there’s something about the urgency in her voice that makes you suspect this has to do with more than the start of the finals.

you peek into the living room, bag of crisps still in hand. it’s a mess — the floor is covered in a mismatched flood of blankets and pillows. impidimp bounces on a stolen couch cushion, kicking his little feet to and fro. there’s a bowl of what was once popcorn — now reduced to a pathetic handful of kernels — and an embarrassing number of empty soda cans, enough to stack into a pyramid shape. at the center of this chaos is your twin, wrapped in a cheri berry-patterned comforter. her hair is a mess and she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas. none of this strikes you as particularly unusual.

then she points at the telly and you follow the movement with your eyes.

the finals have started — or have they? you squint. there’s a boy on the screen you only vaguely recognize. his hair is a mop of pale curls and something about his eyes cuts right through you. it takes you a moment to notice what he’s wearing ( is that a gym leader’s outfit? ) and then another moment to recognize ballonlea’s trademark pastels. ( that’s our gym leader’s outfit. )

you feel the bag slip right out of your hands. this must be lady opal’s successor. which means... lady opal’s successor just crashed the finals. oh. oh.

somehow, you manage to find your voice just to say what peony is too kind to. ❝ he’s going to make us all look like idiots. ❞

she bites her bottom lip, but doesn’t disagree.

-------

despite giving up on your gym leader dreams, you and your sister still enjoy a good battle.

you mostly dabble in doubles these days. perhaps that was the reason why neither of you managed to make it through the gym challenge — individually, your skills are nothing to write home about, but together you become an unstoppable combo. twin telepathy, peony often claims. ( the same so-called telepathy that allows her to translate your thoughts into speech without ever asking you to voice them. ) if only the league challenge allowed you to participate in pairs; perhaps things would be different, then.

❝ aww. ❞ your opponent groans. ❝ bested again by foxglove’s fury. ❞ it’s a nickname the townspeople gave the two of you when you were children; your combined talent for double battles quickly became infamous. thus, foxglove’s fury. you didn’t care for it much, but peony thought it was simply adorable. you tolerated it for her sake.

❝ that was so much fun... ❞ she turns to you, clapping her hands in delight. ever since the finals, it felt like your passion for battling had returned with a vengeance. ( though you were mostly just glad to see peony actually happy about something. ) you nod, mirroring her smile. impidimp tries to give swirlix a high five, only to forget he doesn’t have arms to reciprocate it with. he gets around this issue by sticking his hand on the other pokemon’s face... affectionately? nailed it.

❝ evidently the rumors were true. ❞ an unfamiliar voice reaches your ears. you turn around to look at the speaker, and freeze when you realize who it is.

the gym leader. lady opal must have been teaching him well, if he had already mastered the art of appearing out of seemingly nowhere. it’s strange seeing him in person. he’s smaller than you expected, yet sharper. vibrant and ethereal in a way the screen couldn’t quite capture that did him proper justice. ( those eyes are even more piercing up close. ) he tilts his head, regarding you and your sister with a calculating stare. unexpectedly, the gym leader raises his hands to clap. one, two, three times. a polite gesture — yet something about it screams awkward and stilted and artificial. ❝ it seems you do have some measure of talent. ❞

you look at peony. she looks at you, then back to him. ❝ um... ❞ her voice threatens to falter. ❝ s — sorry, but... did you need something? ❞

he nods, then says, ❝ battle me. ❞

what.

❝ what? ❞ peony voices your thought aloud, though she seems just as shocked as you are.

the gym leader ( what was his name again? beet... bede or something? ) seems unsympathetic. he takes a step closer, tilting his head. there’s something challenging in his violet stare — hungry for a fight. ❝ i said, battle me. ❞ blunt and to the point. ❝ i want to see how strong you are for myself. ❞

you and your sister exchange another glance. you frown. she turns back. ❝ we... we aren’t really sure... ❞

❝ fine. ❞ you’re surprised he gives up so quickly, but then he holds out a great ball. ❝ in that case, i’ll only use one pokemon. is that acceptable? ❞

you can feel peony’s eyes on you, searching for an answer. you glance at the great ball, then bede’s face. he looks determined. it’s actually a bit intimidating, how intense this kid seems. like he’s so ready to prove himself that he’s willing to go all in at a moment’s notice. ( is he always like this? ) after a moment, you shrug.

❝ well... ❞ peony still hesitates a second longer. ❝ okay... ❞ she perks up. ❝ y — yeah! we’ll show you! just because you’re lady opal’s successor doesn’t mean you can get all cocky y’know! ❞

-------

... you lose.

it doesn’t even seem to take much effort on bede’s part — his hatterene is simply a monster. you both throw your best strategies at him, and he easily dismantles them piece by piece. it’s more than a little humbling, to say the least.

after the battle, he regards both of you coolly. ❝ not bad. ❞ bede says. ( it sounds unnatural, like he isn’t used to giving compliments. ) ❝ although i can see substantial room for improvement. ❞ he looks at you for a moment longer, seemingly deep in thought. then he asks, ❝ how would you feel about becoming gym trainers? ❞

eventually, you both agree.

-------

as time goes by, you start to learn more and more about him.

first, the basics — his name is bede. he’s fifteen years old. ( fifteen! he’s practically still a baby. ) his birthday is on november eleventh. he’s left handed.

he prefers tea to coffee, and tells everyone he drinks it plain. ( the reality is usually an even mix of tea and copious amounts of honey. ) sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he’ll eat entire sugar cubes like candy. in spite of this, bede still claims to be indifferent towards sweets.

he’s quite possibly the most stubborn person you’ve ever met. once he sets his mind to something, he won’t give up even when common sense dictates his goal a lost cause.

he likes making bets and wagers — especially when he feels confident in his chances of victory. the gym leader claims not to cheat, yet petunia is utterly convinced she caught him sneaking extra pokeopoly money under the table during game night. you think cheating only counts as cheating when it comes to light, and stuff an extra wad of bills into your left sock to compensate. still, bede always ends up winning.

he devours knowledge like his life depends on it. occasionally you find him lurking around the gym, tearing through textbooks drier than the sands of stow-on-side.

he literally lives inside ballonlea stadium, out of what was once an old office or storage room. you discovered this when you opened the wrong door, only to be met with floral pattern sheets and a fluff of white hair you initially mistook for a very tiny wooloo. a sylevon sat curled upon the blanket pile. she blinked with curious eyes and purred loud enough for you to hear across the room. you wisely chose to shut the door.

he dislikes reporters and being interviewed, but will tolerate it up until a point. once they try to pry a little deeper than bede would like, he immediately makes up an excuse to cut things off.

he can literally eat the same exact food ad nauseam. you know this because you had to stop him from eating fruit yogurt and granola for breakfast for the sixth day in a row. ( begged him, please just let me make you an omelette, until he finally relented. )

fairy type pokemon all seem to adore him. he disappears into glimwood tangle for hours on end, and comes out with hatenna and impidimp following him like he’s the pied piper.

he has no knowledge of any popular tv shows or movies that aren’t related to pokemon battling. as this is an unforgivable crime, you declare a weekly movie night absolutely mandatory. he rolls his eyes the first time he hears it, yet still continues to show up and steal all the popcorn.

his moods tend to fluctuate. most days he’s confident and determined, if a bit aloof. then he slips into a sudden downward spiral and you can barely find him ( physically and emotionally ) let alone hold a conversation. it’s worrying. you look at this kid — technically your boss — and see the shadows of so many demons looming over him, knowing you can’t fight those battles for him because he won’t let you.

❝ what do you think about him? ❞ you decide to ask petunia on a whim. she thinks about it for a moment, then looks at you and shrugs, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards in a half-smile. her eyes are soft, clear fondness held in those evergreen depths.

you nod. ❝ yeah... i think so too. ❞

he’s kind of like the weird, prickly little brother you never had.

-------

❝ ... bede? ❞ it’s his room, so you do the polite thing and stand in the doorway — not entering without a proper invitation. ( even if he left it open. ) his back is mostly to you, crouched down in front of a drawer. you’re not sure what he’s doing — you’re not sure he’s doing anything, because he isn’t moving. it’s actually a bit eerie.

you open your mouth to call him again, when a flash of gold catches your eye — no, a watch? your brow furrows at this, but before you have time to think about what it means, bede turns around and catches your eye. ❝ peony — ? ❞ he looks... terrible. face pale. eyes flat and exhausted in a way they have no right being — not on someone that young. you can’t recall ever seeing bede look so frail and uncertain before, and it’s a bit jarring. like seeing a meowth suddenly start chattering in perfect english. ( you wonder what the watch means to him, if it has anything to do with this. it has to. )

quickly, you find yourself pulled out of your musings when he repeats your name again. you shake your head, feeling color pooling in your cheeks. ❝ aha! s — sorry! sorry, um. i wanted to ask about your plans for the gym mission — ❞

bede quickly puts the watch away — you can tell he tries to be sneaky about it, hoping you won’t notice. you pretend not to, if only for the sake of his pride.

... but as you go over the paperwork together, the gears are already turning in your head.

-------

❝ what... what is this — ? ❞ it’s almost funny how confused bede looks, standing there with a plate of cookies in his hands. he stares at them incredulously, as if he’s never seen oatmeal raisin in his entire life. ( you hope he likes them. you’re pretty sure he likes them. )

you swallow down your anxieties and reach out to ruffle his hair. ❝ cookies, silly! ❞ bede does the thing where he scrunches up his nose and squints at you — like he’s trying his absolute hardest to look displeased. ( but really isn’t. ) ❝ i made them for you! ❞

one would think the act of being given homemade cookies wouldn’t send one spiraling into emotional turmoil, but the array of expressions that flash across bede’s face indicate otherwise. his jaw works, and it takes him a moment to settle on a single word. ❝ ... why? ❞ why. like one tiny act of kindness is enough to throw his entire world into disarray. why. like it’s absolutely beyond his understanding.

you smile at him gently. ❝ why not? ❞ he looks like he wants to protest, so you nudge him with an elbow. ❝ c’mon, bede! they — they’re gonna get cold at this rate! try them already, i want to hear what you think. ❞

he stares at you for a moment, then hesitantly selects one and takes a bite.

his eyes light up. ❝ they’re... good. ❞ he sounds genuinely surprised. more than that, he sounds happy.

mission accomplished, you think. ❝ i’m glad. ❞

#Anonymous #— ★ . * ( HC. ) ┇ ❝ ᵃᵐᵒⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵉˡᶦᵗᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵉˡᶦᵗᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃˡˡ ❞#( the pov switches from petunia to peony halfway through if that wasn't obvious! )#( why is this in second person??? idk i just wanted to write in second person. )#( thank you so much for the ask!! this was fun! )#( i went lighter on the formatting bc this is like 2.5k+ words and i thought it'd get distracting )

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lunaschild2016 · 6 years ago

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[Redux] Worth Fighting For: Chapter 22 - Eyes On Fire

A/N: Here’s a short one to tease you beauties. Hopefully, the word count won't be bounced here.

@kenzieam @pathyborba @jaihardy @every-jai@ericdauntless@beautifulramblingbrains@bookgirlthings@jojuarez26@oddsnendsfanfics@offroadinjandals@singingpeople@iammarylastar@irasancti@captstefanbrandt@clublulu333@fuckthatfeeling@tigpooh67@ex-bookjunkybookjunky @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here @badassbaker@beanzjellly@beltz2016@meganbee15@affabletimelady@scorpio2009@gylisaa@geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam@kyloswarstars@emmysrandomthoughts@kgurew@beltzboys2015-blog @slytherin-princess-25273@whatwouldbuffydo666@jaiboomer11@holamor@wealwayskeepfighting@original46@blakefc@xtheserpentx@artisthedgehog@elaacreditava@slytherlesbian

Chapter 21 - Eyes On Fire

Kat

I sat on the tiled bench that's built into the shower enclosure far longer than I really needed to. After playing with that damn digital controller I found a steam setting and sat down in shock while enjoying it at the same time. Indulging in the privacy of the shower plus all the neat little settings and using the bath products, that I've missed but haven't wanted to spend precious points on, is all well and fine. But that's not what I'm really doing here, at least it's not all that I'm doing.

I'm stalling and I know it.

My main concern right now is trying to find a reason to give Eric regarding the medications he wants to give that will sound reasonable and not end up tipping him over the edge he seems to be teetering on. The problem I'm running into is there is no good reason for it. Part of it's being stubborn while the other part is my own messed up rationalization. Neither of those are going to go over well with any of those guys right now.

I sigh and shut off the water finally resolving that at least I'm going to stand firm on any pain killers. At least with that I know I have a valid reason and one that Eric will understand and even if he doesn't, he can be mad about it all he wants but I'm not willing to give in on this point.

With that addressed in my mind, I start to dry off and get dressed. I just don't do it as fast as I know I can. I take my time with every stage.

First putting up my hair in a secure braid then moving on to using the various products that Zach included along with the bath stuff. While I don't hesitate to use the moisturizers and lotions, I don't even contemplate using the small amount of makeup he seems to have added to the mix as well.

I sigh in pleasure as I smooth lotion over my skin in all the areas that have felt irritated the most by the other stuff I bought. The relief it brings drives out any guilt I might have felt about Zach going to the trouble of replacing all the things I've been stubbornly refusing to stop using.

Honeysuckle and citrus drift on the air as I move on to getting dressed. That part doesn't take me long at all to do. The clothes are just basic black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. They're no different than the standard pieces for a Dauntless informal uniform and aren't far from what I know I have already.

What has me blushing while getting dressed is the undergarments that they included. Even that is no different than something I already have, a sports bra and boy shorts. It isn't so much the clothes themselves but the thought of anyone besides myself picking out my underwear. Let alone Eric, Chase, and Zach.

Especially Eric.

By the time I'm as dressed as I can be before I have to call for Eric, I've sufficiently worked up a total body blush by imagining him picking out and touching my clothes. I stand and stare at my reflection in the mirror and wince at what I see.

I've never dwelt long on the fact that I haven't been allowed to have any kind of say about how I look or what I wear. I've never really wondered about myself and if I'm plain, pretty, ugly or anything of that nature. That's not to say that I haven't heard all kinds of descriptions yelled at me over the years, and none of them very good, I just learned to disregard them. It didn't matter to me if anyone thought I was attractive or not, I had much bigger things to worry about and that's all I've let myself think about.

Before the incident with the factionless, I was so young the only thing I cared about was running and playing, to be free to do that and everything else my sister and I longed to do. After the incident, it felt like the end of my childhood. After that, all I could, or allowed myself, to think about was becoming as strong as I could to protect those I loved and to make up for all I did wrong.

Even when Tobias had shown his supposed interest in me when I was in my early teens I hadn't given more than a passing thought to why he would have any in me. Honestly, I've always been convinced that had been more about him thinking he should be with me for some reason rather than actually wanting to be.

I let my hand fall from my face and where I had been gently probing the puffy mess of my eye and sigh tiredly when I think of Tobias. Because that just brings up more worries than I'm capable of juggling right now. I know I'm going to have to face the situation with him, as well as his secret relationship with my sister, soon. Just not now.

My biggest worry right now is the young woman in the mirror and the only man I've ever wanted to notice me and see me. There must be something here in me if he's going to the trouble he has for me. I don't think it will ever be what I want him to see or feel. Not when I look at my reflection and know that I can never measure up to the women I'm sure he could have in a second if he wanted to.

Maybe there's something to the whole Abnegation shunning of mirrors because never have I been as self-conscious as I am now that I have such unrestricted access to one. Where even now, two weeks later, I can't help looking into one and immediately finding everything wrong about myself.

Especially when most of the time there is someone standing beside me to compare myself to, which is usually my sister. Then again, I always compare myself to her in most ways.

My hair is a lighter shade of blonde than hers. It darkens a bit if I'm out of the sun for long periods of time, but not by much. I've always considered it to be kind of dull and flat compared to hers with its mixes of blonde, brown and a tiny bit of red in certain lights. They are all mixed together in a way that can be really stunning when she leaves it down. Mine is more blonde with very little other colors, but the more I'm in the sun, the more it looks like dried out bleached wheat. I've always been envious of her shimmering locks.

We have the same general shape to our faces, enough that when combined with our close age and physical stature, people often confuse us for being twins. But it's those differences that stand out so much to me.

My nose is slightly shorter and turned up at the end, making it look cute rather than the strong one she has that looks like it would be at home on any Grecian statue.

My mouth has a bow shape with annoyingly pouty lips that make me look like I'm always throwing a tantrum of some kind.

My eyes are a little too big making my overall appearance even more childlike.

Combine all that with my short and petite frame, I could be mistaken for a pre-teen boy if I didn't wear clothes that show off the few feminine features I do have, my hips and ass. That I have plenty of. It's what Lynn likes to jokingly refer to as the junk in my trunk. Whatever you call it, it's still not enough by half to compete with the women I saw eyeing Eric that first night in the Pit.

Those are women with a capital W. With their figures encased in skin-tight clothing of varying lengths and coverage, ample cleavage, perfectly groomed and made up. All that on top of knowing exactly how to tempt and seduce in ways that I don't have the first clue about.

I shake my head when I have ridiculous flashes, imaging me made up and dressed like one of them and making a complete fool of myself. Pointing out to me that even if I knew how to do any of that I would still fall far from measuring up.

I look away from the mirror in disgust, finally finished with my reflections, and looking at my sad reflection. I force myself to turn and finish dressing until I have everything on but the shirt. I open the door and take a breath before I call out Eric's name then immediately wish I had taken just a few seconds more when nerves hit me full force.

I don't want him to see how ill at ease I'm feeling. Not after earlier. I want him to know I trust him completely. It's myself I don't trust but it's not like I can tell him that. Standing here shifting around nervously isn't going to exactly look like I trust him very much. I cast a look around and then decide it might be better to look as casual as I can.

I move over to the bathroom counter and shift until I can lift myself up onto it, wincing as my ribs take pressure it's not ready for and scooting back until I'm sitting, in what I hope is a casual manner. Hoping that I pull it off even if I'm in nothing but my sports bra, pants, and boots.

I laugh quietly at myself and shake my head then look at my hands when I hear his steps as he approaches after the door to his bedroom creaks open. My hands fidget together hoping to mask their shaking.

"Did you leave any hot wat…" Eric asks, laughing slightly as he came in the doorframe, but he stops in mid-sentence when he gets one step over the threshold.

I only know he's there and that he's stopped moving because I can see his feet from where my eyes were still glued to my hands. I refused to look up and even more now that whatever he's seeing is enough to freeze him in his tracks. I feel mild panic that I've done something wrong, and my brain races as it plays over his instructions. I know I followed them exactly so I'm not sure what's going on. I refuse to look up still but I can't stand just sitting here not knowing either.

"Did I leave any hot water?" I grasp at the playful question and decide to roll with it, hoping I can make my tone light as well. I shrug and smirk a little when I realize how truthful my answer is. "I might have left a tiny amount."

He clears his throat and steps forward. His boots thumping loudly on the tiled floor and the sound echoing back to us. I hear that thudding and hope that's really from his steps and not my heart. The sound of it is loud and fast in my ears, three beats for each pause between his steps. His intake of breath brings to my attention that my own is at least two times faster. Giving the illusion that he's barely breathing while I can't get enough.

One of his large, warm, and wonderfully calloused hands takes both of my clasped hands in his, while the other he raises until it slides gently along my jaw for the second time this morning. He tilts my head back so that our eyes finally meet as his thumb stroked my cheek softly.

There's danger in his eyes anytime I look at them. I never know what I'm going to find and how I'm going to react. Right now there is a clear worry in his eyes, along with something else that's not so clear. Whatever it is, it's just as intense as anything else he allows to broadcast. They seem to be darker right now as his brows lower more, casting shadows over them.

Eric's tugs his lower lip between his teeth quickly before releasing it and breath at the same time. "Are you okay, Kat?"

I nod and smile a little. "The shower helped, though I do still hurt a little."

The side of his mouth quirks up in a side smile as he shakes his head. "That's not what I was meaning…Kat." He pauses for the barest of seconds before he says my name, making me think he might have been about to say something else. The smile is gone and he frowns while holding my eyes. "Are you okay being here like this...with me?"

I swallow hard while thinking that I'm very much not okay being with him like this but not for any of the reasons he's worried about. At least I can answer that worry of his truthfully though.

"I said I trust you and I do, Eric," I answer softly with what I hope is a reassuring smile.

He sighs deeply. It might be one of relief. It might be of frustration. It might even be disappointment. They all sound so similar and the only thing that would let me know how he's feeling would be his expression or eyes, but those are back to being carefully guarded.

I feel like he's searching mine for something just as much as I am him until he breaks contact and they move over my face slowly. His expression slowly loses its blankness as a tightness I'm familiar with morphs it.

Despite the anger I can see and feel in him as he looks over my injuries, his touch is maddeningly gentle. It's so light and gentle that I struggle to keep my breathing normal while he moves his hands and eyes over me, evaluating the damage for himself for the first time. I close my eyes and will away the thoughts his touch is bringing to mind.

In my mind, Eric isn't looking at me with a methodical but otherwise passionless eye. In my mind, the soft brush of his fingers is anything but a clinical evaluation. My mind is in serious danger of making me make a complete ass of myself as I can barely contain the whimpers that his touch and those images are causing in me.

I keep my eyes closed tightly and scowl every time one of those soft whimpers escape me.

"Tell me if you want or need me to stop, Kat," Eric demands tightly.

A shiver that I can't stop completely escapes at the sound of him speaking in that deep and rough tone. I know it's caused by him trying to keep in the anger he's probably feeling after he comes to each bruise I have. I can't speak properly to reply, so I just gave a nod of my head instead.

"Answer me, Kat." This new demand has me holding my eyes closed even tighter.

A bolt of something strong rushes through me when his fingers graze over an area that seems to be sensitive in a way I could never have imagined it being. The deep rumble of his voice seems to connect straight to that sensation so that they combine and have what I know is desire pooling in me.

He can't know that his touch is creating a whirlpool of desire inside of me and if I don't answer soon, he's going to stop and I don't want that. As much as I should say something to make him stop, I just can't.

"Yes, I will, Eric. I'm okay though." I slightly gasp out the words while not once opening my eyes to see what his expression and eyes might hold. "Don't...I...please...I mean you don't have to stop."

I cringe and internally curse myself when I realize that all came out as me practically begging him not to stop. I even moaned a little when his hands started moving in ways and over areas I'm not prepared for.

What started out as the faint press of his fingertips along the ribs that were hurt as well as the other side, turned into the full length of his hand sliding over my skin. Near my hips, it slid against the bare skin there, a whisper of the heat from his skin against the goosebumped flesh of mine at the waist. Then his fingers made a slow, almost dancing, progression up until he was caressing each rib causing my head to fall back and the moan to escape.

I don't dare to open my eyes now as his hands stop completely. Tears burned behind my eyes making them feel like they are on fire right along with my body as I flush in embarrassment and shame.

I know any second he's going to jerk his hands away from me and step back to address the situation. I don't know how he's going to handle it but knowing how badly I've just messed up he might just say it's better that we have no contact if I can't keep my hormones in check.

That's what I expect to happen but it's not what he does. Instead of pulling away and getting far from me, he gets even closer. Stepping forward until I'm forced to open my legs a little to accommodate his body, my knees brushing his hips as he moves. His hands start moving again. Going from my sides to my arms, up until they travel across my shoulders then even further still as they go along the sides of my neck and only finally stopping when they are on either side of my face. There he stops and cups my head gently in his grasp.

"Kat, look at me," He orders me gruffly.

I want to refuse since I'm still horrified and ashamed at my reaction to him simply trying to take care of me. I almost refuse until I hear his breathing and how fast it is, how hard it's coming out and gusting against my skin.

My eyes pop open against every order I give them to remain closed so I can find out what could be causing Eric to be breathing like that. I almost wish I hadn't and that my body obeyed my order, not his because what I see just can't be real. It can't be real that his eyes are full of the same desire I have coursing through me.

I feel drugged as I drag my eyes away from his to search for anything else that might tell me what the hell is going on, only to see his lips tilted up at the edges in what could only be described as a smug manner.

Then his face starts moving closer to mine and any rational thought fled my mind except one thing. One thought and wish.

Please, oh please, let him be about to kiss me.

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kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

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Smoke/Mute oneshot in which, as usual, utter chaos happens and I attempt an explanation as to where these pink Siege skins came from. (Rating M, crack + some sexiness going on, ~2.7k words) - written for @glockchen who asked me to write anything about these skins and I could never say no to you ♥♥♥

It starts with a simple drawing.

As it’s a perfectly normal morning in Hereford, the canteen, including the kitchen, is in complete and utter chaos: Caveira has followed through with her threat of disgustedly pouring what she calls bleached bullshit (also known as refined sugar) into Dokkaebi’s collar because the Korean woman forgot to buy ‘proper’ sugar, sparking a small war in their corner of the room, Blitz is currently burning the third batch of eggs and looking to his boyfriend for approval (and Rook reacts with a pained smile), and Bandit is surreptitiously trying to trip everyone walking past while pretending to be an angel in Montagne’s direction.

Mute and Smoke are sitting somewhere in the middle of all this, only half listening to Sledge’s tired mantra of they’re all adults they can clean up after themselves don’t get up let them make their own mistakes and learn.

“Gargle is such a typical, ugly English word”, Maestro muses and feeds the Scotsman a bite of his cheesecake because who needs breakfast food when there’s cake. “It’s onomatopoeic, agreed, but if the love of my life told me ‘I just gargled with maple syrup’ I wouldn’t care how sweet the kisses were because it’d be the same as if I proclaimed myself to be moist. Ugh.”

“I dunno, it can be pretty romantic”, Smoke shrugs and surreptitiously rolls his eyes at Mute – it’s clear why, the two lovebirds next to them are once again wholly lost in each other. “I sometimes gargle with Mark’s come and he never complains.”

Sledge chokes on the cheesecake and looks like he’s about to protest the mention of bodily fluids while he’s eating (and Mute gets ready to retaliate by pointing out the bright purple lovebites peeking over the Scot’s collar as well as the faint bruises on Maestro’s neck), when there’s a sudden, dramatic entrance. The door flies open and in strides Tachanka, head held high, stance proud and a fond smile on his lips.

Most of the ruckus dies down over the abrupt change in mood as the Russian makes a beeline for the fridge, carefully stepping over Bandit’s outstretched foot, avoiding the two flailing women and ignoring the sharp smell emanating from the stove. Now Mute notices the piece of paper in Tachanka's hand which he unfolds and then pins to the fridge door with a few magnets. From this distance, all Mute can see is a whole lot of pink.

Seeing as most pairs of eyes are glued to the old man by now, Tachanka grins and addresses the room with his booming voice: “If you ever ask yourself why the hell you’re still here – this is why.”

Curious, Mute leaves the quiet argument of what constitutes as revolting behind and joins the small crowd gathering around Tachanka, catching a better look of what seems to be a child’s drawing. It’s hard to make out at first as more than half of it is just a mix of different shades of pink, but eventually he identifies it as Tachanka himself holding what looks like a little girl, only his uniform has been recoloured from his usual olive and he’s displaying a horn as well as a mane and even a tail.

If he’s honest, it’s adorable. He knows the story, Glaz told it with a sheepish Tachanka modestly brushing him off but smiling appreciatively anyway: on their last mission, the old man heroically rescued a girl and made sure to carry her to safety and even reunite her with her parents. Judging by Tachanka's expression, it’s one of the most touching fan letters he’s received and he’s immensely proud, as he should be.

At least until Blackbeard steps up and snorts at the display. “Not at all your colour, I’m sorry to say, this looks like the gayest version of you”, he points out. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Says the guy with the man bun”, Pulse shoots back immediately.

“Is that bold-faced envy I hear? At least I have hair, Jack.”

“Yes. Too much of it. I’m just waiting for you to start stealing Sébastien’s plaid shirts.”

“I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to experiment with non-traditional looks, thank you very much. When’s the last time you changed anything about your appearance? I’ve seen your driver’s license. The only new thing about you are your wrinkles.”

Mute considers texting Smoke to stop demonstrating his ability to shove an entire piece of cake into his mouth and instead witness this rare American-on-American smackdown but forgets all about it when Tachanka, who’s been listening with a decidedly unimpressed scowl, chimes in: “You call yourself confident but mock this gift I got? Just because it’s pink?”

Belatedly, Blackbeard realises his mistake of potentially angering Tachanka of all people and tries to backtrack. “Well, I mean – only because you’d look silly wearing it. The picture is cute, but you in a pink uniform -”

“What’s wrong with a pink uniform?”

“It’s not really – it’s too visible, and you in pink is just laughable.”

“What’s wrong with me in a pink uniform?”

Mute is failing to suppress a grin by now. While Tachanka sounds perfectly calm and pleasant, Blackbeard is getting more and more flustered by the second. “It’s not a manly colour. You agree with me on that, right? You’d look stupid.”

“Pink used to be a boy’s colour, you know. A softer red, in a way. I think it’d suit you, it’d go with your hair.”

“I’d rather drop dead than be caught wearing something like this”, Blackbeard mutters and then wisely retreats before Tachanka's good mood dissolves into something else.

Amused, the Russian turns to Mute and mirrors his grin. “Confident in his masculinity, hm?”, he repeats doubtfully.

“We can actually make a pink uniform for you”, Mute suggests, causing Tachanka to perk up. “James has dyed clothes before.”

“Would you? I’m beginning to like the idea more and more. I can wear it during training and dazzle everyone.”

“I’ll even do you one better. Just wait a few days.” The two of them nod at each other and Mute returns to his table where Maestro is currently praising the soothing quality of green tea for an upset stomach. “James, I know what we’re going to do today”, he announces with a glint in his eye.

“Are you sure these are the correct measurements?”, Smoke complains for the nth time around the needles between his lips. Doubtfully, he holds up the patterned trousers and frowns at them, visibly dissatisfied. “They look too short, babe. They look like they’d fit me.”

Odd, isn’t it?, Mute thinks and bites his cheek until he trusts himself to reply without sounding highly entertained. “Those are definitely the correct measurements, I’m sure.”

“I bet you’re bloody grateful I can sew or else you’d still be watching Youtube tutorials.”

“I’m glad your mum made you fix the clothes you ripped on the daily, yes. Teaches you about the value of your time.”

“Teaches me not to buy expensive garb, more like. How’s your unicorn coming along?”

Mute takes a moment to inspect his work. After airbrushing one of Tachanka's helmets a lovely shade of pink, he started to add a few more personal touches he expects the Russian to enjoy: a pair of bear ears which Bandit owned – and no, Mute didn’t ask for details –, an actual unicorn horn he improvised out of a few available materials plus a mane made from faux fur which Frost generously donated once she caught wind of their project. He’s currently gluing letters onto the monstrosity since the rainbow he added for good measure has dried already. All in all, it’s solid work and he’s happy with it. If this doesn’t make Tachanka's teammates question some of what they thought they knew about him, then nothing will.

“See, I get why we’re making two of these abominations, babe, even if you haven’t told me the reason outright”, Smoke murmurs more to himself than directed at Mute, “but why three? Did anyone else want one? Are we gifting one to Dom? You know he’d wear it, especially with this sexy leopard print. Christ, we’re not giving the old man the leopard, are we? Because I’m sure he’d say something like ‘I have the underwear to match it’ and thank you, now we’ll need some brain bleach.”

“He’s not the only one I know who’d have matching knickers”, Mute states drily. “And Dom isn’t the only one I know who’d wear this.”

Smoke stops messing with the hem and throws him a deeply distrustful look. “Babe. Are you serious?”

“I have the perfect ears to go with it too.”

His quiet statement makes his lover’s brows rise. “They’re for me, aren’t they.” It’s not a question and so Mute doesn’t answer. “Really though – are you taking the piss or does the thought of me wearing this stuff actually turn you on?” Mute steadfastly refuses to respond and instead focuses on lining up the letters playfully. Maybe he could add glitter, yes, in any case he needs to not think about Smoke in a leopard print uniform, absolutely not squirming on his lap, the rappel harness flattering his thighs and soft mewls -

The rustling of clothes catches his attention and when he looks up, Smoke is half naked already. “What are you doing?”

“Trying it on, what does it look like? You want me to wear this, so I will.” He pulls on the finished pieces of his uniform and poses only partly jokingly. His arse looks amazing and Mute forgets how breathing works for a moment, resisting the urge to reach out and cop a feel because then they’ll never get it all done. “Bloody hell, this is tight.”

“Yeah”, Mute agrees distractedly and openly disregards the concept of eye contact entirely in favour of ogling other body parts, “like I said: definitely the correct measurements.”

Grinning, Smoke walks over to where he’s sitting and buries a hand in Mute’s hair to drag his head forward and smush his face into his exceedingly prominent bulge, ignoring the slight resistance and massaging Mute’s scalp once he’s started mouthing at the growing erection rubbing against his cheek. “Why don’t you get the ears, babe?”, Smoke hums and seems not at all perturbed by his unusual attire.

A few days later, Mute stands outside of Blackbeard's room, taking a deep breath and checking the time again. The American’s daily schedule is rigid and thus he’s been asleep for more than an hour at this point, not at all disturbed by the commotion outside of the base. They invited everyone interested, distributed beverages and promised a show, meaning there’s a sizeable crowd outside waiting for the main event to happen – whatever it’s supposed to entail.

Tachanka's uniform garnered a lot of approval, and Mute was especially proud to hear almost everyone complimenting his admittedly fabulous helmet, but the real treat hasn’t even surfaced yet.

Once he deems himself ready, he barges into the room and starts shaking Blackbeard awake rudely. “Get up, Jenson, come on, we need you, there’s a situation.” He does his best to appear urgent, and to his credit, Blackbeard is up on his feet before he’s even processed anything that’s going on. “Hostage taken in London, we need to fly out ASAP, get dressed and let’s go!”

He left the door open to let just enough light in for the American to not crash into his furniture as he stumbles about the room, getting dressed and mumbling something incoherent. Mute leaves him no time to think, talking rapidly out of his arse and ushering him out of the room and down the corridor. Blearily, Blackbeard allows himself to be manhandled and merely responds with a few grunts, but once they’re outside and in the middle of the sizeable gathering, he realises that something is off.

Being greeted with cheers, Blackbeard looks around in confusion until his gaze lands on Tachanka toasting him with a can of beer. “The fuck are you wearing?”, he asks and eyes the unicorn helmet in disbelief.

“The fuck are you wearing?”, Tachanka shoots back good-naturedly.

Finally, Blackbeard looks down at himself. He’s clad entirely in pink, mirroring the Russian perfectly. “What”, he says helplessly.

“I told you it’d go with your hair.”

And while the two start bickering immediately, with Blackbeard pompously proclaiming his intent to undress this instant and Tachanka amusedly egging him on, much to the audience’s delight, Mute feels a tug on his sleeve, turns around and mutters a curse under his breath. “I told you not to wear this outside”, he hisses and tries his best not to glance down at Smoke’s dangerously tight trousers.

He’s wearing the full outfit sans mask, and the cat ears which allegedly pick up on brain activity and move accordingly are perked up in excitement. Smoke was amazed by them the first time he put them on and refused to take them off for an entire evening – and admittedly, Mute’s heart melted a little every time Smoke looked over at him and the ears shot up instantly.

Right now, however, his heart isn’t the body part most touched by Smoke’s appearance.

“I’ve been a naughty kitty”, Smoke purrs and begins wrapping himself around the taller man, “you should punish me.”

And while the whole thing in itself has nothing erotic about it, it achieves the desired effect nonetheless as Mute is overcome by the sudden urge to stuff Smoke’s mouth.

Before he can act on it though, Bandit appears by their side, ignoring Blackbeard's repeated insistences that while pink is apparently a feminine colour, there’s nothing wrong with femininity, it’s just not for him (and Tachanka merely lets him talk with a partly disbelieving, partly entertained smile). “Have you seen Gilles? I don’t know where he is.”

“He said something like ‘I have one of these’ when he saw Chanka and then disappeared”, Smoke informs him helpfully and receives a concerned frown. “No idea what he was on about but he seemed excited.”

“Well, he better not be -”

Bandit trails off in horror and neglects to shut his mouth, so Mute and Smoke follow his line of sight while most of the noise around them dies down as well. It quickly becomes clear why: Montagne’s standing in the doorway to the base, wearing – well. What is he wearing?

Only on the second glance does Mute discern the butterfly pattern, noticing that it even continues over his balaclava, harmonises well with the hot pink helmet and – are those feelers?

Montagne catches sight of Smoke’s attire and nods approvingly. “That’s… a choice”, he states. “Maybe a little too racy but I don’t dislike it.”

“What do you think is going on here?”, Bandit addresses him weakly and looks torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and wanting the ground to swallow Montagne.

Now the Frenchman seems to be questioning himself, expression turning sheepish. “Isn’t this… these aren’t designs for breast cancer awareness? I thought -”

“See! That would be the only acceptable occasion for a man to ever wear pink!”, Blackbeard tells Tachanka triumphantly while pointing almost accusingly at Montagne, sparking yet another discussion now involving most of the people present.

“Does it look bad?”, Montagne wants to know sadly and only cheers up once Bandit has walked over to reassure him and started to play with his antennae – Mute can only imagine the amount of willpower it takes for Bandit not to make a thousand inappropriate and/or sarcastic jokes at once.

Not that he’s in a much better situation, seeing as Smoke is attempting to seductively meow in his direction. Sighing, he grabs Smoke’s wrist and drags him along. “You look hot but please never pretend to be a cat again. Promise me, James.”

“If I do, am I allowed to wear this on a mission?”

Smoke’s bright smile is going to be his doom one day, he knows this. He predicts quite a lot of arguing about the use of this particular outfit but can’t really say that he minds, not when they do most of their fighting in bed.

And maybe he’ll tell Smoke to put the mask on this time as well.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #tachanka #blackbeard #fanfic #oneshot #okay look I don't genuinely think mute has a thing for animals #don't @ me please #also these ears exist and they're adorable

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wroteasongabouther · 7 years ago

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fratboy!harry - part 4

thank you all so freaking much for the feedback/love on fratboy!harry so far it’s really sweet... again, feel free to drop any questions, blurb ideas, etc into my ask box whenever!!!

fratboy!harry tag >> story page

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say while watching James lean over and delete a few things from your notes. Of course you had gotten some things mixed up during a lecture earlier this week.

“To be honest, I didn’t quite get it at first either,” James states.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you say while tilting your chin up and pouting out your bottom lip.

“Maybe,” James admits, giving you that nice toothy grin again - but it was nothing like a pair of dimples. You shake your head slightly as you catch yourself comparing James to Harry.

Last night after you ate some good old ramen noodles and got set up at your desk, you nearly finished your whole assignment. Just leaving it to be revised by James today after class. As you were finishing up your work - around midnight - was when Harry texted you. Red flag for inappropriate time, anything after ten could pretty much be classified as a booty call - it was simple college logic. But nothing about Harry’s texts were really booty call related.

Sorry about the guys today, hope you got your assignment done without my smarts

It’s alright, my butt hurt from the couch by then anyways.. and I managed just fine, shocking I know

Sure you got quite the brain in ya, little bird, was only joking

Oh I know.. it’s late, I’m going to go to sleep now I think

Alright, goodnight y/n

Night H

Then you slept soundly, your dreams consumed by green eyes and strange tattoos. But now you weren’t looking into the eyes you dreamt of, instead you’re looking at James’ boring brown ones as he tried to flirt with you - again. He didn’t seem to get that you weren’t interested. James was still a nice guy though, so you kept smiling at his flirtatious comments and tried to get your work done.

“That’s it,” you smile while typing out the last bit of your assignment, “all done,” your smile turned to a grin as you realize you had managed to finish an entire assignment within like 12 hours.

“You’re doing a lot better then you give yourself credit for,” James says while gathering his own notes up from the messy table you two had taken over at a diner on campus.

“Well, you were helpful too,” you inject. James grins again, and just then you glance over his shoulder and see one of your good friends walking towards you - Thomas. Everything about his facial expression spoke clear of jealousy as he saw you sitting with another guy.

“Hey,” Thomas says as he stands beside the table.

“Hey what’s up?” You smile.

“Nothing really,” Thomas shrugs before tossing his backpack at the floor and sitting down beside you. You’re a little thrown off by him welcoming himself to sit, and when you look at James you see he is too. “Who’s this?” Thomas asks, picking up one of your left over fries and popping it into his mouth.

“James,” he introduces himself as you just look at your friend in utter shock. But more of a eyes narrowed and lips firm while staring at him.

“Oh, so not Harry,” Thomas chews with his mouth open while mentioning the other boy he was jealous over. Good old Thomas.

“Harry?” James questions, looking at you now.

“A friend,” you answer shortly and bring the straw of your coke to your lips.

“Anyways,” James clears his throat, “I was going to mention, there’s this party this weekend and I was wondering if you wanted to come-“

“Y/N doesn’t really party,” Thomas states, cutting James off nonchalantly. You roll your eyes and give Thomas a quick ‘thats enough’ look.

“I do,” you clarify, “sometimes,”

“Alright,” James trails off, looking between you and Thomas - clear just as confused you were. “Well, I’ll text you about it, it’s tomorrow so hopefully you can make it,” James smiles while standing from the table.

“Okay,” you nod, “thanks again for your help, and for lunch too,”

James grins before saying his goodbyes and walking out of the diner. The moment he’s out the front door you turn and smack Thomas on the arm. He flinched and gasps dramatically. You hit him again for good measure.

“What the hell?” Thomas exclaims.

“What was that about? It’s not like that with James,” you state.

“Oh whatever, the guy’s totally into you,”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not into him,”

“So are you gunna go to that party?” Thomas questions, stealing another fry off your plate.

You shrug, “I don’t know, maybe,”

“Right,” Thomas mutters before finishing off the plate. He brushes off his hands and stands up from the table you had been at for quite a while now. “Wanna go look around the shops or something? I’m bored,”

“Fine,” you sigh and stand from the table as well. After getting all your things together, you follow Thomas out of the diner and out into the sunshine. “I swear it keeps getting hotter here,” you groan.

“It’s Arizona, what did you expect?” Thomas chuckles.

You bump into Thomas, causing him to nearly loosing his footing and fall on the sidewalk. Now that was funny, you laugh so hard you have to grab you stomach. Thomas had been a clumsy guy since you first met him here a college, literally tripping over some wires from a projector and dropping his things in front of the whole class. Then he took the seat next to you, and a friendship began. A year later and Thomas still was a good friend to you.

Thomas and you ended up inside the vintage shop. There was a mess of pretty much anything you could want. From old vinyls to shirts or even some old nick-nacks. You were laughing as Thomas held up a vinyl for Madonna, singing in a high pitched voice. Again you had to hold your stomach as he made you laugh so much.

“Thomas, stop,” you say between your laughter. He keeps on acting out as Madonna, so you step forward and take the vinyl from him, leaning into his body while you both laughed.

Thomas quits laughing as he looks over you, eyebrows pulled together at something. Or someone it seemed. You turn around and see Harry standing there with a brown paper bag in hand and a similar face that Thomas had. What were the odds…

“Harry, hey,” you breathe out while stepping away from Thomas.

His eyes stay glued to Thomas while you take in his appearance today. Same black jeans, a pair of brown boots and a grey tshirt. Not that it was any shock, but he looked hot.

“Hey,” he nods.

“Whatcha doing here?” You ask, genuinely intrigued for an answer.

“Just picked something up,” he responds while lifting up the paper bag. It must’ve been for someone else, cause you really couldn’t imagine Harry geeking out over this old vintage stuff. You notice his eyes are back on Thomas, narrowed for a second before his expression turns smug.

“Uh, Thomas this is Harry, Harry this is Thomas,” you introduce the two ridiculous young men.

“Nice to put a face to a voice,” Harry says, still as smug as ever.

“Yeah,” Thomas narrows his eyes.

“Anyways,” you draw out and put the Madonna album back down.

“I have to get going, I’ll see you ‘round,” Harry blurts out before turning away and walking right out the front door. You stand there a bit surprised, staring out the window as you watched him get into his car. What was up with him?

Thomas sighs and leans back against the wooden table the vinyls were stored in. You already know he has a million things to say. So you roll your eyes and look towards him.

“Didn’t think I’d be meeting both the boys in your life today,” Thomas says.

“Oh shut it,” you nudge him gently before looking through the vinyls again.

You didn’t correct him. Because it was the first week of your second year in college and somehow you had two boys you were thinking of already. One was smiley and kind while the other was smug and had your head spinning a million miles an hour. Last week you were ignoring boys existence and babbling on about how boys suck - this week you were more confused than ever.

“I think I’m going to buy that old Harley Davidson shirt back there,” you state, changing the topic while walking over where it hang.

Once you’ve paid, you and Thomas leave the shop. You convince him to stop for a smoothie before asking what he wanted to do next. Movies at your dorm ended up being the plan, only because Thomas offered to order pizza. So you two pick up the pizza and get to your dorm.

Thomas launches himself onto your double bed, taking up one side while you grab your laptop and set down the pizza between you two. As some new Netflix show plays on your small MacBook screen you really realize how much you needed a tv in here. You’re munching on your second piece as your phone vibrates.

“Five bucks it’s Harry,” Thomas says before you pick up your phone. You roll your eyes at him and grab your phone.

“It’s James,” you state while having another bite of pizza.

“Ah shit, it was a 50/50 chance,” Thomas gives you a smirk while you narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, what’s up?

Hey! Just watching some Netflix wbu??

Bored, just making some dinner

Yum, whatcha making??

Pasta, it’s bulking season

You have to hold back from making a face. But as Thomas snorts beside you, you know you failed on doing so. You try to ignore how stupid James sounded and read his next text.

Think about that party?

Yeah, I’ll have to ask a friend if she wants to come with or not first..

Fair enough, more the merrier.

“Stop making that face,” Thomas says with food in his mouth.

“Stop talking with your mouth full,”

Thomas sticks his hands up before focusing back on the show. Your phone vibrates again in your phone, this time it’s a Snapchat notification - from Harry. Your lips tug just a little, you literally have to fight off your smile.

You open it quickly, not caring if it seemed weird, and look at the snap video he sent. It was in the kitchen of his frat house. Eddy has two cans of beer in hand, then suddenly he’s smashing one into his mouth and the crushing it in his hand as he drinks it - doing the same with the second one. There’s obviously quite a few other guys around as many guys cheer as Eddy throws down both cans and yells. Harry flips the camera and widens his eyes, you can’t help but chuckle at his expression.

You send back a selfie, brows pulled together and lips pursed out a bit. You caption it ‘what in the world?’ and add a sticker with the time on it - it was only 6:30 in the evening after all. Frat boys were weird. After you send the snap, you look up and see Thomas is watching you.

“What?” You question.

He shakes his head, “nothing, I’m not gunna say anything,” he says and looks back at the show again.

You narrow your eyes at Thomas and lean back on your headboard. Harry snaps you back a selfie, reading ‘frat things, don’t dare eddy anything he’ll do it’ you shake your head and smile. Instead of a selfie this time, you send one from the front facing camera. There’s your computer, the pizza, and Thomas’s back in the shot before you type out ‘noted, you guys are totally crazy’

Harry opened the snap. But he didn’t reply. He posted on his story ten minutes later too. You bite on your bottom lip and debate snapping him again. First his weirdness at the vintage shop and now this - damn, when did you get this desperate? You let out a small sigh and put your phone down.

“Do I need to beat anyone up?” Thomas asks, not looking away from the show as he takes another piece of pizza.

You lean forward and grab another piece as well, “no,” you mutter.

“Just,” Thomas pauses and looks back at you with a small smile, “just be careful, Y/N,”

You look at your friend and try to register what he’s saying. Thomas would always be jealous, wishing it was him you were blushing over. But you always thought he had it better than whatever guy you were talking to. He sat here in your bed, eating pizza, more often than any guy you ever spoke to before. Despite being put in the friend zone, Thomas was around a lot longer than any other guy.

You decided to just give him a smile and nod in return. Then you two go back to watching your small computer screen and eating pizza. Soon enough Jessica shows up and joins you two, wedging herself between you both. And that was how you ideally liked to spend your nights here at college, with your friends watching pointless tv and eating junk. It was a hell of a lot better than stressing over school or some stupid frat parties. Which, you’d probably be at tomorrow anyways.

490 notes · View notes

reifromrfa · 7 years ago

Text

RFA guys + Minor Trio play Outlast with MC

I absolutely love horror games but I’m always too chicken to play them so I watch other people/youtubers (hello pewdiepie, markiplier and jacksepticeye!) play and scream with them instead :)) Will work on requests now, and maybe squeeze in some more halloween hcs :)

Yoosung

If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s video games

Yoosung isn’t into horror that much though, but you are ;)

So you get him Outlast so you guys can bond over it

But he already knows what the game is about

NOPE NOPE NOPE X 10000

“MC, don’t you want to play something else like Final Fantasy or Crash Bandicoot?” ;;;

“Please, Yoosungie~”

Well he can’t say no now

The game starts and he’s really reluctant to play it because he’s scared but he wants to impress his girlfriend!

Goes into the asylum and jumps when the lights go out

You never knew Yoosung could swear that much

You didn’t know he could scream that loud but then you’re screaming too

He totally drops the controller at one point and screams profanities at the screen while visibly shaking

You apologize and hold him tight when he’s on the verge of tears because this game is too scary for him

You shut it off and watch some comedy movies before going to sleep

But he knows you like scary stuff so he secretly watches gameplays of other people just so he’s more ready for the jumpscares and when he plays it with you again, you’re so impressed

The both of you still scream and curse at the jumpscares, but Yoosung is able to handle his fears better now that he knows what’s going to happen next

Zen

He’s not into gaming much because he’s busy with his shows or working out and he doesn’t want to ruin his eyes

But when you tell him you really want him to play this scary game because you’re too chicken to play on your own, he acts all manly and gets excited to show you how brave he is

“Babe, I can’t customize the character?” ;;;

Okay, the first part isn’t so bad

"Fuck what the fuck was that what the fffffff!!!!”

Obscenities galore when the game really starts

He’s not as bad as Yoosung but he jumps at all the jumpscares, making you jump as well

His reactions are so priceless though

He quickly gets the hang of it and manages to enjoy the game, especially when he outwits the enemies

He gets so frustrated that the character doesn’t fight back though

Will totally make commentaries while playing

“Why does that fat man keep chasing after me?”

“I bet my character is also handsome~”

*loud scream* “Jagiya, that one really made me nervous. Here, feel my heart, it’s beating so fast."

“Oh! I should definitely get this on film!”

You decide to do a Let’s Play video with him and upload it on Youtube

Instant viral video

Jumin

Oh my God are you sure you want to play this? Jumin has the best equipment

A huge flat-screen curved TV, surround sound —the works

But this will also make the experience all the more real

You ask him to play with you and if you really want to see him play then he’ll play

Takes a while to figure out the controls ;;;

This man has the best gaming equipment but he literally has no clue how the controller works

Once he got the hang of it though, starts to really play the game

First jumpscare and his eye barely twitches

"It's not real, MC, it's just a game."

He's so focused on the game because this man never does anything half-assed

You however are glued to his side, scared shitless because the surround sound makes you feel like the characters are in the room with you

He raises his eyebrow and looks at you

“Commoners enjoy this kind of activity?”

He’s so observant and smart that he figures out the puzzles and spots the hidden items/places quickly

Complains when something in the game doesn’t make sense in real life

“Why can't my character hit back? I understand that he is a non-combatant but under the circumstances I think he could make an exception."

But he notices how much you're clinging to him and he smiles throughout the rest of the game, getting all these warm fuzzy feelings from your touch

Feels needed by you

Buys loads of horror games for you and asks you which one you like, then plays it with you

You're too busy screaming and clinging to him, but if you look at him, you'll see the happy,contented smile on his face

Saeyoung

This guy is PSYCHED to play Outlast with you

He knows it's just a game just like he's only a game character made by real humans so he isn't really scared

But his reactions are PRICELESS

Saeyoung would probably scream his head off during jumpscares and then laugh if you scream or fall from the couch

Seriously this guy would be so loud it's a good thing you live in a bunker

He's a pro gamer -- this game isn't too hard for him

But he makes slips ups on purpose just so he can hear your reactions

"Saeyoung WTF ARE U DOING GET BACK IN THAT LOCKER"

"Saeyoung DON'T RUN TOWARDS THE ENEMY OH MY GOD"

"Saeyoung...please don't zoom in on that guy's dick"

Once you get really scared and panicky though and start gripping his arm, he gets serious and doesn't mess up

Mainly because he doesn't want to stress you out anymore and hear you panic

But also because you're gripping his arm too tight

Will probably pretend to get so scared and drop the controller on your lap during a chase

And you both scream as you scramble to run from the patients but end up dying anyway

Probably recorded you guys while playing the game and he'll watch it when he's down or while taking a break from work and his eyes would only be watching you and your cute reactions

"MC, want to play Resident Evil 7 next~?"

Saeran

You wanna play a scary video game of a man sneaking into an asylum with crazy experiments just so he can write an article about it? Sounds like the guy was asking for it -____-

Reluctant to play because it sounds so stupid

Ends up playing it anyway because he couldn't resist your pouty face

Not that he'd let you know

Breezes through the game

Like seriously, how???

He doesn't even get scared much, saying he’s been through worse :( </3

He pretends to get annoyed everytime you scream or jump from your seat

But he glances at you from the corner of his eye to check if you're still okay

The gory stuff is fine with him but he would cover your eyes when things got messy

"I don't want you to get nightmares, MC."

Loves it when you grab onto him or hug him when you get scared

He would probably sit behind you and loop his arms around you and play like that so you can feel safe in his arms

He would have his poker face on but his face would be so red

Would shyly ask you to tell him if there's any other game you want him to play

Seriously why would you let this sweet man play this game??? It’s so eff-ed up and V is so sweet and gentle

He would probably try it but same as Jumin, he would have no idea how to use the controls because he isn't into video games

He doesn't react loudly but he jumps really high on the first jumpscare

He would ask you if you're okay or if it's too scary

MC can’t you tell I’m not okay with this game pls let’s stop playing ;;;;

Tries to play through the rest of the game but he couldn't finish it

He tells you he doesn't want you to have nightmares but most probably he's the one who'll end up with nightmares ;;;

So you guys watch a funny movie or a romantic one after playing just to get your mind off the scary faces and stressful moments

Vanderwood

NOPE

The moment you said the character had no weapons or any means to protect himself, Vanderwood already resolved not to play it

"He's going to walk into an asylum with crazies with no weapons? No thanks, I already know he's going to die."

You practically have to beg him to play it with you

He doesn't put much effort into it though and you laugh everytime he dies because he curses and gets annoyed and clicks 'continue' even though he said he doesn't want to play anymore

Will probably not stop playing until he finishes the game ;;;

"I'll prove to you that this idiot only dies in the end."

Explains how unrealistic the game is because of all the confidential folders lying around

"If something is confidential you would put it in a safe or any locked storage unit, not on top of your desk for the trespassing reporter to find!”

“Why didn’t the company prepare counter measures for an incident like this? How could they be so stupid?”

Vanderwood, it’s just a game chill ;;;

Will point to the screen and say “I told you so” triumphantly when the guy dies in the end

But at this point you’re just laughing at him

Buy me a Mango Shake? (ᵔᴥᵔ)

411 notes · View notes

donutpwns · 7 years ago

Text

Journey to the Roots - Part 1

\o/ -- Part 2

So this was inspired by some fanart for this au by @illustratedacorns beep and @artsycrapfromsai boop. Go check out both of them, they’re both really great artists.

Her head was pounding; it felt like she’d drank a gallon of Mabel-juice with a Smile Dip chaser and was hitting the critical crashing stage. She groans, struggling to pull the collar of her sweater over her face and escape to Sweater Town until the feeling passed. Her stomach feels like it’s about to turn itself inside out. “Diiiiiipper, I’m dying!” the whine is out before she can even process the thought.

“No clue who Dipper is, kid, but if you’re going to die, could you do it somewhere else?” The voice is oddly familiar but most definitely not that of her brother.

Mabel’s eyes widened and she’s scrambling to get out of Sweater Town. “WHAT?!” her collar tugs down to only cover her mouth; she has to blink rapidly as she looks around where she’s at. She’s—wait, how did she get in the Stanley Mobile? And why was there so much more trash—ooh, new surprise tacos! She reaches to grab one only to have her wrist grabbed by a large hand. Oh. Right. The source of the voice. That was a thing. She traces up the arm, clad in a grimy red jacket that looked like a crime against heat as well as fashion, to the owner of both it and the voice. “WHAT?!” she screams again.

The circles under his eyes are much less pronounced with only the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners, though they’re currently narrowed at her. His face is unshaven and unwashed; his hair is long and greasy and brown. It’s a little unnerving how much he resembles her dad. He drops her wrist at her second scream and lifts both hands in a telltale ‘no harm’ gesture.

“Easy, kid. You’re the one that broke into my car, if anyone should be screaming, it’s me.” He’s frowning at her before sighing. “Listen, if you’re trying to rob me, you picked the wrong target. I’m broke as they come.”

“Gr-Gr-Grunkle Stan?” her brain is spinning. Why was Grunkle Stan so young? It didn’t make sense. Something weird was going on; Dipper probably had the answer in the journal. No, wait, Grunkle Ford took the journal back. Oh, hey, Grunkle Ford would probably know what was going on.

Stan lifts a bushy brow at her; he’s got the look he gets whenever Dipper comes screaming about a new conspiracy theory. “No clue what a grunkle is, kid, nor how you know my name. But if this is a bit, it’s a weird one.” He reaches over her and opens the passenger side door. “If you work for someone that I owe money, tell them I ain’t gonna be paying up to a kid. Now scram.”

Mabel notices for the first time that the car doesn’t seem to be in Gravity Falls; it’s late at night and they’re parked in a sleazy looking alleyway between two large buildings. The air is icy cold when it hits her face. Gravity Falls doesn’t have any buildings this big. Ohh noooo. “Hot Belgian waffles…” she swears before grabbing the door and slamming it back shut and smashing the lock down. “Nope, nope! Not going out there, nope, hahahaha!” she turns back to Stan and jabs a finger towards him; he barely pulls back in time to avoid a good nose poking. “Younkle Stan! We have some weird stuff going down!”

“Youn—What are you on about?” he’s leaning back, back against the driver side door, twisted at the hips. “Kid, I don’t know you, so whatever you’re after—” he jumps when she scrambles to her knees in the passenger seat and leans super close to him.

This time he can’t escape the nose poke. “You! You’re Stanley Pines, you have a twin brother named Stanford and another brother named Grandpa Shermie—well, Grandpa isn’t part of his name but that’s what Dip Dop and me always called—NOT IMPORTANT!” she has to slam her hands on the middle console to de-distract herself. “POINT! You’re my great uncle but usually you’re all old and junk but now you’re young which, like, is not even close to the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen but it is definitely in the top fifteen, right after the time I found out my favorite boy band was made up of a bunch of clones grown by this real jerk who didn’t let them go outside but then I kinda did the same so—” a hand clamps over her mouth and she’s licking it on pure instinct.

Stan jerks his hand back at the same time she starts gagging; when was the last time he’d washed his hands?! “Holy shit, kid! Slow it down.” He starts wiping his hand on his jeans, which were about as filthy as his jacket. Grooooss. “Okay, okay, so you know more than most of the sharks I owe.” His eyes widen in a realization and it’s Mabel’s turn to jump back when suddenly he has a fist in her face, golden knuckles catching what little light the streetlights give. Wow could he put those on super-fast. “Did they send you to threaten my family? To let me know that you know who they are? Cause I don’t give a shit if they’re a bunch of assholes, nobody messes with my family! You hear that, you little punk?”

Her head’s spinning from so many swears, also the pounding headache that still hasn’t really gone away. Her eyes water before she can really process it because hello Grunkle Stan is threatening to hit her. She gives a loud sniff and mimics his hand gesture from a few minutes ago. “C-c’mon, Grunkle Stan. It’s—it’s me, Mabel! Your favorite great niece?” she pushes on her cheeks, trying to make her eyes as wide and cute as possible. “Don’t you remember me?”

Stan was doing his best to look unimpressed but she can see him cracking. After a moment, he gives a huff and lowers his fist. All the air seemed to deflate from him with the movement; she’s frowning as he slumps so far into the seat that his knees are pressed to the console. He groans, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Mabel takes that as a good sign to relax. She shifts in her seat so she’s sitting cross-legged, taking the time to tug her sweater over her knees.

Well. This was awkward.

With a sigh of her own, paired with a pout, she reaches for the surprise taco she’d seen earlier. It’s practically grease-glued to the fast food bag it was in; when she finally peels the paper bag away, she sees a receipt similarly stuck to the taco wrapper. She doesn’t recognize the name of the restaurant listed at the top of the nearly translucent paper. Then her eyes fall on the date and she drops the taco entirely.

“81?! Is this taco right, Stan?!” she winces when Stan jumps at her shout, swearing even more at the way his knees banged into the steering wheel. Okay, so maybe she should stop yelling in an enclosed space with someone that didn’t seem to know her. Dipper may have been right about that. Not that she’d ever admit that. She was the Alpha Twin and therefore always right forever. But if this receipt was right, then that meant that Stan hadn’t forgotten her, this Stan hadn’t met her yet!

Stan was rubbing at his knees, frowning. “Of course it’s—how did you not know what year it is?” he’s reaching for her as if to feel her forehead before seeming to think better of it. “Are you, I dunno, sick, kid? I can give you a ride to a…hospital or something. I might have some quarters for you to call your parents?” his hand returns to rubbing at his eyes, “Shit, a kid breaks into your car and you offer her a ride. Going soft, Stanley…”

Mabel leans forward, checking the messy floorboards for a tape measure. She doesn’t remember seeing Blandin or messing with a time device. And wasn’t she with Dipper before…whatever happened? Huh. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember exactly what she was doing before waking up curled up in the front seat of the Stan Mobile. She remembered breakfast with Stan and Dipper; she remembered dressing Waddles in the new sweater she’d made him. She remembered wanting to show Grunkle Ford the new finger puppets she’d made him: one for each of the Mystery family to try to get him to warm up to everyone else. Everything else is fuzzy and makes her head hurt to think about.

“Where are we? Like…are we in Oregon?” she’s hopeful; if she could get back to the Mystery Shack then maybe Grunkle Ford could figure out what was going on. Plus if Dipper was here too that’s where he’d go so that’s where she needed to look for him.

Stan gives a bark of a laugh, “Where—Okay, actually, never mind. I’m going to stop asking questions cause you’ll just scream and start talking nonsense again. Oregon? Nah, Arizona, kid.” His mouth twists for a moment, “…fuck it, one question. What’s in Oregon?”

“Home! Your home, and mine and Dipper’s for the summer. Though I think it’s technically Grunkle Ford’s house but, like, you’ve paid the bills for like thirty years—or you will after—WAIT!” her eyes go wide and she has to slam her hands on the console again. “This is before! Which means you and him haven’t! So maybe if we get there before there doesn’t have to be an after and we can fix everything right now!” she’s grinning, imagining what things will be like if her grunkles were the best friends they were supposed to be because twins are supposed to be the best of friends. Like her and Dipper, they were going to be together forever once she found him again. Yeah! “I need you to take me to Gravity Falls!”

“…did you say that’s where Ford is?” Stan’s face is softer, like when they went fishing with him or when Ford first stepped out of the portal. He shakes his head, the look lost with the gesture, “No. Listen, if you know anything about my family, then you know I’m the last person my brother wants to see.”

“But he’s in danger, Younkle Stan!” she bites her lower lip. When did Bill first start talking with Ford? “Aghhhh, Dipper would know when everything happened.” Her stomach was starting to twist again. Was Dipper okay? Maybe she’d been sent back alone. Oh, he had to be so worried about her. Him and the grunkles and Soos and Wendy. She has to rub at her nose as another loud sniff escapes her. It was hard to be optimistic when she was all alone. “We gotta get to Gravity Falls. We gotta!” she turns her eyes, cute set to full wattage, back to Stan and sticks out her bottom lip.

Stan stares at her for a long moment. He looks down at his lap then pulls down his visor, looking at a tiny map of the United States with most of the states crossed out. Arizona was already crossed out, huh, that was weird. But Oregon wasn’t, score. “…you say Ford’s in trouble? And going there will help you and him?”

Mabel nods so hard that her pounding head threatens to make her puke. “Yup! And my brother, Dipper! He’s my twin, like you and Grunkle Ford. And if I’m here then he’s gotta be here too cause, like, we never time travel without each other or go on adventures alone. So if I’m here he’s probably there cause that just makes sense. Or if he’s not, he will be cause that’s where I’m going so that’s where he’s gotta be going too. Right? Right!”

Stan’s mouth twists again and he drops his head back against his seat. “I really am going soft. Fuck it. Pretty sure there’s no warrants for me in Oregon. And if Ford is in trouble…” he shakes his head before giving Mabel a hard look. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but fine. I’ll get you to Gravity Falls. But once we’re there and I’m sure Ford isn’t about to keel over, I’m bouncing. You got that, Mabel?”

Another bout of near-puke-inducing nodding. “Right! Thank you so much, Younkle Stan!” she can’t help climbing over the middle console to wrap her arms around his neck, nuzzling him with the force of the hug. “Eee, I get to go on a road trip with Stan! Dipper’s gonna be so jealous when we meet up.”

“Alright, alright, get off.” Stan pushes her back to the front seat, brows furrowed. “There’s no way we’re related.” He sighs before starting up the car. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

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

He’s freezing, cold down to his very bones, with a pounding in his skull. It feels like Bill has put his body through a ringer then locked him in a deep freeze. He groans and tries to push himself up, only to feel his hand go through something insanely cold and wet. His scream is high pitched as he scrambles up, blinking repeatedly to clear his vision. For a moment he thinks he’s gone blind as all he sees is white until he realizes that. Oh. Snow. There’s snow everywhere.

He was on the porch of the Mystery Shack and there was snow everywhere. No wonder he was so cold. He wipes his wet hand on his shorts, eyeing the outline of where he’d stuck his hand through. The snow had drifted nearly halfway up the door, haphazardly cleared like someone had kicked at the snow. Which sounds like something Stan would do; how long had Dipper been outside?

Sudden weather issues and memory issues? Geez, he hoped no one had gotten ahold of the memory gun; that was the last thing he needed. He was going to need to check with Grunkle Ford, see if he’d ever seen something like this before. Also, get something for his head. It was hurting bad enough to make him feel kinda sick, especially when coupled with how cold it was. Definitely not good weather for shorts and a T-shirt. He might have to finally give in and wear one of the sweaters Mabel had made for him.

Wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing at them, he stumbles his way to the front door. When he tries to open the door, however, he finds it locked. That’s…weird. Why would it be locked? Stan’s definition of home safety was a bat and his knuckledusters. Also why would they lock Dipper out? He rolls his eyes; Mabel must be playing a joke on him. “Real funny, Mabel. Yeah, let’s lock Dipper out. We’ll see whose laughing when I sneeze all over you.” He brings his fist down on the edge of the doorframe, “Hey! Let me in, Mabel! It’s cold!”

Instead of Mabel’s grinning face, he’s instead greeted with a crossbow in his face. Another high pitched scream and his sneaker slips on snow when he tries to jump back from the weapon. Cold bites into his butt and thighs; his stomach gives a lurch at the sudden drop. “Wh-wh-wh—”

“Who sent you?! How did you find this place?!” the holder of the crossbow yells at him, poking his head out of the doorway. His eyes are bloodshot, hair sticking out in all directions, and even from a distance Dipper can smell that he hasn’t showered in at least several days. He looks even more tired than Dipper remembers seeing him yesterday, the bags under his eyes deeper and darker than usual. But even with that, and the extreme scruff on his cheeks, he still looks younger.

Ford takes another step out the door and lines up the bolt with Dipper’s head, “I said: who sent you?!”

Dipper put his arms over his head, “Ahh! My name is Dipper Pines! I’m your great nephew, please don’t shoot me!” oh god, he was going to be killed by his grunkle. His idol of the summer was going to kill him with a crossbow. He was going to—wait, why hasn’t a painful but hopefully swift death came yet? He peaks his eyes open; Ford is giving him a suspect look, but the crossbow has been lowered just a bit. “Grunkle Ford?”

Ford scowls and lifts the crossbow again. “Show me your eyes! Your eyes! Before I put a bolt through that stupid hat!”

Eyes—oh! Oh, of course! Dipper pushes up to his feet, trying not to slip while doing so. He uses his hand to push his hair out of his eyes. “Look, see! Normal eyes! No yellow, no slitted pupils! I am not possessed by Bill!” that is apparently the wrong thing to say, as Ford’s eyes go wide and somehow even crazier.

“How do you know who Bill is?!” Ford takes a small step back inside. “This is a trick—a-a shape shifter or-or something. Trust no one, trust no one.”

Dipper lunged forward to try to keep up. “W-wait! I’m not a shape-shifter and I’m not working with Bill! I’m—well, I think I might be from the future, considering this isn’t exactly the Mystery Shack and—listen! I’m Shermie’s grandson!” he’s still shivering, but it’s easier to ignore the cold in favor of not getting locked out by his paranoid grunkle. “If you let me in, you can examine me however you need to prove I’m a normal human.”

Ford narrows his eyes at him for a moment before taking another step back and gesturing towards the inside of the house with the crossbow. He never stopped pointing it at Dipper’s head, but he’d take the victory of not being in the freezing cold.

Dipper was pretty sure he’d never seen the Mystery Shack so messy, bar maybe when Gideon destroyed it or when the zombies attacked. All the fake attractions and souvenirs were gone, replaced instead by piles and piles of books and loose papers. Dipper has to step over a pile of what looked like elongated bones, only bright purple. There’s also lots of drawings of triangles pinned to the walls, most with red Xs drawn across them or Ford’s paranoid mantra of ‘TRUST NO ONE’ written in dripping ink.

Okay, so he’d thought they’d been exaggerating how insane Ford was when they’d told him about the portal accident. This was…concerning. Even Dipper thought this was excessive. He didn’t really like seeing his great uncle like this. The number of times he’d imagined meeting Ford back in the days when he was writing the journals, he’d always pictured him as very similar to the Ford he knew. Excited in the same manic way that Dipper could get when there was a new mystery; fun and ready to play board games when not on an adventure. This wasn’t nearly as fun as he would’ve thought it would be.

Ford was peeking out the blinds even as he kept the crossbow pointed at Dipper. “Take a seat, kid. I have a lot of questions, as you can imagine.”

Dipper casts another look around the living room, eyeing the books that seem to take up every inch of the couch. There’s a stool in the corner, but there’s something that looks like half melted lime Jello on it and dripping down the sides. “Uhh, I’d prefer to stand?” despite the cold, Dipper can feel himself sweating under his collar. He wants to ask for a towel for the rapidly melting snow on his butt or a blanket to fight the still-present cold, but he’s honestly afraid to see what said items would look like given the state of the house and Ford himself.

“What?” Ford looks around, as if just noticing the mess that was his house. He seems to still have a small sense of decency as his cheeks turn a deeper red than just that from the cold and he points the crossbow towards the floor. “Oh, right. That’s—” he clears his throat and raises the weapon once more, “Never mind all that. You said you’re from the future?”

Dipper starts to nod furiously only to stop when it causes the pounding in his head to flare up. Ohhh, yeah, no. Can’t do that. Verbal confirmation then. “Yes! Or, at least, I’m pretty sure this the past. Well, relative to where I’m from, or when I’m from, heh.” He snorts at his own joke—Mabel would’ve loved that— before catching himself and straightening his posture. He mimics Ford’s throat clear, “Ahem, right. Yeah. My name’s Dipper, Dipper Pines. I’m from the year 2012.”

Ford’s frowning that deep frown he always got whenever Dipper first started asking him questions after he stepped through the portal. “There was the anomaly in the time readings a few years ago...my theory that time travel was possible, even though Fidds said…” His voice trails off into something too low for Dipper to hear before clearing his throat yet again. “Right. So, you’re my great nephew from 30 years in the future. Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe that, given it is theoretically possible and you do bear a passing resemblance to Sherman. What are you doing here?”

Dipper hesitates, trying once more to push through the headache to remember what he’d been doing before waking up on the porch. Stan had made them Stancakes in the morning. Soos had showed him the new parts for version 2.0 of the rocket golf cart that they were going to work on come the weekend. He remembered wanting to show something to Ford and going to punch the code into the vending machine, but he can’t remember actually doing that. His stomach is twisting itself into knots as he tries to chase the memories that seem to be melting away like the snow on his shorts. Something had distracted him. What—

“Easy, kid.” A hand catches his shoulder, halting the swaying he hadn’t realized he’d been doing. Ford looks almost worried as Dipper tries to swallow down the nausea and dizziness that had suddenly taken over. “You’re white as a sheet, kid.”

Dipper shakes his head and takes a deep breath. What’s wrong with him? “I’m fine. I just can’t—I don’t remember how I got here.” McGucket hadn’t mentioned anything about physical side effects of the memory gun, just the affect it had on long-term memory retention. Why did he feel so sick trying to remember what had happened? He pats his pockets to make sure he didn’t have Blandin’s tape measurer again. Aside from some chewed up pens and a wadded up scrap of paper with ‘Wendy Pines’ written enough times to make his neck burn, he comes up empty. “I think I was talking with Mabel and—Mabel!”

He pushes past Ford, who lets out a very owl-like squawk as he nearly drops the crossbow, and rushes to the door. A blast of cold air hits him in the face—okay Outside was definitely colder than Inside— when he swings the door open, forcing him to squint as he scans the yard. How could he forget to check for Mabel? Oh god, if she was still unconscious in the snow…

The only tracks in the snow are from him and a kicked path that leads to a sign with big bold “STAY OUT” letters on it and barbwire on top of it. At the edge of the yard he can see what looks like rabbit tracks, but otherwise it’s all a blanket of untouched white. No other tracks and no Mabel-sized lumps. That’s both a relief and not. Dipper cups his hands around his mouth, “Mabel! Mabel, are you out there?!” his voice cracks on a yelp when a hand closes around his shoulder again, jerking him back into the house. He’s shoved back, nearly tripping over the pile of bones that seem to glow when his sneaker touches them. “Gah, Great Uncle Ford!”

Ford pulls the door closed and proceeds to lock a fairly frightening number of deadbolts. He’s got the manic look back on his face; his glare is enough to dry up Dipper’s indignation at being manhandled. “Calm down! Who the hell is Mabel?”

“Who—she’s Mabel!” he’s exasperated for a moment before, oh, right, past. It’s so weird to think of anyone not knowing who Mabel is at this point, what with the way that she seems to just be all the time. “She’s my sister; my twin. If I’m here, that means she’s probably here too. I’m pretty sure we were together before…before whatever happened.” He digs his fingers in his hair under his hat, still trying to fight past the headache and the nausea to remember what happened to his sister. “Ughhhh, why can’t I remember?! I had breakfast with her and Stan and then I wanted to talk to you about something but she was there and then—”

“Did you say Stan?” Ford’s voice cut through his own mania; he looks up at him to see a mix of anger and something soft warring on his uncle’s face. Apparently Ford has deemed him a non-threat as the crossbow has been hung up next to the door. “You know who Stan is?”

Dipper’s brow furrows before he remembers what Stan and Ford had told them. About their fight and the not seeing each other for ten years and then for thirty years because of the portal and the burn on Stan’s shoulder—Moses, Dipper had bugged Stan so much about that he was the worst— and the way the two glared at each other whenever they were forced to be in the same room. This was before the portal accident.

Dipper nods, rubbing at his arms. “I mean, yeah. He’s your twin brother. Mabel and I were staying with him for the summer.” He leaves it vague, not sure how much he should tell. You’d think after the thing with Waddles and epic Time Laser Tag he’d know how to handle being in the past. Plus the idea of telling Ford about him being trapped for thirty years hopping through dimensions makes him feel extra super sweaty.

Ford gives a huffing sort of a snort, “Your parents left you two with Stan? Once this is all done I’ll need to have a talk with Sherman about teaching his kids some sense.” He says it so casually, like it’s a practiced thing to dismiss Stan, and that irks Dipper a little but he keeps his mouth shut. Ford sighs and runs a hand through his hair; further messing it up if that was even possible. “Time traveling niblings. That’s gotta be too crazy, even for Bill…maybe. Damn it, all my notes about the time anomaly are in…Journal…”

It’s apparently Ford’s turn to sway. Dipper realizes, as Ford stumbles back against the door and begins slipping down the surface, that he might not be the only Pines that worked himself until he passed out. And if Ford paid as much attention to eating and sleeping as he did to his personal hygiene, then they were in all kinds of trouble. Dipper moves forward to try to prop his uncle up but only really manages to marginally slow down his descent to the floor where he proceeds to promptly start snoring.

Oh geez.

#gravity falls #timetrapped AU #timestuck AU #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #kainichivonwrites #fanfiction #fanfic #journey to the roots

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spiderxling · 8 years ago

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@marymjwatson

Time couldn’t really be measured anymore. Not how Peter wanted to measure it, not how he remembered measuring it-- and definitely not with an eight year gap separating him from everyone around him. For most of his life, Peter believed that time was relatively easy to understand, even with the theories about how it could be bent or messed with. It was fun to imagine what it would be like to go back in time or jump ahead, to let your mind wander in hypotheticals. But hypotheticals became all too real when you were a superhero. And after barely a year of living with his abilities, Peter learned that lesson the hard way.

Suddenly there was a 15 year old kid mixed up in twisted realities, alien invasions, and end of the world scenarios. Peter was face to face with the things he dreamed up when he was a kid-- men flying around in suits of metal, giant green monsters, gods come to life, spies with all their secrets, century old super soldiers, and mutants who held reality in the palm of their hand. Anything was possible. And when they all reached the end of the world, Peter wasn’t ready to believe it. Not for real.

But he had to believe it. He had to believe that he aged 8 years overnight-- that he felt like mix matched pieces of a puzzle that had been glued together in the wrong order, and that he didn’t feel right in his own skin. The world didn’t feel real. Time didn’t feel real. He didn’t even feel real. But he remembered: anything was possible.

Everyday that Peter existed on Battleworld, he learned more about the life he had lived while the real him floated in stasis. At first it was all shock and awe at the people he found and the things that had changed-- bursts of emotion that caught him off guard every single time. But now he was trying to focus on the details in a desperate attempt to mature almost a decade in the span of a few days. What was inside his head didn’t match what people saw on the outside, and he didn’t want to let anyone down. Or freak anyone out. Or seem stupid or small or weak-- everything that 15 year old him was.

People were on to him-- which in one way, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. If they were going to get anywhere, they needed people to believe that they didn’t belong here. But Peter was still terrified that something would go horribly wrong along the way.

One thing that Peter couldn’t risk was losing Mary Jane. Fake reality or not, he knew he couldn’t screw that up. He would never forgive himself if he did. He could tell that she knew something was off with him-- which wasn’t surprising. You spend eight years with someone, get used to them and their little habits and routines only to have them suddenly regress back to their high school mentality-- you’re bound to notice. MJ had grown up and just gotten more beautiful and more wonderful, even with the virus she had been infected with. If Peter were to be honest, he really had no clue why she stayed with him for eight years. She could be with anyone she wanted, and she chose him. Damn right he was lucky.

And it appeared that 24 year old Peter still knew that as well. One day while he was snooping around their room ( yes, their room-- living together meant that they shared a room and a bed, which he was still getting used to on nights when he could actually sleep ) he found a small cardboard box tucked away between a pile of folded clothes in the corner of the closet. They looked to be older clothes-- stuff he wore when he was younger and still fit, but weren’t what he used as often. A pretty good hiding spot, all considered. Apparently he was still bad at that after all these years.

Upon his discovery, Peter traveled to the bed and sat himself down with the box in his lap. He lifted the lid off without hesitation and found two smaller boxes inside. Jewelry boxes, actually. But that small detail didn’t click right away, and when he flipped open the lid of one of them he was.. surprised.

That was a really pretty ring. Like, really pretty. With a stone in the middle and everything. It kinda looked like a wedding ring. But why would he have a wedding ring tucked away----

Nope. Not a wedding ring. An engagement ring. Older-Peter had engagement rings tucked away-- and this one was MJ’s.

Holy shit.

Peter forgot how to breathe for a second. And he was panicking. And he was freaking out, and his hands were shaking and quickly he closed the ring box to stuff it back into the box he found it in, setting it off to the side. Older-Peter had planned on asking Mary Jane to marry him.

To him, it had been only been months since they said “I love you” for the first time. Only a few months more since they kissed the first time. Yes, Peter loved her. But he was 15-- wait, 16 now? He was supposed to be a junior in high school and still hadn’t fully gotten through puberty. Marriage was about the last thing on his mind-- no, scratch that. Marriage wasn’t on his mind at all. But eight years is a long time to be with someone. He shouldn’t have been surprised that his older self wanted to marry her. But this was way too complicated.

So. Older Peter probably knew what he was doing. They were already living together, right? They talked about it already? Was MJ just sitting around waiting for him to ask? Maybe that was one more thing that made him seem off-- because he hadn’t proposed yet. Oh my god-- oh my god he needed to propose to her. Right? Right.

Peter figured he could plan it all in a day. Give himself a day, that seems fair right? Doing it right then, having just found the rings, would have been disastrous. They didn’t need that. And proposals aren’t supposed to be big, right? Well some end up on YouTube and get millions of views and draw big crowds so maybe they are supposed to be big.

No, no MJ wouldn’t want it to be big. Not like that. Not when it’s just supposed to be for the two of them. Peter could at least tell himself he was right about that-- he knew her well enough to figure that out. He hoped.

When Mary Jane got home that night Peter asked her if they could meet for lunch the next day-- there was a small park nearby that was usually not too busy, and was pretty enough. He asked if they could meet there, 1:00 pm he said, but he told her not to stress if she wasn’t feeling well enough to go ( maybe he wouldn’t even feel well enough to go ). That was step one. Was he even doing this right? Maybe he could ask May for some advice ( while simultaneously trying not to sound like a lost little boy talking about his crush ).

When he asked her for help he kept it vague, not really saying what he was up to or why he wanted to dress up a bit but now at least he knew he didn’t look like a hot mess on the outside when he felt like it on the inside. They had gone through his wardrobe ( which now consisted of more than just Uncle Ben’s nicer clothes that May hadn’t gotten rid of ) and Peter was now anxiously heading towards the meeting site sporting something that May called ‘classy’: black dress pants and shoes, a white dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows, and a navy blue skinny tie. He had to admire himself in the mirror for a few minutes before he left, but then he didn’t want to be late.

The rings were in the left pocket of his pants ( should he have brought both or just hers? if she said no then this was going to be really weird ) and had a large bouquet of flowers that he carried with both hands. Miraculously, he managed to arrive a few minutes early. There was a bench nearby that he could have relaxed on while he waited, but Peter wasn’t exactly relaxed. He was anxious. Panicking. Again. But what else was new?

It was a beautiful day for this. But he suddenly felt as if his entire body was going to cave in on itself as he waited and paced back and forth behind the bench. There was a huge chance he was going to screw this up royally-- he was only 16 for goodness sake. Well, he felt 16. And he was not prepared, but if this is where their relationship was supposed to go then it needed to happen. Can’t screw things up with them if this is really where they were going to live for the rest of their lives. And he did love her.

Yeah, he needed to do this.

Deep breaths, Parker. Deep breaths.

#marymjwatson #c: mj #event: battleworld #damn here we go #i wrote you a novel #oops

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altessah · 8 years ago

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Accidents Happen -- Chapter 10

Hey all! So it’s been another year, but I got back around to this fic.

It’s a mortal au where Nico has to deal with his feelings for Percy after Bianca’s death, when he returns to a public high school after being homeschooled. Then he meets Will and joins his band as a guitarist. Cue more feelings. Sorry to be so late on the update! AO3

“You look like death,” Will remarked on Friday afternoon as he jumped up Nico’s front stoop and breezed through the door. Autumn was beginning to settle in the trees, and a few dead leaves trailed after him as he hurried inside.

“Thanks,” Nico mumbled, following Will towards the basement. He could hear Connor and Travis tittering around on their respective instruments from upstairs.

“What’s up, man?” Will asked, a hint of concern in his voice. He was standing in front of the stairwell, purposefully blocking the way.

“Nothing,” Nico replied unconvincingly.

Will just raised an eyebrow and didn’t move.

Nico sighed. “Ugh, okay fine. I’m just… nervous about the gig. That’s all.”

Will looked skeptical at first, but seemed to decide to believe him. “Of course. I forgot you’ve never performed in front of a crowd before.”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Hey, it’s okay, man,” Will insisted, patting his shoulder with only a slight awkwardness. “You’re gonna do great. You’re an awesome guitarist.” He smiled cheesily.

“Thanks.”

With a pat on the shoulder, Will turned on his heel and hurried down the stairs.

The moment that Nico’s foot hit the last stair, the Stolls grabbed him by the arms and practically threw him to the ground, knocking his head on the floor in the process.

“Ow – Connor, what the hell?”

“WE”VE GOT HIM PINNED, SOLACE!”

“IT’S NOW OR NEVER, BUDDY!”

“WE CAN’T HOLD THE BEAST BACK MUCH LONGER!”

Will looked perplexed for half a second, and then he sighed. “Ahh. I forgot about this.”

“What? Will, what’s going on?” Nico strained to pull his arms out of Connor’s grasp, but the man had him thoroughly pinned. As if reading Nico’s mind, Travis sat on his feet.

Will offered a dramatic sigh. “You see, I got the text in third period. I somehow forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Nico demanded.

Shaking his head with intense solemnity, Will took out his phone, pulled something up, and then displayed it to Nico, whose eyes took a second to focus on the text message.

KATIE GARDNER SAID YES TO ME, BITCHEZ!!

Awww yeah now willy has to lick nico’s face!

Nooooo omg

His cheeks tinted slightly pink, Will put his phone back in his pocket and sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

As Nico struggled to pull out of Connor’s death grip, Will cracked all his knuckles and then his neck.

“Did you guys seriously mean that? Because I definitely do not remember you shaking on it. And let’s be real, if there’s not a handshake, then the bet didn’t happen. I don’t think that—”

Nico was interrupted by Will’s tongue sliding slowly across his cheek. He closed his eyes.

“You see? Easy.” Connor stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Shall we practice?”

Travis stood up next, grinning ear-to-ear. “It’s been a good day.”

Will looked at the Stolls and sighed, before making uncomfortable eye contact with Nico. He offered him a hand. “Let’s practice, man. Also, you need to shave.”

Nico got up on his own and could not even let out a squeak.

As they played through the setlist, Nico found himself surprised at how good they sounded. While their first practices had mainly consisted of Nico being lost, Connor correcting Will’s pitch, and Travis trying to add cowbell to literally everything, the four of them had really pulled things together nicely. Nico’s fingers found the right chords without him needing to think about it, and Travis’s solos lasted the exact counts he was allotted—not twelve extra measures. Even Will seemed a lot more confident, letting one hand wave dramatically in the air instead of gluing it awkwardly to the microphone.

The other three seemed to be thinking the same thing as Nico, because they were all grinning and adding unnecessary dance moves and head bobs to their performances. As they finished up a rock rendition of Love Me Now, Will turned around and met Nico’s eyes, and flashed him a wide smile, his cheeks bright pink and his hair a little sweaty. Feeling his insides squirm a little, Nico smiled back.

By the end of the rehearsal, they were all a little jittery. They’d run through every song twice with minimal mistakes (Connor had forgotten a key change and Will said “goat” instead of “gloat”), but it felt weird to just call it a day. It was the last rehearsal before the gig.

Nico could tell that Will was panicking a little because he kept reading over lyrics on his phone and mumbling them quickly under his breath. After a while, Travis and Connor decided to head home for dinner, packing up their instruments and slapping Nico and Will on the back as they headed up. Significantly sweatier than before, Will quietly asked Nico if he could hang around and practice part of one song where his lyrics lined up with a guitar riff.

“Will, we’ve practiced this bit like fifty times,” Nico said, exasperated, half an hour later. “I think we’ve got it down.”

Will shook his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just feel like this is my worst bit.”

“But you’ve been playing it perfectly for the last twenty minutes!”

Will just scowled at the microphone. “I just know that this is what I’m gonna screw up.”

“Who says you’re gonna screw anything up?” Nico set his guitar down against the couch and collapsed, yawning into a cushion.

“I always screw up at least once,” Will stated. “And it’s always the part that I practice a million times. In the moment I just freak out and forget what I’m doing.”

Nico stretched and sat up. “Even if you do mess up, no one’s gonna notice. They’ll all be drunk off their asses.”

Will let his hand fall from the microphone. “You’re right.”

“Why are you so scared?” Nico asked after a moment, remembering Will’s confidence from earlier. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Will nodded slowly, walking away from the equipment to join Nico on the couch. He closed his eyes and put his head back on the cushion. “Yeah, I’ve done this stuff before. I guess it’s just never been this big of a crowd. And it’s never been people that are then gonna judge what I wear to school on Monday.”

“Seriously?” Nico laughed. “Why do you care what they think about your clothes?”

Will opened his eyes and turned to him. “Of course I care, Nico. It’s freshman year of high school. I have to care because I’m gonna be seeing them every day for the next three and a half years of my life, and they can make those three and a half years as awesome or as miserable as they want.” He put his head back down. “I just don’t want them thinking I’m a dweeb.”

“They’re not gonna think you’re a dweeb for messing up one verse.”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But it still stresses me out, okay?” He let out a slow breath. “Whatever. I don’t expect you to get it, anyway.”

Nico looked at him. “What? Why?”

Will lifted his head again. “I don’t know, man. That stuff just doesn’t seem to get to you. You just let it roll off your back. People gossip and whisper about how you were homeschooled, and your family, and the whole thing with you and Percy—”

“There’s not a thing between me and Percy,” Nico cut in, his ears going red. His heart began to pound immediately. He knew people had found out. Someone had seen it and told someone else who’d told someone else. The whole school knew and thought he was some kind of creep who took advantage of drunk guys at parties.

“Whoa chill, I just meant the whole thing with your sister and all,” Will said, looking concerned. After a moment, his brow furrowed. “Wait, was there something else?”

Nico looked at the carpet. “No, sorry. I just… heard a rumor the other day.”

Unlike earlier, Will didn’t seem to buy his lie.

“Nico, what hap—”

“Nothing, Will. I don’t want to talk about it,” Nico huffed. He could feel that his face was beet red. “I get that you’re afraid of messing up and ruining your amazing reputation or whatever, but I can’t deal with this. I’ve got enough stress on my own about stuff that actually matters. I’m sorry I can’t run the same phrase with you a hundred freaking times.”

Will was silent for a minute, staring out into space. Nico didn’t look at him, just focused on the same stain in the carpet, trying not to think about the friendship he might have just ruined. After what felt like the longest silence, Will stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants.

“You know, Nico, I think you’d be a little less stressed out about stuff if you actually talked about things and didn’t just get mad when people don’t understand your depressing, complicated life.” He unplugged the microphone from the amp with more force than was necessary, and coiled the wire quickly around his arm. “It’s not that hard to open up, especially not to your best friend.”

He dropped the coiled wire on top of the amp and grabbed his backpack, still not making eye contact with Nico, who was still stuck to the couch, unable to find words.

“Thanks for having us over. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nico sat in the same position for about an hour, unable to find the motivation to get up.

* * *

The next day felt like it lasted an eternity.

Nico hadn’t been able to fall asleep the night before, partially because he was freaking out about the fight with Will, and partially because the house was still freezing. He hadn’t seen his dad since his drunken breakdown, and Nico couldn’t find the courage to seek him out. At around 3:30 in the morning, he heard his dad stomping down the stairs, probably to get food or another beer, but Nico fell asleep before he heard him return. The next day, he woke up a little past noon, sweating through the fifty blankets he’d wrapped around himself to fall asleep.

For a moment, all he could focus on was getting out of bed so he could cool down, but the moment he was standing groggily in his underwear, everything came flooding back.

His dad was a mess. Will hated his guts. The gig was today.

With a groan, Nico fell back on the bed, pressing his eyes closed to try and block it all out.

A while later, when he got the courage to check his phone, he found nothing from Will, but was surprised by a text from an unknown number. A weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, he opened it.

Hey Nico—It’s Annabeth. I wanted to text you because Percy’s been freaking out about something that he thinks happened between you guys at that party the other day. He feels really bad and wants you to know that nothing was your fault. I 100% agree with him. Text me when you get this!

Part of Nico wanted to puke. He had secretly hoped that Percy would never remember the details of that night. Nico’s age old crush could remain a secret that could never get out to the school and ruin him. Annabeth would never know that Percy had unknowingly been unfaithful.

But another part of Nico was relieved. After all, this scenario was probably for the better. Percy remembered. He didn’t hate him. Annabeth wasn’t mad. Everything had worked out in the best way that it could have, without anyone getting horribly hurt. Nico felt his chest loosen up as he texted Annabeth back.

Thanks Annabeth. I’m sorry and I don’t blame him either.

He pressed send and immediately let out a heavy breath. Trying not to think about Will, he threw on some clothes, brushed his teeth, and headed down to get food.

When he passed his father’s room, he was surprised to find the door open. His dad always closed the door, even if he wasn’t inside. Nico could hear his loud snores from the other end of the hall. Nervously, he padded over and peered inside. His dad was passed out, face down on his bed, with what looked like a photo album beside him. A plate with half a pancake and some syrup was on his nightstand. There was still a light on.

While he was still concerned, Nico was relieved that his dad wasn’t still in that grimy white t-shirt and that there weren’t any empty bottles by the bed. Grabbing the dirty pancake plate, Nico headed downstairs.

The rest of the day was incredibly uneventful. He packed up his guitar and picked an outfit for that night. He took a long shower, shaved (per Will’s suggestion), and blow dried his hair so it wouldn’t be too flat. Connor texted Nico that he could pick him up at around 10:15.

Are you picking up Will too?

Nah he said he’d just walk. He lives really close

Nico felt his stomach tighten, irrationally wondering if Will was avoiding him. He wanted more than anything to text and apologize, but he just couldn’t find the courage. Will could still be angry. He should give him space.

That decision didn’t keep Nico from obsessively checking his phone over the course of the next few hours, pleading and pleading for something from Will. Nick Lantoya added him on Facebook to formally invite him to the event, but that was about it.

“Hello Ladies and Gents! I’m pleased to invite you to what’s going to be the craziest event of the homecoming season! Are you fed up with teachers? Sick of homework? Exhausted from the pain that is living a grueling teenaged life? Then join us at 1300 Griggs St. after the homecoming dance to celebrate our spectacular loss at the game last night! We’ll have food, some live music, and all the booze you can ask for… provided you bring $5. Can’t wait to see you sick bastards there!!”

There were close to two hundred people who said they were coming to the event, and Nico felt his palms begin to sweat as he scrolled through the list, recognizing some of Percy’s friends and not too many others. Sure enough, Percy and Annabeth said they were coming too, and the thought of them watching Nico perform made him feel nauseous again. He decided to wait to eat until dinner.

By the time that Nico got around to microwaving some leftover pizza, he’d heard his father moving around his room upstairs and the shower turned on. At around seven, his dad finally came downstairs.

“Mornin,” he joked, striding into the room and making a beeline for the fridge.

“Hey,” Nico replied in a mumble.

“Sleep well?” his father asked. “Sorry I had the thermostat so cold.”

“I’m used to it.”

His father grabbed a slice of pizza and plopped down at the table, eating it cold. He eyed Nico curiously, as if trying to gauge if he was mad. Nico pretended not to notice and chewed his crust.

“You’ve got a performance tonight, as I recall.”

“Yeah,” Nico said. “We’re playing at one of Travis’s friend’s homecoming parties.”

“Ahh, so it’s homecoming weekend then. Was the game last night?”

“Yeah, we lost.”

“Too bad,” his father said with a dramatic sigh. “And the dance is tonight then. Are you going?”

Nico laughed a little. “Nah, it’s not really my kind of thing.”

“But you could’ve gone with that Will boy! And your other friends of course.”

“We all just wanted to get ready for the gig,” Nico stated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I understand.”

His dad chewed his pizza thoughtfully for a moment. Nico checked his phone for the billionth time. Nothing from Will. He let out another heavy breath.

“Well, good luck then,” said his father. “Do you need a ride?”

“Connor’s taking me.”

“Okay.” He smirked. “If you need a ride back—for any reason—please let me know.”

Nico felt his ears get a little warm. “Okay.”

He could tell his father wanted to talk more, but thankfully, he got the message and left Nico to obsessively check his phone. The next three hours felt like a millennium; yet, when Connor’s headlights shined through the living room blinds, Nico still felt like he needed more time to emotionally prepare. He and Connor loaded the amps into the van, and after Nico shouted goodbye to his dad, they were on the road.

“You nervous?” he asked Connor after a long silence. The radio was playing a Fall out Boy song that they were going to play later.

“Yeah, a little,” admitted Connor. “I think I’m just gonna get a little buzzed before we go on so I won’t overthink anything.”

Nico frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Connor grinned. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry your skinny little neck.”

Slightly more anxious than before, Nico sat back and shut up for the rest of the ride.

When they got to the house, Nick Lantoya greeted them at the door, grinning widely and clapping their backs harder than was entirely necessary.

“I’m so glad you guys are here! You’re gonna be a huge hit, I just know it!” He gripped each of their shoulders (Nico had a sneaking suspicion he was using them as a crutch), and led them into his kitchen.

His house was pretty big. Not as big as Nico’s but it could definitely hold two hundred people. Some of Nick’s buddies were in the kitchen, blaring some rap music while they poured different colored liquids into a huge cooler. Some of it splashed over the side, and Nico saw that it was a deep, bluish-greenish color.

“The stage is out back, so you can go ahead and get set up,” Nick told them. “We’ve got an extension cord running behind the stage with a huge power strip. Let me know if you need anything else. The drum set is already set up.”

“Where’s Will?” Connor asked.

One of the guys stirring the juice chuckled. “Your boy’s in the bathroom. Has been for the last ten minutes.”

Another guy with muscles bigger than his head laughed. “That kid’s an idiot. I think I love him.”

All four of them laughed, and Nick smiled at Will and Connor. “He should be good by eleven thirty. He just got a bit of a head start.”

“Puke and rally,” one of the guys mumbled, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Oh jeez,” Connor mumbled under his breath, heading for what must have been the bathroom.

Nico didn’t move, just stared at the guys as they poured more weird liquids into the cooler, rapping along to the loud music. Some of the cabinets behind them were zip-tied shut. So was the fridge. What did they mean about Will getting a head start? Nico thought, beginning to panic. Puke and rally? Is he okay?

As if answering his question, Will practically exploded into the room, an empty can falling from his hand onto the ground. Just as Nico turned, Will slipped a little on the floor and nearly collided with him as he went in for a huge bear hug.

“Nico!” Will shouted in his ear. “My man! The lord, the legend! What is up?”

Thoroughly startled, Nico pulled away from the hug, staring at the stain on the collar of Will’s black shirt. Nervously, he asked, “Hey Will, how are you?”

“I’m doing good, my man.” He let out a loud, long burp, accidentally kicked his left foot with his right, and started to collapse, so that Nico and Connor had to grab him by the arms to keep him upright. The other guys watched from the kitchen and laughed.

As they dragged a babbling Will around to sit on the couch, Connor met Nico’s eyes and shook his head, his eyes seeming to say something along the lines of ‘we’re screwed.’

“What happened?” Nico asked quietly, trying not to blush as Will mumbled something about shiny hair and started touching Nico’s bangs.

“He’s wasted, man,” Connor said solemnly, snatching an unopened beer from Will’s hand. “Half an hour before people even get here, and our lead singer’s absolutely shitfaced.”

Will grasped Nico’s hand and held it tightly, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. He smelled like puke.

“What are we gonna do?” Nico asked Connor, staring at his hand in Will’s.

Connor sighed and shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do but set up the stage and keep this one away from the Natty Light.” He took a napkin and started to dab at the stain on Will’s shirt. He looked over at Nico like a resigned parent. “The show must go on, I guess.”

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackson #pjo #my writing #accidents happen

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incongruous-writer · 8 years ago

Text

Dinner and a Talk

The first week on board the Eclector, Peter basically hid in the vent system, snuck out to the mess hall for food once everyone was gone and it was quiet, and continuously ignored the shouted demands of the captain to “Get his scrawny Terran ass outa the vent, so help me”

Unfortunately his vent adventures came to a rather abrupt end. He supposes he might have become a little predictable.

The hinges on the cover squeaked quietly when he opened them, and the coast looked clear. The vent was stationed into the wall, right above a counter in the mess hall which was convenient for the short boy. The kitchen or galley was through a door on the other side of the mess.

With a practiced ease he lowered himself to the counter and then hopped off, running quickly for the door on the other side. Right before he was about to enter, the door opened and Kraglin, who Peter now knew to be the First Mate on the ship, walked out.

“Figured you’d get hungry soon enough, an come in here sneakin’ in like a rat.” The first mate muttered rather annoyed sounding.

Quill wasted no time in sprinting back to the vent opening. He stopped short when he realized that the captain was leaning against the counter, effectively blocking that escape route. Not giving it two seconds of thoughts he ran in a different direction, hoping to out run the larger and slower adults.

If he could make it out to the hall there was another vent that he could probably reach, and once again escape his abductees.

The sound of lazy whistling killed his plan, or the concept of a plan, that he had had. Quill had seen enough of the ship and the crew, while safely hidden inside the vents, to know that the captains arrow was quick and always on point. The two adults he might have been able to outrun, but there was no outrunning the arrow.

Facing the captain he was unsurprised to find the Yaka Arrow making curling loops and flips in the air around Yondu’s head.

The captain looked him up and down and gave him a ragged, silvered tooth smirk. He reminded Peter of a shark.

“ Kraglin, back ta your duties.” Yondu stated bluntly. “What should I do with the brat, sir?"Kraglin questioned hesitantly.

"You ain’t doing nothin’ with him. Already seen how well havin’ you watch him goes. Can’t even control a little pup, pathetic.” Kraglin turned a little red at that comment, either from embarrassment or anger, Peter couldn’t tell, and gave a curt ‘sir’ before taking his leave.

“You ain’t gonna give me no trouble now, are yea?” The blue man asked, arrow still floating around him.

“No sir.” The boys quiet reply came, eyes still glued to the weapon, waiting.

“That’s what I thought.” With a shove Yondu pushed himself off the counter and started walking toward the galley. “Come on then.”

Peter thought quickly about making a run for it, but decided against it, he’d seen that arrow go faster than anything, and started to follow the captain, making sure to keep a good space between them.

He was scared. His legs were shaking and he drew in air faster than he could get it out, but the boy didn’t cry and Quill considered that victory.

The inside of the galley had what looked like a stove and an oven, with some shelves filled with different things, some in cans and some not. A giant door to the far right held a freezer of some sort and that was about it.

The Captain was busy looking through some things on the shelf pulling this and that off. Turning around he handed the stuff to Peter with a quick 'stay put’ before going back to the shelf.

While wondering what Yondu could be doing, a memory came back from a week ago, where the captain had threatened to make him into an appetizer for his crew. Fear seized his heart cold and unforgiving as he shook, he took a few steps back before hitting the wall.

“I’m sorry I ran away!” He cried out to Yondu, fat tears spilling down his face, and small hiccups escaping. “ I won’t do it again, sir! Please don’t cook me. I don’t want to be an appetizer!” He wailed.

Yondu had turned around and was staring at the kid, confused as to why he was crying and what had started it. It wasn’t until the last part that comprehension dawned on the centurian, and looking around he could understand why the kid was thinking Yondu planned to eat him.

He wanted to laugh at the boy for so easily believing him, but that would give the wrong impression and Yondu couldn’t have that. Instead the captain pretended to consider the boys words before replying. “ I suppose I could find something else to eat but why should I do that, you don’t have any other use so far, all yea do is cry and hide, and I have no use for whiners on my ship.”

Scared as the kid was Yondu could still see his tiny mind trying to come up with rebuttal, with a reason why he shouldn’t be eaten, it was almost endearing. Almost.

“because I’m small and tiny and I don’t have any meat on my bones, sir.”

Well, he’s not wrong on that account. The boy was small, small enough to fit the in the vents and hide there for a week, also smart enough to know where and when to come out for food. He had the makings of a decent thief. Hell, thought Yondu, he could probably come in handy on some jobs.

Giving a hearty laugh that had poor Peter jumping outa his skin, the captain answered him. “That you are, boy, that you are. If you can prove to be useful, maybe I won’t make you into a roast.”

“I can be useful, I’ll prove it. Just wait.” Peter’s shaking had died off a considerable amount and a spark had gone off in his eyes.

“Well, in that case looks like I need to make something else for supper than.” With that Yondu went back to what he had been doing all along, which was just making himself and the kid something to eat.

Once the centurian had all of his ingredients he started making himself something similar to an omelette, except it was green, with purplish spots on it.

once that was done The pair returned to the mess hall and sat down at one of the tables.

As soon as the food was placed in front of the Terran he dug in like a wild animal, basically inhaling the thing.

Yondu just watched him from where he sat, his mind wandering to other things.

Peter didn’t look much like his siblings, the ones Yondu had delivered before him, but that wasn’t to surprising seeing how they were all different species and such. Thinking of the other children that he had transported brought a frown to his face. Every kid that got picked up got a translator, but those devices also had other applications, like a tracking system and a biological scanner. That way Yondu could keep an eye on em’ while in his ship and monitor there vitals to boot.

The captain had forgotten about those extra measures once the kids were off his ship. That is until Peter up and disappeared and he logged on to find out where the runt went, only to notice that all of his other siblings trackers reported back the same thing, that there hosts where deceased. Ravagers don’t feel things like guilt, cause that’s sentiment, and sentiment is a death wish in this life; but that doesn’t mean the captain didn’t feel his equivalent of it. He had brought those kids to their death, he knew it. So now he had to make up for it, and if that meant depositing this brat on some Nova Corps world so he could get picked up and join with the other hundred thousand refugee orphans, then so be it. At least he’ll be alive and Peter’s father won’t know where to find him. Good thing that bastard payed in advance.

That was the plan anyway.

A quiet 'thank you’ broke the Centurian out of his thoughts. Looking over he saw that Quill had finished his food and was staring a hole at the table.

“So you got manners, that’s nice to know. Maybe you got a brain in there after all.” Came the Ravager’s reply, all gruff and sneering.

Quill looked up at that remark, his glare now focused on the man in front of him. “I do have a brain. I’m not stupid.”

“Coulda have fooled me, you couldn’t even listen when Kraglin told yea to stay put, even animals know that command kid.” Yondu threw back at him. Peter’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, curious as to what the kid could find amusing, the captain barked out “ Whats so funny to yea, that your dumb as bricks?”

“He said 'stay put’ so I stayed put, on the ship.” The ghost of a grin was gone from the Terran’s face, but his eyes had a glint of mischief to em’.

So he was a sarcastic one wasn’t he, the ravaged thought, that’s gonna have to be fixed.“You think your clever, huh?” And leaning across the table Yondu cuffed him on his ear, not too hard but enough to hurt.

******************

After the meal Yondu and Peter had walked Down to the crews quarter where Peter was assigned a bunk, and told to get some sleep. Tomorrow would start his first proper sagas a Ravager.

#peter quill #gotgvol2 #yondu udonta

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