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lunar-wandering · 4 years ago

Text

Peach Slices

the Sick!Wukong fanfic is finally done! this is the longest one shot i’ve ever written lol.

tagging @winterpower98 and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off since you two seemed interested

read on ao3

Word Count: 5.4k

-----

When MK arrived at the temple to train, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. For one, Wukong wasn't hidden anywhere in an attempt to surprise him, which he had been doing lately to help him "hone his instincts". (Usually all that got him was a smack in the face with his own staff. MK would apologize each time, but Wukong would just wave it off.) Instead of hiding, Wukong was sitting in the middle of the courtyard, a few of the monkeys hanging out around him and hanging off of him. The second thing that was off was how the monkeys were looking at him, concerned. Upon noticing MK, they had immediately started to point him at Wukong, as though saying "something's up with him, please help him out.". The third thing that was off, was Wukong fur. It looked absolutely horrible, like he'd just rolled out of bed and hadn't brushed it, and had also been through like 5 fights.

That was concerning enough, but what really worried MK was the 4th thing.

Wukong hadn't noticed him yet.

Nevermind the other things being weird, Wukong not noticing him was just plain wrong. Wukong always noticed when MK arrived, even if he'd been distracted before.

Something was clearly up, and MK was going to find out what.

Deciding to use the fact that Wukong hadn't noticed him to his advantage, MK started slowly sneaking up behind him, making a shushing motion to the monkeys to let them know to be quiet. He had a suspicion about what was up, and honestly he kinda hoped that he was wrong.

Finally managing to make it to Wukong's side, MK slowly reached up-

And lightly pressed the back of his hand to Wukong's forehead.

Wukong yelped and jumped away in surprise at MK's "sudden" appearance, but the few seconds that MK's hand had been on Wukong's forehead was all he needed.

"Kid! I uh, didn't hear you come in-"

"You're sick." MK stated the facts, as Wukong looked at him in surprise. "Why didn't you call me to cancel training if you're sick? I could've just gone to spar with Red Son or Mei instead."

"I, wh-" Wukong sputtered for a moment, before he seemed to collect himself a little. "I'm not sick."

"Uh, your fever says other wise." MK replied, not certain what his mentor thought he would get out of denying his incredibly obvious condition.

"What fever? I'm perfectly fine." Wukong clearly lied, leaning against a nearby tree in an attempt to look cool. MK rolled his eyes and was about to respond when Wukong let out a sudden yelp, as the tree he was leaning against snapped and fell to the ground, causing him to stumble. There was a moment of silence as the two of them stared at the fallen tree.

"I totally meant to do that."

"Alright, that's it." MK said, setting his bag on the ground and walking over to Wukong. "Come on Monkey King, I'm taking you back to my apartment to keep an eye on you."

"That's really not necessary- hey! Put me down!" Wukong yelled as MK scooped him up, carrying him like a sack of potatoes. "Seriously, Kid, I'm fine!"

"If you were fine you'd have jumped away before I grabbed you." MK said. Wukong didn't seem to have a reasonable response for that, so MK started the long trek back to the noodle shop with only a few more complaints from the Monkey King.

---

At some point during the walk to the noodle shop, Wukong had fallen asleep. MK was kinda grateful for that actually, it meant he didn't have to deal with his mentor continuing to complain, and it meant that he was resting, which he honestly probably needed, based on how he looked.

MK avoided going in through the front door of the noodle shop, from what he could see, there were quite a few customers in there. If he went in with a passed out Monkey King on his back, it was sure to cause a commotion, and he.... really didn't want that, especially if all the noise would wake Wukong up. So, MK snuck around to the back of the shop, and used the fire escape to climb up to his apartment on the second floor.

Once inside, MK carefully set Wukong down on his bed, shaking some of the ache out of his arms as he did so. Wukong was heavy, and carrying him for over an hour had done MK's arms no favors.

Wukong curled up in the bed, and MK sighed, before going off in search of more blankets and pillows, and hopefully some medicine to bring Wukong's fever down. MK... wasn't actually sure when he last bought medicine. He might have to ask Mei to run out and buy him some, because there was no way he was going to leave-

Almost as soon as he thought that, MK's phone dinged, telling him he'd received a message from Pigsy.

'I know you're here.' It read, 'Heard you on the fire escape. If you aren't training, can you come back down and work for the next hour?'

'Cant.' MK sent back, 'Busy rn'.

'What on Earth could you be busy with?'

MK thought for a moment on how best to explain the situation, before figuring that a visual example was probably the best, and snapped a quick picture of Wukong and sent it to Pigsy.

The yelled "What the fuck!" was loud enough for MK to hear, and apparently Wukong heard it too, as he started to stir.

"Kid?" He asked, slowly sitting up, "W'as goin' on?"

"It's nothing Monkey King, go back to sleep-" MK was proven wrong however, as the two of them could hear a series of loud footsteps running up the stairs. Within seconds, Pigsy had burst into the room.

"MK." He said, "Would you please explain to me why Sun Wukong is in your bed."

"He's sick." MK said, glancing back at the monkey in question. Despite the rest he'd gotten on the way over, he was actually starting to look worse than before, as well as very confused. He hoped that his fever wasn't getting worse.

"Oh well that's plainly obvious." Pigsy said, "What I want to know, is why you brought him here instead of back to his mountain."

"I figured it'd be easier to look after him here? I kinda.... doubt that he has the materials needed to look after someone who's sick back at his house." MK explained. Pigsy sighed at the answer, suddenly looking incredibly resigned to the fact that he was going to have to deal with there being a sick monkey king directly above his noodle shop. Gods, this was going to be a pain....

"Zhu Bajie?" Wukong suddenly asked, drawing Pigsy and MK's attention back to him. "What....what are you doing here? You're... Dead."

MK and Pigsy stared at him in confusion.

"What on Earth is he going on about now?" Pigsy asked, and that was all it took for Wukong to start suddenly crying hysterically. MK panicked, rushing forwards and trying to calm him down, but not really knowing how. Pigsy stood back, shocked and confused at the sudden emotional outburst from the monkey.

Pigsy would've tried to help MK calm Wukong down, but there was a sudden yell from down in the noodle shop and, remembering that he had practically left said shop unattended, he was forced to turn and start back down the stairs. He gave MK a look of apology as he went, and mentally noted that he would have to make some kind of soup for the sick monkey.

...Did Wukong even eat soup?

As far as Pigsy remembered, the answer to that was no.

.....He'd have to ask Tang and Sandy to pick up a basket of peaches at the store.

---

Later, after Wukong had cried himself out and fallen back asleep, and Pigsy closed the shop for lunch, MK pulled Pigsy aside for a moment.

"So." Pigsy started, "What was all that stuff earlier about?"

"He. He kept saying things like 'he's supposed to be dead' and 'he doesn't remember me' while he was crying." MK said, "His fever's pretty high. I think it's made him delirious. And I think that. He thinks you're Zhu Bajie, one of the people who was with him during the Journey to the West."

Pigsy was silent for a brief moment.

"Kid....I'm about to tell you something that might.....upset you." He said. MK tilted his head, confused.

"What do you me-, oh my gods." Realization struck. "Are you kidding me?"

Pigsy gave no signs that he was kidding. MK stared in shock.

"You're Zhu Bajie??"

"Yes. Sandy and Tang are Wujing and Tripitaka too."

MK's shock quickly turned to anger.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell him?" He asked.

"I... I didn't tell you because I didn't think you needed to know." Pigsy said, "As for Wukong.... he was never there when we tried to go visit him over the years. We knew he was still alive, Heaven would've lost it's shit had he actually died, but we...figured that he was avoiding us. That he didn't want to interact with us, for some reason."

"Well clearly that is not the case, considering he apparently thinks you're dead!" MK shouted, ignoring Pigsy's hurried shushing. "Can you imagine how upsetting that must be for him?? Thinking that all the people he considers friends, maybe even family, are dead, or that they don't remember him? I want to cry just thinking of it!"

MK would have continued yelling, but a sudden thump and crash upstairs drew his attention. He paused for a moment, during which he and Pigsy both heard the quiet, slightly scared, "Kid?" from Wukong. MK sighed, moving to head back up the stairs, but not before giving Pigsy a glare.

"This isn't over. We will be talking about this later." He said, before disappearing up the stairs. Pigsy slumped against the counter.

"Jeez....." He muttered, "We really fucked up didn't we."

---

When he walked back into his apartment, MK was only slightly surprised to find it a mess, and Wukong missing from the bed. Clearly, Wukong had woken up while MK was downstairs, and, upon not seeing the kid anywhere in the general area, had panicked, probably assuming the worst. Worried for a brief moment, MK glanced at the window, breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was still locked the way it had been before. Good, so Wukong was still somewhere in the apartment.

Now where did he-

There was a sudden crash from the kitchen.

MK rushed to the kitchen, to find Wukong standing in front of the sink, bits and pieces of what used to be a cup on the floor. Wukong still looked dreadful, but he did look slightly better than before.

Slightly.

"Oh, Kid, there you are." Wukong said upon noticing him, "I was worried about you."

"Yeah, I uh, could tell." MK said, thinking back to the mess he'd caught a glance of in the living room. "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

"I wanted to get a drink?" Wukong said, "I'm sorry about your cup though... I can replace it-"

"After you go back to bed." MK said, "Monkey King, you still look awful."

"Do I?" Wukong asked, sighing when MK nodded his head yes. "Fine. But if I'm in your bed, where are you going to sleep?"

"On the couch." MK answered, and, upon seeing the look on Wukong's face, added, "Don't worry about it. I've slept on the couch multiple times before."

"If you say so kid..."

"I do say so. Now c'mon, back to bed."

It was definitely a good thing MK made Wukong get back in the bed, as Wukong was just slightly wobbly the entire walk back from the kitchen to the bedroom.

"Weren't you going to play games with Mei tonight?" Wukong asked, as MK dropped another blanket on top of him. "You can go play with her if you want. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, forgive me for not trusting you on that one." MK said, "Unless you don't remember your emotional outburst from earlier."

"I had an emotional outburst?"

"You- actually you know what, it's probably better that you don't know." MK replied, before quickly changing the subject. "I already messaged Mei by the way, told her what was up. She's going to pick up some medicine."

"Bold of you to assume that human medicine will work on me."

".....Will it?"

"I don't know. Haven't tried."

---

Red Son was peacefully walking down the street, rather quite enjoying his day, when suddenly, Mei ran by in a green rush, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Hey Dragon Girl!" He shouted, grabbing her attention, "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Monkey King's sick!" She said, "MK's asked me to get medicine-"

"Hold up. Sun Wukong is sick?" Red Son asked, looking straight up shocked when Mei nodded in response. "I... I must tell Mother and Father about this."

"You're not gonna like. Spring an attack on us while he's sick are you?" Mei asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Red Son gasped, offended.

"Of course not! We are nothing if not honorable villains." He said, "I just think that... Mother and Father would want to know about this is all."

"Hm....Okay." Mei said, "But if I see even one hint of an attack, I will not hesitate to beat you up."

"...Duly noted."

---

Over the past few hours, Wukong had tried multiple times to get up and do things. The Monkey King, apparently, didn't know how to rest. MK had to keep practically dragging him back into the bed before he broke things on accident, which, unfortunately, was happening a lot. 3 glasses, 2 plates, one vase, and one coffee table had been destroyed before MK got the bright idea to set up his laptop and stream the Monkey King Animated Series for Wukong to watch. That, at least, managed to get him to stay in bed while MK started trying to clean things up.

He had just finished sweeping up the last few pieces of the plates when the doorbell rang.

MK set down the broom and opened the door to see Mei, with one arm carrying two bowls of noodles, and her other arm holding two small baskets of peaches and a box of medicine.

"Hey MK." She said, giving him a smile.

"Come right on in Mei, here, let me take that for you." MK said, taking the peach baskets and the medicine box out of Mei's hand so that she could use both of them to carry the noodle bowls. He set the peaches and medicine down on the kitchen counter as Mei set the bowls down on the table. The two of them sat down to eat.

"So uh, what with the peaches and the noodles?" MK asked.

"Well, I remembered you said that Monkey King liked peaches, so I figured I'd pick some up for him while I was at the store." She said, "Turns out, Tang and Sandy had the same idea. Pigsy sent the peaches and the noodles up. Said something about you probably not wanting to see him right now."

"I wouldn't say that I wouldn't want to see him." MK said, "Just that me and him are...going to have a conversation later. It's nothing you need to worry about, I promise."

The look Mei gave him was skeptical, but when MK didn't retract his statement, she sighed and decided to move on.

"Sooo....How's Monkey King doing?" She asked.

"He's doing.... better than he was this morning I guess." MK said, fiddling with his chopsticks. "He still isn't near what I'd deem healthy, but I'm pretty sure his fever has gone down a bit. I set things up so he could watch the Monkey King Animated Series on my laptop so that he'd stop trying to get up and do things. I should probably give him the medicine before I go to bed."

"So, basically, what I'm taking away from this, is that you're Mother Henning the Monkey King." Mei said, laughter in her voice. MK was about to respond, argue that he was not being a Mother Hen, he was just concerned, when there was a thump outside, and then a knock on the balcony door. MK gave Mei a questioning glance, wondering if she knew anything about who could possibly be on his balcony, but she just shrugged, clearly as confused as he was. Sighing, MK stood up and walked over to the balcony door. On his way, a quick glance into his bedroom showed that Wukong had fallen asleep again, the laptop still running. He'd have to turn it off to save the battery, as well as wake Wukong later to give him some food and medicine, but another knock on the door meant he was going to have to see who had decided to come visit him first.

He opened up the door, only to come face to face with Red Son, who was holding a basket of peaches and looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"...What are you doing here?" MK asked, briefly wondering if he should summon his staff, just in case. But then again, Red Son didn't seem like he wanted to attack at the moment, so...

"Dragon Girl happened to inform me that Wukong is sick." Red Son said, "I told my parents, as I figured they should know, and they practically demanded that I bring this here. So.... take it."

With that said, Red Son practically shoved the peach basket into MK's hands. MK sighed as he looked at its contents.

"At this rate, my apartment is going to be both destroyed and full of peaches." He said. Red Son quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay, I was going to just leave, but now I'm curious. Why would your little apartment be both destroyed and filled with peaches Noodle Boy?" He asked.

"For one, Monkey King keeps getting up and trying to do things, but keeps accidentally destroying stuff." MK explained, "Secondly, everyone seems to be bringing peaches, though I'm not entirely sure why-"

"It's because literally the only thing we know that he likes to eat is peaches." Mei interrupted, appearing beside MK after having grown tired of waiting in the kitchen. "That doesn't leave us with many food options."

"I mean, I think he enjoys other fruits too?" MK said, sounding uncertain. "But yeah, either way, I think I'm going to be overrun with peaches."

"Well, at least not everything in the basket is a peach." Red Son commented, "There's a box of tea in there too."

MK took out the tea box and after a few seconds of inspecting it, snorted out a little laugh.

"The tea is peach flavored too." He said.

"Of course it is." Red Son sighed. "Well...whatever. See you around later Noodle Boy, Dragon Girl."

And with that, Red Son disappeared in a flash of flames. MK closed the balcony door, bringing the peach basket into the kitchen to set it beside the others.

"You think we can trust that they didn't poison those?" Mei asked. MK gave the peaches a glance.

"They......probably didn't. Just to be safe though, I think I'll give Monkey King the ones you and Pigsy gave me first."

----

By the time Mei left, it was 10:30 PM. MK walked back into his bedroom carrying a small plate of sliced up peaches, as well as a dose of medicine and a glass of water. He set them down on top of his bedside table, and then reached over and paused the episode of Monkey King the Animated Series that was playing on his laptop. He carefully picked up said laptop and brought it over to the wall to plug it in. With that done, he went back to the bed and gently shook his mentor awake.

"Mmmn....Kid?" Wukong slurred, clearly not 100% awake.

"Yeah, it's me." MK said, "I"ve got some peach slices for you to eat, and some medicine to take."

Wukong accepted the peach slices and medicine surprisingly easily, taking the medicine before starting to eat.

"Y'know..." MK said, "Earlier, you mentioned that you'd never tried medicine before. So like, what do you normally do when you're sick?"

"Go to sleep for 3 days and don't wake up until it's all over." Wukong mumbled around a piece of peach. MK gave him a deadpan look.

"Monkey King that's a coma." He said. Wukong snorted in response.

"It's only a coma if I can't wake up."

"No, I'm pretty sure sleeping for 3 days straight is genuinely considered a coma."

"Whatever." Wukong mumbled, yawning. He'd finished the peaches. MK sighed as Wukong flopped back down onto the bed, rolling over so that his back was facing him. MK silently pulled the blankets over top of the Monkey King, quietly amused at how Wukong's tail didn't quite fit in under them, and was left dangling off the side of the bed, swinging back and forth.

"Goodnight Monkey King." MK said.

" 'Night, kid." Wukong responded, and with that, MK turned off the light and left the room, leaving Wukong under what was at this point a practical mountain of blankets, alone.

---

MK woke up.

It was dark out, no sign of the sun at all. One quick glance at the clock in the living room revealed the time to be 3 AM. MK usually didn't have any problems sleeping, so what could've woken-

He saw something move in the corner of his eye.

Still half asleep, MK jumped off the couch, summoning the staff into his hand as he whirled around-

Only to be confronted with nothing but shadows.

....Huh.

Must've just been his eyes playing tricks on him.

Leaning his staff up against the wall, MK leaned down to pick up his stuffed monkey, (which had fallen off the couch when he'd jumped up), when he heard it.

A small whimper, from his bedroom.

Oh.

So that's what had woken him up.

Holding his stuffie in his arms, MK walked over to his bedroom, activating his golden vision in order to see better in the dark.

What he saw was pretty much what he should've expected.

Wukong had kicked off most of his blankets, and was partially curled up, shaking, with his tail thrashing wildly.

He was having a nightmare. Or, well, it was probably a fever dream in this case, but still. MK had to wake him up. He knelt down by the bed and gently shook Wukong's shoulder.

"Monkey King?" He said, "Monkey King, wake up."

No response.

".....C'mon, Wukong wake up."

Hearing his actual name seemed to rouse him.

".....Kid?" He asked. There were leftover tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah it's me." MK said, softly, "You okay?"

"M'fine."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" MK asked. Wukong curled up a little more.

"It's nothing you'd understand, kid." He mumbled. MK supposed that made sense. Wukong had been alive for a long time after all, there was sure to be no end to things he had seen, or knows, that MK could never hope to comprehend.

"...Okay." MK said. "Do you just wanna go back to sleep."

All he got in response in a nod.

Now, as stated, MK knew that Wukong didn't want to talk about... whatever his nightmare had been about. But MK couldn't just leave without doing something to help.

...He looked at his stuffie.

"...Monkey King?" A hum, Wukong was listening. MK held up his stuffed monkey. "I think I'm gonna leave this little guy here with you."

Now that got Wukong to sit up a little, tail fluffing up a bit in surprise.

"...Don't you always sleep with him though?" Wukong asked, as MK placed the stuffie into his arms. "Kid, you don't have to-"

"It's fine." MK said, giving his mentor a smile. "I've slept without him before, I'll be fine. Besides, I think you need his services more than I do tonight."

Wukong couldn't seem to come up with any sort of argument for that, so he simply laid back down in the bed, pulling the blankets up over his head and curling up around the little stuffed monkey. Job done, MK left the room, going into the kitchen to get a glass of water before heading back to bed.

....Huh. That was weird.

Was there one more peach basket than there'd been before?

MK narrowed his eyes at it for a moment, before shrugging it off, figuring he must've just miscounted the amount of peach baskets Mei had brought, and went back to the couch to sleep, leaving the peach basket with the purple bow undisturbed.

---

The next day was mostly uneventful. True to his statement of typically just sleeping the sickness off, Wukong slept for most of the day, only waking up when MK woke him to get him to eat, drink, or have a dose of medicine. MK would be concerned about this, but it did seem that the sleep was actively doing Wukong some good, he was starting to look much better, so MK let it be.

There was other matters he had to take care of.

When Pigsy closed the shop for lunch, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see MK standing behind him, glaring.

"Uh, MK, what's up?" He asked, awkwardly. MK just kept glaring.

"Call over Tang and Sandy, now." MK said, before sitting down at one of the tables to wait. "It's about time we had that talk."

It took an unsurprisingly short amount of time for Tang and Sandy to arrive. MK waited until they were all seated.

"So." He started, but he was interrupted by Pigsy.

"Look, MK, I know we should've told you about who we were-"

"Oh! Oh you definitely should have." MK said, "I can't believe you guys just didn't tell me that you were on the Journey to the West. But that's not important right now. What's important, is that there is a sick Monkey King in my apartment who thinks you guys are dead, and I would like an explanation as to why."

"Well," Tang started, "We haven't seen him in over 300 years-"

"I told you two we should've left a note that one time." Sandy mumbled, calmly petting Mo. Pigsy sighed.

"Look kid, we tried to interact with him, believe me we did!" He said, "But every time we tried he either wasn't around or had just left. It is ridiculously hard to catch the damn monkey when he doesn't want to be caught."

MK nodded slowly.

"....Okay." He said, "I... suppose that makes sense."

He stood up.

"Tomorrow, if Monkey King is feeling better, which I'm guessing he will, you guys will be having a talk with him." MK said, walking away from the table to go back up the stairs to his apartment. He paused on the first step, turning slightly to say over his shoulder, "Just to be clear by the way. I'm still mad at you. Expect a 1 week business period before I forgive you."

"....Yeah that's fair." Tang said.

And with that, MK went back up the stairs, leaving the three immortals to anxiously contemplate how the next day's conversation would go.

---

As MK had guessed, Wukong was feeling a lot better the next day. He was actually awake, and the fever had definitely gone down, at least as far as MK could tell. Overall, he seemed to be doing a lot better.

...Which meant it was time for a conversation MK wasn't entirely sure would end well.

"Monkey King, I need you to stay right here, okay?" MK said, gesturing at the couch Wukong was currently sitting on. Wukong let out a confused laugh.

"Might I ask as to why?" He said.

"You'll see."

"...Okay then?"

MK turned to go down the stairs, to get the other three members of this conversation, before pausing, suddenly thinking of something he remembered hearing in one of the stories about the Journey to the West. Turning, he grabbed a paint brush from his desk, dipped it in some white paint, and proceeded to draw a circle around the couch where Wukong sat. Wukong watched him do this in barely contained amusement.

"You will stay here." MK said, just for emphasis, as he finished the circle.

"I heard you the first time, kid." Wukong said, laughter in his voice. MK gave him an 'I'm watching you' look, before finally going down the stairs. Wukong, true to his word, stayed inside the circle.

...When MK came back up the stairs with his friends Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy though, Wukong kinda wished he'd just left after he woke up like he'd planned. Those three just reminded him too much.... of them.

MK, seeing the look on Wukong's face, sighed.

"Okay, let's just get this over with, because I doubt there's any way to do this gently." He said, "Monkey King, these three are Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy, and they are also the ones who were with you on the Journey to the West. And before you ask, yes, they do remember you."

Wukong's mind stopped as those words registered in his brain.

The Monkey King went a whole minute without speaking, during which Tang shifted from foot to foot nervously, Pigsy pointedly didn't look him in the eyes, Sandy patiently continued to pet his cat, and MK just looked entirely done with the whole situation.

"Uh, MK?" Tang eventually said, "I think you might've broken him."

That one sentence was enough to break Wukong's stupor.

".....Is it really them?" He asked, sounding like he was on the verge of breaking down into tears. Pigsy gave a gruff sigh, but didn't respond, so MK rolled his eyes, and casually shoved Pigsy next to the couch.

"....Yes, it's us you dumb monkey." Pigsy said, and that was all it took for Wukong to break down crying jumping off the couch and tackle hugging Pigsy to the ground, tail swinging. Tang immediately went to Pigsy's rescue, trying to pry Wukong off of him before Wukong could accidentally suffocate him, but ended up also getting dragged into the hug by the monkey. Sandy didn't hesitate to join the hug himself, squeezing the other three as tight as possible, before setting them down gently onto the couch. MK figured he'd better leave the four of them alone for a moment, and went into the kitchen to make them some tea.

"Where have you guys been?" Wukong finally asked, laying on top of Pigsy and Tang's laps, his tail curled around Sandy's arm. "I thought you all were dead."

"So we've heard." Pigsy mumbled, before speaking louder. "Truthfully, Wukong, we did try to interact with you these past 300 years, but we just never could seem to find you. So we stopped trying."

"Why?" Wukong asked.

"We kinda... thought you might be upset with us?" Tang said, "We figured you were avoiding us on purpose, and that you'd come and interact with us again once you'd calmed down a bit."

"Why wouldn't you try harder to find me, to ask what was wrong?"

"Would you want to deal with you while you're mad?" Pigsy asked.

"....Touché." Wukong said, and there was a moment of silence between the four of them, in which Sandy's cat crawled unto Wukong's chest, and Wukong started petting it.

"..You know." He said, "I'm really glad you guys are alive. Being alone... wasn't really all that fun."

"We're glad you're doing okay too, you damn monkey." Pigsy said.

It was at this point that MK came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with five cups of peach tea, and a plate of peach slices.

"You guys done with the emotional experience?" He asked, setting the tray down on the coffee table. "Because I've got a ton of peaches that aren't going to eat themselves."

"Ooh! Don't mind if I do!" Wukong said, quickly picking up the plate of peach slices to hoard them all to himself, which got him a light smack on the head from Pigsy, telling him to share his food, or he'd get out the rake.

Wukong just laughed in response.

He didn't care.

He had his family back.

#Monkie Kid #fanfic #my writing #its midnight as im posting this lol

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suganovakawa · 4 years ago

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Hello I wanna say that I love ur work 🥺 I’m new to the haikyuu fandom and ur work gives me life! Can I request a HC with Tanaka, Daichi, Suga & asahi and how they would react when they see other teams at a tournament flirt with you and how they act when they’re jealous? Thank you !

absolutely omg i love my karasuno babies and them being jEALOUS??? this is my calling goodBYE

btw btw welcome to the hq fandom bby !! enjoy your stay here 🥺💞💘💓

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅 !

karasuno boys fend off other teams as they try to flirt with you !

— check out my masterlist !!

these boys don’t take too kindly to other teams trying to flirt with you . . . and they’re not gonna deal with it for much longer ! >:)

a / n : jealous anything >>>> and you cannot change my mind because it’s my weakness k thx bye 🥰

— ask to be added to my taglist !!

taglist : @yams046 @janellion

ryuunosuke tanaka

lmao flirting w you is like asking for a death sentence i do not make the rules

tanaka is not afraid to show you off , nor is he afraid to show off your guys’ relationship at tournaments either

he has full trust in you dw , but that doesn’t mean he trusts the men that get a little too close for comfort

if his death glare alone doesn’t scare them off i feel so sorry for them

ryu will 100% call someone out if they’re obviously flirting with you

“ hey , punk ??? you’re trying to flirt with them , huh ??? gotta tell ya , you’re out of luck , go find someone else . this hot stuff right here is mine , thank you very much . ”

he gets so confused when you get embarrassed because what ??? he’s just telling them the truth

“ ryu ! you can’t just call me ‘ hot stuff ’ in the middle of the gym !! ”

“ why not , baby ? you are hot stuff ! they’re just bummed out you’re not theirs . ”

not to mention , 8 times out of 10 noya will probably be right there with tanaka scaring off the suitors

those two are literally your bodyguards , and once they know that someone else has their sights set on you , do not expect them to leave your side

also , he holds a FULL GRUDGE against ladies men type people

cough cough tooru i’m talking bout u bby

you are to stay a mile away from oikawa and all of aoba johsai at all times , ryu will not accept otherwise

oh , and terushima ??? YEAH HES NOT EVEN GONNA LAY EYES ON YOU ONCE LMAO

at least , not without tanaka’s arm wrapped around your waist

gotta make sure they understand you ain’t on the market

all in all a very protective baby crow , can and will fight anyone who tries flirting with you so pls don’t test him

daichi sawamura

daichi is definitely the silent but deadly type let me assure you

i don’t care where that man is , he’ll always have an eye on you regardless

oh and he’ll probably have the rest of his team have their eyes on you too ; just in case there is a small instance where he can’t keep his eyes on you

yuu , ryu , and shoyo will be paying the most attention to you when the captain is not able to watch over you at the tournaments

lord have mercy to those who somehow actually get past daichi’s security

my best guess is that you’re probably on like , a water bottle run in between games , so that everyone can have fresh cold water during timeouts n whatnot

yeah you’ll probably get hit on by another guy in the halls ( let’s pretend it’s yuuji because i love him so much LMAO pls hit on me teru )

anyway he’ll def be at your neck like how he was tryna get kiyoko’s number

sadly you can’t do much because you have a bunch of water bottles in your hands so you’re just tryna shimmy away but terushima is not having it

out of nowhere his face blanks

literally pales

you’re about to ask him what that’s about until you feel an arm snake around your waist

like i said , the silent but deadly type

you can’t see daichi’s face as he’s staring down yuuji , but you can hear the annoyance in his voice

“ oh there you are , y/n . you need help carrying these water bottles , baby ? ”

you turn to yuuji , who has his hands up — clearly getting the message daichi was giving to him

“ alright alright , my bad ~ ! didn’t know they were yours , man . i’ll take my leave . ”

but he did add a “ see you later cutie ” before leaving the two of you alone

you couldn’t help but laugh as the captain latched onto you protectively as the two of you went back to the gym

“ daichi , it’s okay , he’s gone now ! you’ve done your job in saving me ”

“ nonsense . i can sense their eyes on you from everywhere . you’re not leaving my sight again , y/n . ”

koushi sugawara

koushi is definitely also a silent jealous type

but he’s more mellow when showing it subtly

but don’t get me wrong , the effect it leaves on others is just as menacing

he’s the type to leave that shiver of fear when he shows up

basically he’s a sweetie until people mess with you and that’s just on periodt

suga is not too protective over you , since he does trust you and has full confidence you won’t do anything to hurt him

cough cough he still wants the other nasty boogers keeping their hands off you though

i literally just imagine him going up to people like “ :))))) ??? ” when people try flirting with you LMAO

like ?? no ??? they’re ??? mine ????

not ???????? yours ??????

he’ll have that chilling ring in his voice that’s deadpan but menacing at the same time — sometimes he even scares you with it

you had a run in with tooru at the preliminaries , RIP bless his soul

you went to go watch a match while karasuno was resting ; seijoh was resting at the same time

he got a little too close for comfort in the audience stand

flashed you a famous smile of his , “ what’s a cutie like you doing here alone ? ”

“ she’s not alone , actually . ”

KFKKDKFKFKD both of your heads went a whole 180 at the sound of koushi’s voice

oh no he had that creepy smile again

“ baby , we were just looking for you . is oikawa bothering you ? ”

he turned his :) to tooru , who had already stepped a decent distance away from you

“ heaven forbid you’d be bothering y/n , oikawa , when you have a whole fanbase of girls you could be bothering instead . ”

the great king had never been so scared of a karasuno player in his life

he left in a hurry without saying much — though he was grumbling something you two couldn’t understand

switch from scary suga to soft suga uwu

he wrapped his arms around you and grinned pleasantly this time as he hugged you

“ sweetheart , don’t hesitate to tell me if anyone else is like that to you , okay ? i’ll make them go away . ”

“ koushi , you’re so scary when you’re angry ”

“ i am ? i didn’t think i was ”

“ look at how oikawa backed away when you came up ! hardly anyone can phase him ”

“ oh . maybe i am scary , but only when it comes to you . ”

he laughed and took you by the hand , and you two walked back to the rest of the team

scary suga never fails to keep the nasty boogers away

asahi azumane

he won’t even realize he’s jealous until someone points it out to him

i think nishi would be the one to point it out to him , because woah asahi looks mad

“ yo , asahi ? you good ? your knuckles are turning white ! ”

he’s been looking your direction ever since the date tech players started surrounding you , striking up conversation

he didn’t even realize yuu was talking to him until he literally had to jump up and wave in his face

asahi snapped out of it once noya caught his attention — his fists were still clenched tho

“ oh — noya . i’m fine , why ? ”

the libero didn’t buy it one bit because he didn’t know the ace even had it in him to be angry

he looked to where asahi had his eyes on the whole time before turning back to the third year with a smirk

“ you’re gonna let them just flirt with y/n like that ? what kind of boyfriend are you ? go go go ! ”

oh no yuu what did you do

“ they’re flirting with y/n ? ”

he was f u r i o u s at the thought of it

oh no no no they were not going to be flirting with you , not while asahi was your boyfriend no sir

he stormed over towards you — your back was towards karasuno so the date tech players noticed him first

asahi + scary dark death glare = run

and the date tech players — besides aone — did just that , scampering off in a hurry

you were confused until you turned around , smiling when you saw your giant teddy bear of a boyfriend

you were utterly oblivious to the stare down between him and aone

“ asahi ! shouldn’t you be practicing now ? ”

he placed a gentle but firm arm around your waist , pulling you closer to him without taking his eyes off date tech’s ace

“ yeah , but we were looking for you . i’ve come to bring you back , y/n . ”

oh heck yeah there was tension as he brought you back to your guys’ court

“ those players weren’t flirting with you , were they y/n ? ”

“ huh ? oh no ! i was just catching up with a couple of them , since i went to middle school with some of them . why ? ”

“ oh , nothing ”

you couldn’t even ask him anything else as he walked away without another word , which was very not like him

you had to get the answer from nishinoya later on , who was laughing hysterically at your description of the way your boyfriend was acting

“ OMG Y/N HE REALLY WAS JEALOUS , I TOLD HIM THAT DATE TECH WAS FLIRTING WITH YOU I CANT BELIEVE HE BELIEVED ME ”

after the tournament both of you were blubbering apologies to each other

you apologizing for making asahi jealous

and asahi apologizing for acting like a brat about it

in summary , asahi + jealousy = pls save yourself from that man he is terrifying

he’ll make it up to you with tons n tons of cuddles later so he’s still your big teddy bear <3

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asexy-phoenix · 3 years ago

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holes in my butterfly wings

Schitt's Creek fanfic about autistic!Alexis

Crossposted to Ao3

A/N: THERE IS NOT A SINGLE FIC ABOUT ALEXIS ROSE BEING AUTISTIC, WTF?!?!?

Anyway, I was re-watching Schitt's Creek season 2 and the bit where Alexis has to break up with Ted stuck with me for some reason. So here's roughly 700 words of autistic feels re: Alexis.

Title is from hope ur ok by olivia rodrigues

She needs to break up with Ted. Oh god she needs to break up with Ted. Or-or maybe Mutt? She can’t keep doing this, it’s piled up like a too-tall pile of old eyeshadow containers ready to fall over and now Mutt is looking at her and expecting something of her.

Alexis runs a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down. “Well, ah, maybe I could just send him, like, the sweetest little text message,” she offers. It’s not what Mutt wants to hear, she knows, but it’s easier for her to communicate with people when she doesn’t have to look at them. When she can just write her message out and send it in a text bubble, safe and sound with no awkward eye contact or indecipherable body language.

“Alexis,” Mutt says in his serious voice. He tries to catch her eye as he explains exactly why she needs to break up with Ted.

Except she’s good at this, okay? Really good at making people feel like she’s looking them in the eye when in fact all she’s doing is bouncing her eyes from one point of contact on their face to another. She laughs again, aware she’s giggling too much but it’s too comforting for her to stop now. Plus, she’s just a little stressed right now so maybe she deserves to be allowed to stim just a bit. It’s not like she’s talking to Leo or somebody right now – it’s just Mutt.

“Okay, okay,” she agrees a moment later, fidgeting with her necklace. “I’ll go and-and tell him for real this time!”

“Okay,” Mutt agrees. He tries to go in for a kiss, but she turns her head just enough that he gets her cheek instead as he’s wishing her goodbye.

Alexis takes a deep breath as she sees Mutt out of the motel room. She waves perkily as he drives away, closes the door, sits on the edge of her bed, and only then does she let herself cry. She cries for Mutt and Ted and herself, for this mess she’s made of the three of them and the way it feels like nothing will ever feel normal again.

It isn’t like she really fit in before, she was always a “little much, Alexis, really,” as Moira would put it. With her laugh, and her “um’s” and “ah’s” and weird noises, and her careful avoidance of eye contact, Alexis has always been a little…off. Except, it had never come back to affect her before, not like this. Consequences had always been something that happened to other people, not to her. And it’s not like she isn’t a grown-up, she can take it on the chin, like her dad would say. It’s just that, for the first time in her life she had met two guys that were nice and genuine and (at least in Ted’s case) kind.

So, she had tried to relate to them in the way that worked for everyone else – giggled and flirted and stayed inside her carefully crafted box – and they’d gone for it. But apparently in this small town, where everyone says what’s on their mind and wears their heart on their sleeve, Alexis’ quirks reveal more than they hide, like bad foundation.

Taking one more shuddering breath, she stands up. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it in what makes her feel safe. Even if it makes her look weird and off-putting to the world of Schitt’s Creek, Alexis will feel protected behind the mask. So she carefully, one step at a time, removes her makeup and puts it back on. Ritualistically, she looks through her closet and chooses an outfit. A dress that will press against her skin in all the right places and none of the wrong ones, heels tall enough that she can walk on her toes and not look strange, a headband that puts enough pressure on her scalp to ground her without digging into her head.

“Okay,” she says to herself, applying a last layer of lip gloss in the mirror. “It’s showtime.” She puts the lid on the lip gloss, pastes on a smile, checks one last time in the mirror, and, with everything in place, walks out of the motel to ruin one of the first good things in her life.

#schitt's creek #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #alexis rose #autistic alexis rose #season 2

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lovelylogans · 3 years ago

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honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter one: qualia

qualia: in philosophy and certain models of psychology, qualia are defined as individual instances of subjective, conscious experience. philosopher and cognitive scientist daniel dennett once suggested that qualia was "an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.”

JANUS

Janus almost always develops a headache when he has to deal with the latest idiot intern at the firm, but this headache is beyond the pale. Then again, so is this intern. He has never met a uni student that is more destined to become an obnoxiously vocal Tory. It’s like someone granted a novel about Etonian history his wish to become a real boy.

“Out,” he bellows at the intern who has been attempting to stick himself to Janus's side, unable to pick up on the fact that his repeated mentions of his father, you know, the chancellor of the high court, is doing the opposite of impressing everyone around him.

This intern—Janus is going to make it a point to never remember his name now—has probably never been yelled at in his life. He gives Janus a very offended look, sniffs, and retreats from Janus's office, likely to bother whatever barrister he hasn’t yet told about the blatant nepotism that has gotten him into their office.

Janus puts his elbows on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Though the intern has certainly exacerbated the headache at hand, he’s had the headache since he inexplicably woke up at four in the morning.

He’s taken paracetamol, he’s tried hydrating, and drinking caffeine, and rubbing his temples, and even wearing the blue light glasses Key swears by, but there’s been no luck. His head’s throbbing just as badly now as it did when he woke up from a dream about a strange American wearing a pale brown cardigan and a pink tie.

The man had gone pale and sweaty as if he was ill, leaning back against air, clutching at nothing, like he’d hoped to find someone’s hand to hold, but despite the pain he seemed to be in, he’d stared straight at Janus, beaming and wide-eyed.

“I see them,” the man had whispered. He’d opened his free arm as if to offer a hug. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

You’re beautiful, my dear, my darling…

Janus rubs at his forehead. If he’d been so beautiful and dear and darling, he would have appreciated being left without this migraine as the price of the compliment.

“You,” he barks at the nearest intern walking by his office—a mousy little thing, a girl who’s swimming in a cardigan that makes his eyes throb with a familiarity he can’t recognize—“I’ll let you assist on this case if you get me a tea with two sugars, right now.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Right now,” he thunders, and the girl practically squeaks before she heads for the building’s refectory with its in-house café.

Janus tries his hardest not to smile to himself, really he does, but the best part of intern season is scaring the interns. What is he supposed to do, not revel in their suffering?

He’s about to reach for his smartphone resting on his desk when he feels a buzz against his sternum.

He pauses, glances toward the door, before he swivels around his desk chair and opens a lower cabinet as if he’s searching for a file; instead, he reaches into his innermost breast pocket to pull out his other phone. This one is a good deal cheaper than the one resting on the table; that is by design.

He glances at the window to double-check the reflections, that no one is watching him—they aren’t—before he unlocks the phone and looks at the message.

K: jazza, you found anything yet?

Janus scowls at the phone. Honestly.

J: Do you want to get arrested, Key? Because rushing this job is how you get arrested.

K: aint that the reason ur a big fancy barrister in the first place

J: Do they want to put up the rush fee?

He turns back to his desk and manages to get some actual, legal, non-shady work done before the phone buzzes.

K: no.

If pixels could look sullen, these ones do.

J: Then tell them to put up or shut up.

A pause.

J: And don’t text me for inane little updates during actual people’s work hours again. You are specifically only to contact me during these hours for emergencies.

He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his breast pocket again before Key can respond. The nerve of some people. He’ll do the work, fine, but people needed to realize they’d get what they paid for. For the information that Key’s clientele wants him to retrieve, they’ll have to put up quite a bit more cash for him to move at anything beyond a snail’s pace.

A knock at the door. Janus gives the girl his most imperious look.

“Here you are, sir,” she says, handing over one insulated to-go mug, keeping another one in her hands.

“Yes, fine, fine,” he says, taking it. “What’s your name again?”

“Emma, sir.”

“Emma,” he repeats. He takes a sip of the tea.

Or, he expects to take a sip of tea. What he gets is a mouthful of coffee.

Very good coffee, very high-quality coffee, but coffee, and lukewarm at that. He pulls a face instinctively.

“What did you get me?”

Emma immediately looks petrified. “Tea with two sugars, sir?”

Janus frowns at her, then examines the side, where the tea option is ticked off. If they’ve managed to mess up the order, at least they’d given him the good-quality stuff, even if it did taste like it had been sitting on a desk for an hour. He takes another cautious sip.

Tea. Sweetened, hot tea, fresh from the café.

He’s never had a headache this bad before. So maybe he doesn’t know that headaches this bad can mess with his sense of smell. And temperature. Now that he thinks of it, he is feeling really quite hot, even though the building’s air conditioning is blasting.

“...Very good,” he says slowly, and then proceeds to nudge a perilously tall stack of manila files toward her. “Read the top one so you can get reacquainted with the case.”

Emma takes the file immediately, and, just for a moment, just for barely a flash, Janus could swear he’d seen someone walking in the hall in their pajamas and bunny slippers in the reflection of his office windows.

He looks at it more directly.

No. It’s just Emma’s reflection and his. Janus's office, furnished in dark woods and leather desk chairs, his fine suit, the damningly recognizable birthmark and scar splashed across his face.

Janus frowns at himself in the window, turns away, and reaches for his own manila file.

VIRGIL

Getting off the plane from America to South Africa is always an experiment in temperature adjustment.

He takes off his hoodie in between the shuffle of getting off the plane to going to the baggage claim, tying it around his waist, leaving him just in a purple t-shirt and his ripped jeans.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a headache that’s absolutely killing him.

By the time he gets there, his baggage is already waiting at the side of a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, her glasses resting low on her nose; they look new, and it makes Virgil’s chest hurt—what else has he missed since he’s been across the world?

Virgil’s mother, Andisiwe, beams at him. “Virgil!”

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” he says in Xhosa because ever since he was a child jetting back and forth for school breaks she’s been worried about him losing his mother tongue.

She laughs, hugging him tight and warm, and he wraps his arms around her in kind, closing his eyes tight. This is the longest he’s been from her since he was born. She’d been in America to teach for a year and a half at Johns Hopkins when she’d met his father, and then Virgil happened.

He couldn’t have gone back to South Africa with her, a black woman with a mixed-race child, not during apartheid. His white father had had to bring him home to his white wife, and white children, and initiate what would eventually become a long, messy divorce.

But he doesn’t like to think about that, and he won’t, not today, not when he’s finally back here. He’s missed her, and Pretoria, and his jacarandas, and his grandmother’s recipe for coconut pitha, and umngqusho, and proper, African coffee more than he can say.

All he’d drunk in the States was tea because he didn’t want to be reminded of home; he can taste it lingering in the back of his throat, even now.

“Or should I say, Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi,” she says, beaming at him wide, and Virgil ducks his head, grinning even through how awkward he feels.

“I’m a doctor of botany, it’s not the same as you,” or Dad, he tacks on in his mind, taking his suitcase and gesturing her ahead of him; she trades him with a to-go cup of coffee, which he sips eagerly. It’s such a perfect taste of home that he doesn’t even care that it’s lukewarm.

“Quite right,” she says, leading their way through the airport. “Ph.D. is different from an M.D., I’m thrilled my employer has taught you so excellently in your undergrad—”

Virgil laughs, again, but his foot slips on the smooth airport tile, and he looks down instinctively, and his breath catches in his throat, laughter dying in his mouth, freezing where he stands, because if he takes one more step he is going to die he is going to die he is going to fucking die—

There’s this tight feeling across his chest like a band and suddenly he’s not looking down at clean airport tile but he’s looking down at a yawning expanse of air between himself and the ground at least three stories up and he’s standing on a thin metal bar and if he keeps moving he’s going to fall he’s going to die

“Virgil?”

Virgil looks toward his mother, breath seized in his throat, and—

And he’s at the airport again. Bustling crowds, pinging PA system, his mother, a hand reaching toward him in concern.

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Virgil swallows once, twice, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head to clear it; he opens them again.

Airport. His mom. The crowd. And, just a flash, weaving in and out of the people, there’s a big man with tattoos, and he’s wearing bunny slippers. It’s strange enough that it manages to shake him out of it better than any physical gesture could.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Yeah. Um—jet lag, I think.”

Andisiwe surveys him, before she nods, once, decisively.

“Finish that coffee,” she says. “You know how much worse it’ll get if you let yourself fall asleep now.”

Virgil takes a long pull from his cup—bitter, dark, African coffee. Home. He’s home.

Jet lag, he tells himself. Jet lag, and that weird dream you had on the plane. That’s all this is.

REMUS

“The fucking rat bastard bitch-ass sorry shit-stain of a cunt,” Remus pants to himself, as quietly as he can when he’s heaving for breath and sprinting along the forest floor. Remus wasn’t particularly athletic in the first place—one doesn’t really become a horror author if they’re a star athlete, do they?—but when one is running for their life, things like “stitches in my side” and “is that blood I taste in the back of my mouth” kind of take a back seat to things like, you know, continued survival.

Remus nearly trips over a vine, which he verbally abuses for a few hundred more feet, (“fucking useless pieces of shit fucking—”) before he manages to slip and stumble into the shelter of something like a cave. He checks it—as much as he likes wildlife mauling other people, in theory, it kind of goes against this whole survival thing if he wanders into a cave only to get his throat ripped out by a bobcat.

As he casts back the hood of his jacket and mops his brow of sweat, looking back and forth to ensure he hasn’t been tracked, and his heart rate returns to something like normal, turns his mind back to Miguel fucking Contreras.

That fucking bastard was lucky he was dead, and even so, Remus might go back and dig up his freshly-turned grave with nothing but his own two fucking hands and he’d gladly break a hundred of his fingers and turn his knuckles into right-angled wrongness just to reach in there and grab his rotting corpse and wring his neck to kill him again.

He didn’t even kill him the first time, that’s the unbearable thing! He’d wanted to kill him and someone swooped in and did it before Remus ever could!

Remus spits on the ground, furious, and even more furious that everything with him is so vital he can’t risk destroying any of it in a rage—his clothes, his last couple testosterone pills, a burner phone he’d stolen off someone who reminded him of his own wretched abuela a couple cities back and kept shut off ever since. She’d been yelling at some homeless kids trying to get some pesos for a goddamn meal, though, so Remus felt as if he’d performed a public service by making her day worse.

He’d managed to snatch her purse and empty it out, too. The kids got a meal, Remus got a meal, everyone won.

Remus chances a peek around the forest once again, just to ensure he hasn’t been tailed, and—

He shrinks back into the cave at the sight of a large man jogging by. He’s very big, very tall, very tattooed, and very confused, by the looks of it. Like he’s sleep-walked miles into the forest and now doesn’t know his way back.

The man pivots on his foot, walks out of Remus's view behind a tree, and doesn’t resume walking again.

Remus's eyes narrow. He tenses his muscles, ready to start sprinting again, but that man had looked rather big and strong, and therefore much more decisively athletic than Remus.

But minutes pass, and the man doesn’t emerge again.

Remus creeps out, just enough to see past the tree, and—

No. The man is gone.

Anyone else might think that they were losing it. Anyone else might think that they were going crazy.

Remis is fully aware that he’s crazy, though, so he shrugs and returns his attention to sorting through his bag, except—

His fingers run through the money he has, and they aren’t pesos anymore. Remus frowns at the sight of the money, holding it up to the meager light to see it.

There definitely isn’t an old white lady on pesos usually.

“The fuck?”

“Erm.”

Remus whips his head around, very suddenly aware that he isn’t in a cave anymore.

He’s in an apartment. A swanky apartment. The air conditioning is blasting—Remus hasn’t been in air-conditioned surroundings for so long, and he nearly melts under the feel of it, cooling the sweat coating his face, running down his back.

A white man lowers his glasses down his nose and frowns at Remus. The way his mouth moves twists up the scar on the side of the face. He’s holding up a handful of pesos.

“Well, first of all, I really need to send a note so they improve security around this place,” the man says in an undertone. Then, “second of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to need those pounds to pay for my takeaway.”

Remus stares.

“I’ve ordered Indian food to my office,” he continues, “and I’d think that they’d prefer the national currency in exchange for my food. I’ve been craving samosas something awful.”

Samosas do sound good. Any food sounds good, Remus thinks, as his stomach growls with envy.

Remus slowly extends his handful of the old white lady money. The white man places the pesos into Remus's hand, taking his money back at the same time.

“Much obliged,” the white man says and disappears.

Remus blinks down at his handful of pesos, then looks around. No more air conditioning, or swanky office, or promise of takeout.

He shakes his head.

“If I hadn’t lost it before,” he mutters aloud and goes back to counting his money.

Well. It’s not like Remus's brain is any great loss.

LOGAN

Logan gives a cursory peek through the telescope and grumbles, pulling back and rubbing his forehead. Fantastic. On top of this untimely migraine, his equipment has decided to throw a tantrum, too.

He’s known technology can be fiddly even in the best of conditions. He’s known that cold can adversely affect equipment. And yet, for some reason, it is still constantly frustrating when it does happen. Which in turn is frustrating; he should expect cold conditions to interfere with any equipment that he uses for his space research. He’s in Antarctica.

Logan makes effort to simply narrow his eyes at the telescope before him, fiddling with the lens. He has half a mind to ask it there, will you behave now? but considering it is simply scientific equipment, it will not answer. Therefore, there is no reason to speak.

Logan rubs his forehead again, and, for the brief moment before his hand obscures his eyes, he sees a flash of something.

Logan squints, lowering his hand. But no, he decides; he just sees snow, rock, the local wildlife.

But for a moment he could have sworn, while he was looking out at the sea, that he’d seen a large, tattooed man looking out at the sea, too.

No, he decides. It couldn’t have possibly been; this headache, coupled with the general brightness of the world right now, is making him see things.

There is no way he’d just seen, in the midst of an Antarctic island, a large, tattooed man in pajamas and bunny slippers.

ROMAN

Fuck if it’s not early, but fuck if he’s not having a blast.

“Do we wanna run it one more time?!” Roman hollers down from the catwalks.

“I should’ve known better than to give you a fly scene,” María says ruefully. Roman blows down kisses from where he’s strapped in, harness tight across his chest, the camera crew looking dutifully to María to see what the verdict is.

A long pause. She sighs and waves a hand. “Set up for the close-up landing!”

Roman whoops to himself, shifting on his own two feet. He never gets to do stunts, much less stunts like this. All his movies are machismo, punching people and firing guns, and sure, this one is full of all that, but at least this time he gets to spend a day flying around on wires like he’s a superhero.

Which is ironic, considering he’d started his career in movies as a stuntman. But now his pretty face is too high-market-value to risk it doing the thing he’s been trained to do.

But whatever! Today he gets to fly around! Today he gets to throw himself into saying his lines! Today he gets to throw himself into his script and his acting and his costars!

Today he gets to spend it on set and not lying in bed taken down by this godawful migraine and scrolling through his phone with his heart in his throat to see if there are any developments in the news!

Today he gets to tell Sasha all about the day he’s had in his usual bright and happy voice! It’s a great day!

Roman shuffles on his feet, waiting for the “action!” to be called when he hears the tell-tale rumbling shriek of a plane flying overhead, and Roman bites back a sigh; that’s going to delay the shoot of the scene for sure while they wait on that, so Roman slumps, looking for something to occupy either his hands or his brain with, but then—

“Quiet on set!” María barks.

“We aren’t going to hold for the plane?” Roman asks, confused.

“What plane?” María says.

“I thought—” Roman says, and frowns; from where he is in the catwalks, he can’t exactly look up and see the sky, but even then the angle of sound seems wrong; it’s like he’s walking past an airfield, planes taking off and landing all at once.

“Never mind,” Roman calls down weakly. “Thought I heard something, must have been tech stuff.”

María looks up at him, eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugs, and repeats, “Quiet on set!”

Roman shakes out his shoulders, intent on getting into the mind of Pablo Márquez, and out of his own.

⁂

Roman’s got an icepack under his shoulder and on his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Okay, so, maybe he got a bit too into it today. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with a killer migraine, and it’s definitely not his fault that the person who fastened his harness clearly didn’t know what he was talking about; you’d think that now he was the big star, people would be more cautious with him than they were when he was a stuntman, but what does Roman know? He’s just the pretty face.

But whatever. He’s got a breather for a while as his costar shoots a few scenes with her supposed father (a twist of the movie is that her father is not, in fact, her father) and so he’s taking the time to sit and relax.

He’s going to relax.

Really.

...oh, who is he kidding. Roman immediately rolls to grab his phone from where he’d set it on the minuscule table in his trailer, and loads the page to El Universal.

He’s got the search down to a science, really. He starts with the wider, more professional news sources—ergo El Universal—and then gradually meanders his way down, through the magazines, then the tabloids, then the blogs dedicated to the writings of R.J. Duke.

When he’s really desperate, he checks Twitter.

He turns out to be really desperate every day, though.

He isn’t really sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is on the run for committing murder.

He definitely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is only revealed to not be his brother under a thin guise that someone might find out any minute.

He absolutely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when any day now, someone will crack it, and they’ll raid his apartment to see if Roman was hiding him (Roman would absolutely hide him if Remus would just come to him) and ask him questions, and how is Roman supposed to respond when they ask him if Remus would be capable of murder, no? Fucking obviously Remus would be capable of murder.

And the thing is, he is desperate. He’s desperate to get news of how Remus is doing, where on earth Remus is, if he’s okay.

And then he wonders what kind of person he is, to be so willing to set aside that his brother might have killed someone. He’d like to think that he’d do the right thing and turn Remus in, but he is also sure that he absolutely wouldn’t.

But the question is, does Remus know that? Does Remus know that Roman would throw everything, everything—his fame, his fancy apartment, his money—just to be sure that Remus was safe, that Remus was with him?

They’d been so entrenched in their petty disagreements over the years that Roman isn’t sure that Remus does.

The thought that his brother might not know Roman loves him is a thousand times more painful than this headache will be.

Remus is his brother. His twin brother, the only person in the world who understands Roman; for all their differences, for all their disagreements, he and Remus have always understood each other. They’ve always been on a wavelength no one else has, in sync and in step with each other. They’d even been born at exactly the same time, by virtue of their mother’s c-section.

How is Roman meant to just set that aside?!

So he lies on the couch in his trailer, scrolling obsessively through a Twitter search of his brother’s pen name and his legal name and his actual name, eyebrows drawn together further and further.

He’s so lost in chasing down clues, he doesn’t even notice the large, pajama-clad man appearing in his trailer and disappearing again, between five blinks of the eye.

PATTON

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it.

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

There’s a particularly sharp gust of wind, and Patton squints, turning his face away and lifting his hand. The breeze lessens, and Patton lowers his hand.

He’s in an office.

A nice office, the kind with hardwood floors that would click under his feet if he weren’t wearing slippers and the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that speaks of a recent, expensive renovation, a door ajar. He walks forward to peek into it—

—and finds himself looking inside of a cramped little trailer, a man flung out dramatically on the couch, one arm over his forehead, not able to cover the anguish on his face, and the other scrolling through his phone.

He takes a step forward, and just like before, without any sense of transition, just one blink and he’s not in a trailer anymore, he’s outside, standing at the foot of a mountain stretching for forever above him, moving quickly on his feet, jogging alongside a hooded man sprinting down a barely-worn path—

He takes a step forward, and his foot lands on the carpet.

“Goodness,” a man says, with a familiar, amused tone. “You’ve been walking quite far, haven’t you?”

Patton looks up to see a man—the parent he’d thought he’d seen yesterday. He’s in the same cardigan and dress shirt, looking rather rumpled, but his tie has, at least, been loosened from around his throat. The lights are off, the only light filtering weakly through the windows. The man is lying down in his bed, looking pale and sickly.

The room would look quite depressing if not for the laptop blaring a cartoon—an American one Patton doesn’t know—and various assorted cartoon art and sculptures as clutter around the room. His duvet has a subtle pattern that Patton, after tilting his head, looks a bit like gemstones.

“...I think so,” Patton says cautiously. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, it never does,” the man says, smiling. “Even when you’ve walked halfway ‘round the world.”

For lack of anything to say—other than who are you, what’s happening to me, what on earth is going on—Patton keeps quiet.

“I like your tattoos,” the man continues.

“Oh, thank you,” Patton says, twisting his arms so that the cardiganed man can see them, swelling with pride. They are a big part of his culture, his history, himself, after all. “They’re tā moko.”

“Tā moko,” the man repeats as if committing it to memory.

“I’m Māori,” Patton adds because he can place the accent now—American. And, well, nothing against Americans, it’s just that he isn’t sure how much the average American knows about the indigenous populations of other continents.

“Indigenous to,” the man says, and his eyes narrow for a moment. “New Zealand, right?”

Patton nods to the man, before he says, “Where am I?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, please sit down,” the man says, gesturing to an empty spot on his comfy-looking bed. Patton sits. It is comfy.

“I’m just so excited, you see, I’ve spent most of the past day recovering, so you’re the first one I’ve met. I’d expect you to be recovering, too, this is either a fortunately-timed fluke or you seem to be getting the hang of this very fast. Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Terribly,” Patton admits, then, “First of who?”

Before the man can answer his question, his brain flashes with images from today—an airport, dark catwalks, a yawning cliff face, that fancy-schmancy office.

“Well,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

For whatever reason, it feels like he should have known that name already; his name slips into Patton’s mind like a key turning a long-forgotten lock.

“And,” the man continues, “you’re technically wherever your body is now.”

“Auckland.”

“Auckland,” he repeats. “Patton the Māori from Auckland. Oh, how wonderful, I don’t think I know any of our kind anywhere near Australia or New Zealand yet.”

“Our,” Patton says, and his brow wrinkles. “Our kind?”

“Patton, my darling,” Emile says warmly, leaning forward to put a hand on Patton’s. “Have you been walking around in other places? Feeling things that aren’t there, seeing people that aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Patton says.

“Those would be your cluster,” Emile says, and the word buries itself deep in Patton’s heart with an aggressively radiating kind of warmth, instantaneously fond, like he’s loved them all along but just now realized it. My cluster. It may as well be my family, that’s how much love he feels.

“Your body is in Auckland, still, but right now, your mind? You’re visiting me in Florida.”

Patton can’t help but smile a little. “I’ve never been outside of New Zealand before.”

Emile smiles back at him, warm and comforting, and it feels just as familiar as looking at the face of his father.

“Patton, dear, you are no longer just you.”

REMY

Remy turns from where he’s making a mug of green tea to see that he’s in Emile’s room.

“Babe,” Remy says, reflexive, before he sees the look on Emile’s face; and he understands immediately.

“Fuck, are they still here?”

Emile, still smiling, shakes his head just a touch regretfully. “You just missed him.”

That piques Remy’s attention. “Him? You’ve got a son?”

“He’s not technically my son,” Emile says bashfully; they swap, effortless after so long, and Emile takes a sip of Remy’s green tea using Remy’s hands, Remy’s ] mouth. Remy takes that time to use Emile’s body to settle more comfortably in the bed, and he places a cool, wet washcloth across Emile’s forehead.

They swap back without losing a beat; this rhythm between them has existed for a decade, Emile’s psychic birth isn’t about to trip them up. Sure, it looks different to him than it does to Emile; right now, to Remy, it’s like Emile’s curled up in his Nicean apartment, just at home in France as he is in Florida. To Emile, he knows, it’s like Remy’s appeared in his bedroom, oddly dressed for the Florida spring.

“Your psychic son, then,” Remy teases, then it clicks. “Wait, you’ve seen one of them already? How long did it take one of us to see Harley after the activation—?”

Emile waves a hand in a so-so type gesture. “Linny saw Dalisay and she kind of served as a mentor for her, didn’t she? That was the closest to a non-cluster visit that we got.”

“And that was after three days or so,” Remy muses. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Emile agrees. “I dunno if it’s a fluke or if Patton’s just really well-adapted for this life.”

“Patton,” Remy repeats.

Honestly, he isn’t really sure how to handle this; the closest he could get to preparing for his boyfriend’s psychic birth is googling things about being a stepdad, and that’s not even slightly close to what’s actually happening. Bonding with the stepkids can only really happen if Emile’s lucked into a cluster with a Frenchman, Frenchwoman, Frenchperson, whichever.

Emile quirks a brow at him, knowing what he’s about to ask. “New Zealander.”

“Fuck,” Remy says. “No in-cluster education for Patton, then. Do we know anyone there, baby?”

“I’d have to check with the Archipelago, and, well,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely to himself; he’s laid out in bed, and, with the washcloth on his forehead, he really does look quite ill. Out-of-cluster visiting might be too much of a strain right now.

Remy frowns, taking the washcloth in hand and gently dabbing Emile’s forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Emile beams.

“Oh, Remy, he’s wonderful. Simply fantastic! He’s Māori—indigenous population—and he’s got all these interesting tattoos. I’ve been researching, look,” Emile says, tilting his phone so that Remy can see.

Remy takes it. He sees swirling designs, up and down arms and legs, neatly segmented lines filled with various patterns, a few portraits of tattooed faces.

“—the tattoos themselves have a really interesting history, but I have a lot of reading to do when it comes to the Māori population itself. I've already tried to put a few books on hold at the university library.”

“What’s he like?”

“Big, tall,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely with a hand where the top of Patton’s head would compare with his own. “It’s late there, or early, I think, he was still in pajamas. Bunny slippers.”

Remy smiles at that, knowing for a fact that Emile’s wearing his knee-high muppet socks. “Takes after you, then.”

“Maybe,” Emile admits, then, “oh, all right, probably. We have a lot in common, at least, even if we don’t have any solid evidence on if cluster parents influence the traits of their cluster.”

“Influence, schminfluence,” Remy says.

“But he seems very nice, very polite. Wasn’t too shaken by appearing in America.”

Emile’s brow creases.

“I think he needs a cluster,” Emile says, very quiet. “I think he needs them badly.”

Remy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he puts a hand on Emile’s cheek, attempting to check his temperature.

“Harley should have given us the equivalent of psychic sex-ed,” Remy mutters irritably. Emile’s skin, always soft, is warmer than Remy would like.

Emile yawns. “Not gonna disagree with you there.”

Remy tugs up Emile’s blankets to tuck him in. Emile smiles up at him, a little bashful, a lot sleepy.

“Cuddles?” Emile mumbles, holding out his arms, entreating.

And, well. What is Remy gonna do, not cuddle his incredibly adorable boyfriend recovering from psychic birth?

#my fic #my fanfic

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tiedisms · 4 years ago

Text

◟ * hello and welcome to tiedisms : my brand new baby , which will hopefully help you out when you’re plotting , putting together a connections page for ur muse , etc ! while i’ll mostly be reblogging gifsets & other inspo - posts , i wanted to kick things off with a connection masterlist --------- under the cut you’ll find some possible connections + some promts to get you going , as well as examples of specific connections i’ve written for my wanted pages . i’d appreciate any likes and reblogs if you find this helpful at all !!

◟ * platonic .

childhood friends : did they grow up on the same street ? perhaps they could look into each other’s rooms through their windows ? muse a knows how muse b got that awful scar above their knee & muse b knows the details of muse a’s first kiss . people who’ve known each other their entire lives often work in synch , tend to think they know what’s best for the other , too . have they managed to stay friends through the years ? did they grow apart after high school or maybe get into a huge fight ? so many possibilies !

this said , friends who’ve grown apart : losing a friend can cause just as much heartache as a break up ! did life get in the way or did something cause a strain on the relationship ? did one person have to exit the situation because the friendship was becoming more and more toxic ? have they been asking mutual friends about the other or did they cut ties entirely ?

roommates . did they want to move in together or did they respond to the same craigslist add ? did they move in at the same time or did one of them come around later , new girl style ? do they get along or do they butt heads at every corner ? who cooks and who does the dishes ? who’s always way too loud and who complains about the noise ?

best friend’s sibling / sibling’s best friend . extended family of sorts , have always remained at the sidelines of each other’s lives . do they seem to take on sibling roles around one another , too ? or are they pretending to get along for their friend’s sake ?

shared ex . listen to fiona apple’s ‘ newspaper ‘ ! you can read this plot , as i’ve written it for my own connections page , down below .

good / bad influence . people’s lifestyles rub off on each other ! is one actively trying to change the other or is it simply a side - effect of them spending so much time together ? does the bad influence ever feel wrong for taking the other down a dark path ? does the good influence ever worry the other is far beyond saving ?

◟ * romantic .

friends to lovers : perhaps my favorite trope of all time ! look back at that childhood friends connection & now add years of unspoken feelings . how long have they been in love with each other ? who fell in love first ? are they even aware of their feelings ? growing in love instead of falling ! what would their families and other friends think ? are there already rumors and jokes about them being together ? is one of them currently in a relationship or getting over an ex ? do they find it hard to commit to other people , unaware that they’re always going to put each other first ? // alternatively : friends to lovers but after it’s crashed and burned , hate each other for how things ended between them , but still feel so much love for each other because they were always friends first .

casual exes : the type that ended on good terms , are maybe still friends , too . why did they break up and how did they manage to do so amicably ? i heard somewhere that if you’re still friends after a break up u either never were in love or are still in love --- is that the case for them ? do they find it easy to laugh about their time together or is there still some awkwardness there ?

unrequited crush . let your muses have innocent crushes ! we all fall in love with the idea of a person sometimes . does the person they have a crush on use that to boost their ego ? or are they constantly trying to distance themselves ? does your muse want to make a move or are they content admiring from afar ? what do they like about this person ?

sexual tension . the air is heavy between them & there’s clearly something there that they haven’t acted upon yet . why ? is it because they want to be mindful of other people ? because they don’t like each other much ? because they’re good friends and don’t want to ruin that ? have they acted upon their feelings before but promised to never do that again ?

◟ * examples .

* you don't ever have to be stronger than you really are . ——— in which . . . whenever tears pool in the corners of doe eyes , the other is there to stop them from flooding the room . the purest love x's ever known , a guardian angel , a hand to hold when things get tough .

* we were cursed the moment that he kissed us . ——— in which . . . a shared love for someone who can't show affection kindly brought the two closer than anything else ever could , the overlapping memories of a past lover binding them forever .

* it's a bad time for a good time . ——— in which . . . nothing stings like rejection does , pride often stronger than unfulfilled desires . now , they spit venom whenever they try to lure them back underneath their sheets .

* pour a little salt , we were never here ——— in which . . . love lingers just underneath the surface , heard in every word they say , but never confessed . doomed from the start , both nearly choke when calling each other just friends .

* you can count on me to misbehave ——— in which . . . just kids playing games , felt young whenever she was around them until a drunken night changed the way they saw each other , newfound tension bringing nothing but chaos .

* in my head , i do everything right ——— in which . . . heart full of love , but hands empty ; x was careless with their feelings , ran away the first time they had a fight , fell right back into someone else's arms .

* fuck and make up like it's maybelline , ——— in which . . . tangled up in each other's sheets almost every day , can never truly say goodbye despite their constant fights ; anger fuels lust , the roughness of it all only makes it more exciting for a girl dying to feel anything .

* don't blame the drunk caller , ——— in which . . . late nights have never been kind to x & there's a number they never removed from their speed dial . both swear the love has gone cold , but x still calls and they always pick up .

* baby , i was born tired , ——— in which . . . end hard days tangled in each other's arms on the couch , smoke filling the air , no pressure in a safe space . a platonic soulmate , someone to cling to when you need it most .

* must try harder than kissing all of my friends , ——— in which . . . nothing stings like rejection when you're used to people crawling at your feet , x has weaved her way into the lives and beds of people around them , as if to prove a point , begging for attention .

#rph #rpt #. . . . .what other tags do people use #please dont let me flop

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kbstories · 4 years ago

Text

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Kamino Arc, Kidnapping & Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Gets A Hug

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Content warning for kidnapping, aftermath of violence. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

i’m gonna die (sent 19:08)

no seriously i’m this 👌🏻 close to losing it bro (sent 19:08)

aizawa’s voice is so zzzz and it’s like sir,, i’m begging,,,, (sent 19:09)

a little bit of energy. just a little bit (sent 19:09)

A nudge to his side, somewhat urgent.

shit brb (sent 19:10)

“Dude.”

Kirishima keeps his voice down to a hiss, shooting a glance at Aizawa’s turned back just in case. Hidden behind his pencil case, his phone shows Bakugou has read his messages – near-immediately, as always – before Kirishima locks the screen. His own face is reflected on sleek, innocent black.

Next to him, Kaminari is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t dude me, dude”, he whispers back. “Texting in Aizawa’s class? D’you have a death wish?”

Next to Kaminari, Mina leans over her desk, clearly curious and uncaring of her notes crinkling quietly under her elbows. “You? Kiri, paragon of wholesomeness and sunshine, breaking the rules? Lemme guess, it’s because of Bakugou.”

Next to Mina, Sero joins the fray with a muted headshake. “So brave yet so reckless. Truly inspiring.”

“You can say that again. That guy’s scary, man.” That’s Kaminari again. He leans in conspiratorially, nodding at Kirishima’s phone. “You got Blasty’s number? How? He almost bit my head off when I invited him to the 1-A chat.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re besties. But guys…”

If they were anywhere else, Kirishima would let out a whine. All he wanted to do was keep himself awake by texting his bro, is that such a crime? Especially since Bakugou’s the only one of ‘em who is actually allowed out there, where the fun stuff is happening. It’s downright cruel to have a new challenge dangled in front of their eyes like the juiciest steak only to be dragged away to the equivalent of plain steamed broccoli. Or something.

Point is: Kirishima’s bored enough he could cry and Aizawa, bless his insomnia-plagued soul, is making it about a thousand times worse with his monotone mumbling while he continues to write whatever-the-fuck in chalk to illustrate his point.

Three mouths open simultaneously in what Kirishima knows will be a too-loud bout of teasing – a frantic gesture of his hand to shut up, shut up, shut up has identical grins bursting on his friends’ faces.

Grins that disappear the instant the familiar sense of Aizawa’s quirk washes over them. Uh oh.

Aizawa doesn’t even have to say anything. Not even a brief pause registers in his lecture yet Kirishima snaps to attention so hard his buttcheeks clench as he furiously scribbles down what’s on the board. Some sort of… diagram? (It’ll make sense later, Kirishima hopes. And if it doesn’t, there’s always his equally draconic tutor-slash-best-friend he can poke into helping him eventually.)

After a semester at U.A., everyone in 1-A is whipped enough that not a single word is breathed between them for a good fifteen minutes. Aizawa talks, they take notes.

Then the adrenaline wears off and Kirishima finds himself drifting once more, fingers automatically flicking the home button. There, over Crimson Riot’s confident grin, three new messages.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

pay attention (received 19:14)

ffs (received 19:14)

hope aizawa murdered your ass (received 19:16)

No surprises there. Well, the fact that Bakugou has deigned to reply just before a training exercise kind of is, and he even triple-texted which makes a sappy part of Kirishima’s brain think he must’ve rubbed off on him over the past months. The day Bakugou Katsuki discovers emojis can’t be far off now and it will be Kirishima’s greatest achievement to date.

He bites his lip to suppress an amused noise at that. Ignoring the incredulous stare from Kaminari to his right, Kirishima types.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

haha! i lived bitch (sent 19:32)

minus the bitch askdjfhsk sry (sent 19:32)

i’m just tired af lol (sent 19:32)

how’s things on ur end tho? (sent 19:34)

no asses left unkicked i’m sure (sent 19:34)

👊🏻💥💥 (sent 19:35)

Kirishima gets about a solid second to feel good about furthering his pro-emoji agenda before his phone is snatched away by rigid, white cloth. Wide-eyed, his gaze is met by a flat expression that exudes more exhaustion than any human should rightfully have to feel.

“Kirishima”, Aizawa says, as calm as ever. “How kind of you to lend me your attention.”

Lord have mercy. Whichever hell Aizawa is about to unleash on him, Kirishima will be in it for a while. And when that’s over, it’ll be Bakugou’s turn to have a field day with it.

Somehow, Kirishima is actually looking forward to that last part.

Then, a voice rings out in their heads. Aizawa jumps into motion. The villains strike.

Afterwards, all Kirishima can do is stand there and watch the forest burn. His phone is silent, held between fingers that won’t stop trembling no matter what he does. He unlocks, checks, locks, only to do it all over again a few minutes or seconds later.

Around him, everything is spinning out of control. Reality is too loud, too bright, already overwhelming where it waits to be acknowledged beyond the soothing green interface of his chat with Bakugou.

The messages are still there. Marked read until they aren’t, and Kirishima stares at that subtle difference like it’s the last thing tethering him to the ground. Blue tick, his best friend is fine. Grey tick–

Bakugou let Kirishima take a photo of him, once. Kirishima had complained about his profile picture being that creepy default silhouette, especially once they started texting on a daily basis. So Bakugou sighed and leaned over the tiny table of the café, his chin propped on one hand and his coffee in the other. He’d kept still just long enough for the shutter to go off and called him a clingy bastard right after.

In the soft morning light, there’d been something warm in his typical glare. It’s still there, tucked away in the top left corner of the screen. Fond, red eyes, looking straight at Kirishima ever since.

Higher and higher, the flames reach for the sky with greedy, cobalt fingers, bright enough to take the stars with them. And Bakugou?

Bakugou is gone.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

hey (sent 23:01)

it’s a long shot but (sent 23:03)

are u there? (sent 23:03)

these are going thru so ur phone is on and i thought (sent 23:08)

idk (sent 23:08)

please respond man (sent 23:37)

please (sent 23:58)

katsuki? (sent 00:40)

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

fuck (sent 3:24)

Bakugou Katsuki

um (sent 6:13)

the pros asked for ur number to track it and stuff so i gave it to them (sent 6:13)

turns out almost nobody has it?? so like (sent 6:20)

if u want a new one after all this it’s on me (sent 6:21)

pls don’t be mad haha (sent 6:21)

fuck that actually (sent 7:05)

be as mad as u want baku (sent 7:06)

u can do whatever ok? when u come back (sent 7:09)

free pass. i won’t guard this time (sent 7:09)

just come back (sent 8:00)

they’re looking for u so u gotta come back (sent 8:02)

Baku 💣💥

sry i just (sent 19:55)

ok still going thru (sent 19:55)

that’s good right? (sent 19:57)

i need it to be good (sent 20:05)

yeah (sent 20:06)

Baku 💣💥

it’s saturday (sent 2:33)

please be ok (sent 4:46)

i miss u (sent 5:00)

Baku 💣💥

we’re on our way katsuki (sent 12:45)

just hold on we’re coming for u (sending…)

wait (sending…)

oh (sending…)

Bakugou is quiet.

When all is said and done, injuries patched up and police statements given, Kirishima waits and Bakugou looks… tired. Small. Glancing back at the precinct with eyes a little too wide, a little too hesitant to truly belong to him.

Whatever he’s searching, if he finds it or not – Kirishima can only guess as Bakugou’s shoulders slump further and he mutters, “Let’s just go.”

In retrospect, he was probably talking to his parents. The Bakugous came for their son in a car as expensive as they come, white with chrome highlights and an interior clad entirely in tasteful, beige leather; it’s an aesthetic that’s the antithesis to Katsuki’s. Their expressions are full of love, though, brows drawn in concern carefully left unspoken. His father opens the back door for him first, going for his own in the front, while his mother ruffles Bakugou’s hair within the one-second-window he allows for the touch before shrugging it off.

“Welcome back, brat. We missed ya.”

Familiar phrases laden with far too much weight. From the outside in, it’s just that: Mildly exasperated parents picking up their kid after some school thing that dragged on into the night, or perhaps a late hangout with a friend. No one acknowledges the nightmare-ish three days they’ve left behind by the merit of time passing and the world spinning on and nothing else – the countless people injured or dead, an entire district torn asunder in a conflict much bigger than any of them, especially Bakugou.

Bakugou, who shuffles onto the backseat without saying much of anything. It’s only after Kirishima trails after him and Bakugou’s eyes meet his own over his shoulder that Kirishima realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then Bakugou’s gaze softens and he kicks the door of the car open wider. “Um”, Kirishima pipes up, the noise of keys clinking together drawing his attention to one Bakugou Mitsuki. “Is it okay if I…?”

She snorts and ruffles his hair, too. “Kid, after what you did tonight, a ride home is the least I can do for ya. C’mon.”

Kirishima bows politely, a mumble of “Thanks, ma’am” waved away immediately. A moment later, Kirishima’s hand is being grabbed and he’s dragged inside. “Get a move on”, Bakugou mumbles, staring pointedly until Kirishima rights himself and digs for the seatbelt with his free hand. The click of the clasp snapping in is oddly loud in the ensuing silence.

It doesn’t last. The moment the engine purrs to life and the lights go off, a heavy guitar riff screeches from cleverly hidden speakers in perfect surround sound and Kirishima jumps. He’s the only one in the car to do so.

“Whoops, my bad”, says Bakugou’s mom as she turns the music down the slightest amount, her smirk – so familiar and yet not – clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. Next to her, Bakugou’s dad chuckles and shakes his head.

Bakugou himself is turned towards the window, the hand against his chin barely hiding the tiny smirk there. Kirishima lets him have it. Anything that’ll replace that lost expression from earlier is good in his books.

“So. Eijirou, right? Nice to finally meet ya.” Mrs. Bakugou checks in with him via the mirror. Her hand rests on the gear selector. “Where to? We’ll bring you home first. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

And oh fuck, Kirishima hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. When he snuck out of the house a lifetime ago, all his mind was able to process was getting to Bakugou, saving Bakugou, bringing Bakugou back. As much as both his mothers are angels in their own right, they’re also easily worried and twice as buff as him. There haven’t been many occasions which called for them to throw down for their son but they totally would if given half the chance.

If they catch wind of even a fraction of what Kirishima got up to tonight, someone will have to pay. Kirishima’s willing to bet his most prized, limited-edition Crimson Riot figurine that that someone will end up being all of U.A., nationally famous pro heroes or not.

Before any of that can make it out of his mouth, Kirishima’s hand is squeezed and… Oh. Bakugou’s still holding it. Their skin isn’t touching; Kirishima’s sleeve has been pulled down to prevent that.

(It’s one of those things Bakugou does, tracking who and what gets in direct contact with his sweat and how to neutralize it in time. It makes Kirishima’s chest ache that, despite everything that happened, he is still aware of small things like that.)

“He’s crashing at ours tonight”, Bakugou tells his parents rather gruffly. Still looking out the window like there’s nothing unusual about that at all, and Kirishima gapes at him in complete and utter surprise. Bakugou’s grip only tightens.

“Got a problem with that?”

Just like that, Kirishima finds himself able to process speech. “Nope! Not at all. Uh, that is– Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, can I?”

Bakugou’s parents look similarly caught off-guard. To their credit, they merely blink and look at each other, shrugging. Again, it’s the mother who speaks. “That’s Mitsuki and Masaru to you, kid. Let’s go home, then.”

And that’s that. They set off, the car’s movement a quiet thrum that’s drowned out by complicated drum solos and vocals barely scraping past outright growling. Any other day, Kirishima would’ve been ecstatic to finally get to meet the Bakugous. He’d hoard bits and pieces of knowledge about them – such as the fact that Katsuki’s taste in music runs in the family, what the hell – like a dragon does gold coins. The notion that Bakugou invited him to their first sleep-over ever would be the biggest treasure on that pile, for sure.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is anything if not cautious: with his quirk, with his time, with his trust. Because, after days of pacing his room and worrying himself sick and crying until exhaustion took him out, their plan worked.

They pulled it off, Bakugou is back and alive, and Kirishima’s allowed to stay by his side a little bit longer.

He’s here because Bakugou wants him to be and that… feels better than Kirishima can properly put into words. So, no, he doesn’t boast about it, he doesn’t have the energy to – but Kirishima notes and appreciates it nonetheless, relief forming a ball of warmth and light that radiates within him like a tiny sun got stuck between his lungs and his heart. Bit by bit, it melts the tension off Kirishima’s bones until all he can grasp is the steady presence of Bakugou’s hand in his and how heavy his eyelids feel.

Kirishima could sleep for a week straight and still crave a nap afterwards. Probably.

There’s something he has to do before he crashes, though. With a gentle squeeze, he frees his hand to grab his phone and winces at the dozens of unread messages and missed calls that greet him. Both the group he has with his family as well as the one for 1-A have been running hot most of the night, reducing his battery to a pitiful 12%.

Opening up the chat with his moms, Kirishima scrolls to the bottom of the increasingly worried barrage of texts and hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad. Once he starts typing, he’ll have about a minute before shit really hits the fan.

💪🏻Kirishima Power 💪🏻

guys i’m so sorry!!! (sent 21:58)

i know ur worried and stuff and i swear i’ll explain later ok?? (sent 21:58)

just wanna let u know i’m safe!! staying over at baku’s tonight (sent 21:58)

he’s here and safe too (sent 21:58)

🙏🏻🙏🏻 (sent 21:59)

He pauses then, reading that last part over and over again. Safe. Safe, safe, safe. A smile cracks Kirishima’s lips apart and it remains there, steadfast through the flood of new messages rolling in.

Bakugou’s room is both everything Kirishima expected it to be and at the same time… not.

It’s huge, for one, the typical bed-wardrobe-desk setup expanded by a couch and a beanbag, a TV with a variety of game systems hooked up to it, a handful of shelves filled to the brim with books and manga and oh, a whole freaking drum set taking up a corner by itself. The walls are plastered with band posters and signed set lists and – less blatant but still there – the odd All Might merch Kirishima knows Bakugou would strangle him for mentioning, so he doesn’t.

What comes out of his mouth is: “Dude! I didn’t know you played drums. That’s so cool!”

Everything is kept in the triad of black-orange-green Kirishima recognizes from a certain hero costume. A few discarded shirts aside, it’s really tidy. So much so that Kirishima feels ashamed of the state of his own room just by seeing this.

The feeling is compounded by Bakugou picking up those shirts and throwing them in the hamper first thing, a quiet tch indicating he’s annoyed by it. Kirishima isn’t up to outing himself as an unrepentant walking mess in comparison – instead, he makes a beeline for the bookshelf with the manga, eyes drawn to a row of covers he’d recognize in a heartbeat.

“Wha– I’ve been looking for these for ages! They’re sold out every time I try to catch up on ‘em.”

A short glance at Bakugou is answered with a shrug and an eye-roll: It’s Bakugou-speak for do whatever the hell you want. Kirishima pulls out the volume he stopped at and leafs through it.

It’s meant as a distraction for Bakugou, a space for him to drop the put-together façade and breathe without people constantly fussing over him. It’s honestly what Kirishima would rather be doing right now (exploring his best bro’s room be damned) but it’s not what Bakugou needs. Well, what Kirishima thinks he needs.

It’s hard to get a read on him without the constant snark and pointed glares. With some dinner in their bellies and Bakugou’s parents now safely downstairs, the expression that fits nowhere on the Angry Bakugou Face catalogue is back. Kind of uncomfortable and so… absent.

Kirishima is really starting to hate that expression.

It’s entirely accidental that Kirishima actually gets into reading. One chapter turns to three, turns to five, and the troubles and worries whirling ever-tighter in his chest ease for a bit until–

Woosh. A soft, balled-up something knocks against the back of his head. Kirishima startles and almost drops the manga, a vaguely alarmed noise stopped short by the sight of Bakugou in sweats and a well-worn, black shirt. His hair is wet. Wild as ever. At Kirishima’s feet: A similar outfit including a towel.

“Bathroom’s that way. Leave your clothes out by the door, I got special detergent for the nitro. Shampoo and shit’s in the shower, there’s a toothbrush for you by the sink. Use it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth.

Bakugou sighs. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Kiri. Wreck it for all I care.”

Kirishima closes his mouth. He nods. His phone is quickly dug out of his pocket and set aside, then he slips out to shower.

A good fifteen minutes later, he opens the door to let out a gust of steam and sees his clothes are gone. The hallway is empty, half-lit by the light coming from downstairs. The Bakugous have been as nonchalant about their spontaneous guest as Bakugou himself; even so, Kirishima tries not to linger or make too much noise as he sneaks back to Bakugou’s room.

“Baku. I’m back.”

Bakugou gives him a grunt of acknowledgement from where he’s fitting some sheets over the couch, folded out to provide a decently sized bed. There’s a pillow and a pile of blankets next to him, wrapped in fresh linen as well. It’s unlikely he’s stopped doing stuff since Kirishima left and if he is about ready to crash in five to ten minutes, he can’t imagine how Bakugou is doing right now.

Y’know, the guy who just survived being kidnapped by Japan’s newest and most notorious villain menace. No amount of pretense can make that simple fact undone.

Kirishima pads over to help, the offer to take over already on his lips but– Too late. The last corner is already being tucked in and laid flat with grim-faced efficiency. Left with nothing else to do, Kirishima sits down on the very edge, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. There’s some sort of band logo on it, an English word written in that typical death-metal-font that looks like someone dumped a bunch of white sticks in a pile and called it a day.

It’s soft. A little loose and frayed around the edges.

“Hey, Baku?”

Taking the blankets, Bakugou dumps them in Kirishima’s lap. “Mh?” He makes to step away and Kirishima doesn’t think, just reaches out and catches the back of his shirt.

“Dude, seriously. Just… sit down for a minute. Please?”

And Bakugou… listens. He stops, he frowns at Kirishima for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his deal is, he sighs like he’s been presented with the world’s most aggravating puzzle – and then he tells Kirishima to scooch. “What? I’m not gonna sit on the fucking floor”, he says.

Kirishima can’t keep the relief off his face as he gladly makes room on the couch, leaning against its arm and tucking his legs in. Once Bakugou has settled, cross-legged with an elbow propped on the backrest, Kirishima throws the blanket over both of ‘em. Might as well get comfortable while they still can.

“Okay.” He steels himself with a long, slow breath. “I know you hate this kinda thing and we’re both tired and… stuff. Still, though: Are you okay?”

Bakugou gives him a look, which– Okay, fair. It’s a dumb question with an obvious answer. Kirishima doesn’t back down, though, humming to buy himself some time to rephrase.

“Like… It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. And if you’d rather go the fuck to bed and not think about this for a while that’s fine, too. But that was pretty rough and you’ve been, um, quiet. And stuff. So, I’m kinda worried. Y’know?”

Kirishima pauses. A bit lower, he mumbles: “And I missed you. So yeah.”

At some point, he dropped his gaze to his hands, limp and useless in his lap. Kirishima swore not to be a coward anymore but it’s hard, to speak and ask about things in full awareness he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

All he wants is for Bakugou to be okay. That’s all that matters, at the end of a day like this.

“I’m not”, Bakugou says, tentatively. Like he’s making up his mind as he goes. “I’m not gonna waste your time with ‘I’m fine’. I’m not. This shit’s fucked up.” And again he sighs, sounding so fucking tired Kirishima’s heart squeezes in sympathy.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days; my shoulders are killing me from using my quirk and sitting chained to that stupid chair and whatever the fuck else. The League scouted me specifically because they thought I’d make a good villain and fuck them for that. Fuck them. But it’s just… It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever Kirishima expected, it’s not that. He looks up and into Bakugou’s eyes and–

He can’t mean that, can he? Kirishima searches his face for evidence to the contrary, traces the tension around Bakugou’s mouth and the exhaustion smudged under his eyes and the line between his brows, growing deeper under Kirishima’s scrutiny. It all reads defeat. It hurts.

They won, right? A childish voice within Kirishima can’t help but cling to that even as he looks back down. They won, and things are supposed to get better when you win.

“People got hurt. People died, Kiri. Heroes, too.” Bakugou takes a shaky breath, a hand going to his hair and rubbing it roughly. “Fucking… Best Jeanist was there and nobody at the precinct wanted to tell me if he’s alive or dead or what. All of Kamino Ward is fucking gone and All Might–”

Bakugou’s voice cracks right down the middle and it hurts. Like there’s a beast tearing through Kirishima’s chest to rip out his heart and throw it to the floor, stubbornly beating as it bleeds out.

Kirishima wants to say something. Anything. All he can hear is Bakugou’s breathing but it’s all wrong, off-rhythm and thread-bare and upset, and any doubt what that means is erased as Bakugou’s hand clenches on the sheets and he sniffs, wet on the exhale.

“Baku–”

“Don’t. Kiri, don’t–”

He’s always been like that, ordering him around and demanding things when politeness dictates to ask for them instead. His tone is as close to pleading as Kirishima’s ever heard from Bakugou, though, and it twists him up inside to the point he feels distantly nauseous.

“Don’t look.” Bakugou isn’t supposed to sound like that. Not now, not ever. “Okay? Don’t f-fucking– Don’t look at me right now.”

“Okay”, Kirishima says. “I won’t.” His own voice is a mess as well, trembling all over the place. “I won’t, Nitro. I won’t.”

You’re safe, is what he wants to tell him. It’s okay, you’re safe now. That’s not what Bakugou is asking of him. Kirishima can’t stop himself from crying because it’s always been hard not to when the people he loves are doing it, but… He tries. For Bakugou, he’ll always try.

Through eyes heavily clouded by tears, he sees Bakugou’s hand tighten, knuckles going white and bloodless. Painfully tense, and Kirishima can’t stand the sight of that, either.

He shuffles a little closer to place his hand over that fist, careful to only touch the back of Bakugou’s hand. Kirishima whispers, “I’m here”, and Bakugou audibly swallows. He lets him slip his fingers in-between his own.

Holding on, just as he did in the car and when they met in mid-air, that desperate instance that decided whether he would make it out alive or not.

Bakugou holds on even as he breaks for good and his shoulders shake with his sobs. As he continues to breathe in gulps of air that sound strangled and desperate, through tears that leave a pattern of uneven dots on the blanket. By morning they will be gone without a trace: The sun will come up, the world will continue to travel around it, and time will reveal the road they walk on as they walk it, step by step by step.

Just because it’s meant to pass doesn’t make this moment any less real. Any less important. Kirishima sits there and listens to his best friend cry. He remembers days spent without him and the mad dash to save him. He thinks of dumb questions and obvious answers.

It’s hard to tell if this is one of them, so he gathers all his courage and asks: “Katsuki. Can I hug you?”

Just like last time, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He laughs, a watery, humorless thing – and he pulls at Kirishima’s shirt to crush him to his chest. His arms wind around Kirishima’s neck, Bakugou’s face pressing against his hair where Kirishima won’t be able to see him.

It’s fine. Kirishima’s great at hugs; he can totally work with that. Clenching his eyes shut, he adjusts his grip around Bakugou’s waist so he can rub his back, following the bumps of his spine. Up and down, over and over. Bakugou goes boneless in their embrace, not about to let go anytime soon and neither will Kirishima.

Eventually, Kirishima tucks his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, blinking sleep from his eyes. Safe. He doesn’t fight the sharp-toothed smile on his lips. Bakugou mumbles, “Fucking sap”, nearly drowned out by their collective sniffling.

It sounds a whole lot like thank you. Kirishima’s smile only grows.

>>Chapter 5

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #hi kamino still makes me emo: the manifesto #this fic is also on AO3!!#reblogs appreciated c:#my stuff

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sukirichi · 3 years ago

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suk *ehem saeren (new pseud is sexy btw and also your new theme vvv sexc bestie!!!😌😌) okay so when i read chp 7-8 i was like ‘y/n c’mon. give kita the chance he deserves i mean IT’S THE MR. KITA SHINSUKE WTF WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK?!’ but then oh god, the museum scene holy fuck. no because the cherry blossom tree works so well as an analogy for the main couple’s love story. yeah, cherry blossoms signify new beginnings and are mostly adorned by many when they bloom. why? aside from the indication of renewal, it only stays for a certain period of the year which is always a sight to see and because of the limited time frame, everyone knows the beauty it exudes will be gone after the time passes (death). going back, suna and y/n’s routine of spending time together to being away from each other’s presence is the recurring theme for them to grow. seeing them say too many goodbyes brings that anxious feeling of ‘ahh. it we will be back to square one again' (also, not the fact that broken record connotes annoying repetition of something is aksjalks🤧)

also yeah, when you love a person, the one should make you feel calm and secure and only then you can distinguish whether you truly love them or just merely an infatuation. but in y/n’s case, whether she has that rose-tinted glasses on or not, identifying the blaring red flags is hard to accept notice if that same marker is the one that brings her comfort due to its familiarity. and idk where to put this in my last ask because i don’t have enough brain juice to make a theory, but the way suna is nervous for his first date with mari, he should have second guessed why he’s acting like that when the happiness he felt with y/n is way more different with mari (should have listened to osamu and aran and ooh im sorry i assumed they samu and suna were schoolmates in high school when they are not akhfak). sure, he’s nervous out of excitement but for what? it's like foreshadowing that he needs to put up a front with mari just to keep her (but we all know that is not the case) in those 3 years they spent together, did he feel more on the edge than relaxed tho? 🤨

and for someone who loathes her half-sister, nagisa sure is invested with the happenings in y/n. it’s like she’s always on the lookout for her mistakes and dote it on her until her last breath. the mari and nagisa connection is possible though and it is not like they live countries apart but their meeting, from the way i see it, is like a silver lining for nagisa to topple y/n lol🤪 and aah, now it get why nagisa called y/n whore at the restaurant. when i read that part, i thought that they have somewhat lived under the same roof for some time but the succeeding chps showed they did not and was still confused because she has never shown any interest about what is going on with her affiliated family except hatred and then that happened. i guess when she burst out at that moment, it was when the two had met?

it’s kinda disheartening to see how lucy subtly(??) controls y/n’s love life. maybe because she doesn’t want y/n to fall under the same category for marrying out of love when she is the one who refuses to divorce the dad (= she shouldn’t). should have filed that divorce, not doing so is a recipe for disaster itself. and mari 😤😤WHAT DID I SAY?? (well in this case, it is shunning others away from suna) i cannot, for my peace of mind, be able to be in the same vicinity as her. for all i know, i could be dragging her on the floor out of pure disgust. i can’t wait to find out who died and who is in critical condition. though, that critical scenario lead to afterlife too, so no wishful thinking here. but, ahh are we getting a background story for suna too?🥺 this is where i'm betting my wish at. while we’re at it, i wonder how atsumu will react to suna impregnating mari. i imagine he would say ‘dude wtf?! she chose you! how could you?!’ i know he is happy with his gf but can’t help to be caring as ever to y/n.

reading chps 7-9 in one go was a pleasant experience 1.because school😔🤢 2.angst is way more comforting than comedy 3.no more anxious thoughts of why and how this happened because at this point, i’m just playing hidden mickey here. but i truly love the story, can’t believe it’s already ending by the next update. saerennn i hope ur okay bub?🥺 and get that hashbrowns after finishing the series or while working for the last track. u deserve it!! luv u~💕💕

🍳

my egg anon, hello !! I’m so sorry for the late response, my asks were piled up and I got busy with school :<

AND AAAAAH THANK YOU I’M SO HAPPY YOU GOT THE MESSAGE OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS!! it was actually taken from the music video I linked back to the end of the chapter and my friend and I were discussing it because I think there were lots of symbolism on it. the one about new beginnings because the cherry blossoms only come for a certain time of the year before a new season comes also represents how YN and Suna keep going back and forth to loving, getting complicated, forgiving, getting complicated and so on and so forth. I love everything you said because it was exactly how I wanted the story to be like <33 the part about being anxious too !! that’s why YN keeps saying ‘this cycle never ends.’ and YESSSS THAT’S ALSO WHY I CHOSE BROKEN RECORDS AS THE TITLE. the ‘records’ refer to them playing love songs and then apology songs to each other over and over but then the song stops and they start to have new stories :<<

oooooh yes, totally. judging from my own experience, I can tell too whether it’s love or infatuation. when I’m with someone I love, I feel totally at peace and safe with them. it’s comfortable, it’s not supposed to be scary or nerve wracking. even if something wrong happened, you’re assured by the knowledge they’d be patient and listen to you. AND THIS PART WHERE YOU SAID THIS ABOUT SUNA ‘whether she has that rose-tinted glasses on or not, identifying the blaring red flags is hard to accept notice if that same marker is the one that brings her comfort due to its familiarity’ ITS 100% ACCURATE. same goes for suna tbh. YN was the one who broke his heart when they broke up but she was also the only able to comfort him. it’s hard for them to let each other go because they’re both a source of pain and familiarity that they struggle to find in this world. yes there’s some slight foreshadowing in how suna reacted with mari. he was on edge and he didn’t know what to do most of the time because he doesn’t understand mari the same way he understands YN. as for him being on edge, he most definitely was tiptoeing because mari placed a lot of boundaries such as keeping YN completely out of the picture and making her presence a bare minimum.

NOOOO BECAUSE THAT’S SO TRUE. Nagisa is always updated with YN. YN is the one who updates her about her life because she’s always trying to make conversation, but Nagisa pretends to be ‘uninterested’ although don’t let that fool you because she remembers every little detail just in case she can use it against her half sister. nagisa and mari met after mari broke up with suna in ch1 so yes, nagisa already knew the situation !! that’s why she called YN a ‘whore’ because if she ‘was with Suna’ then why is she also ‘dating’ Kita? so in nagisa’s eyes, YN is just the same as her mom.

lucy was half and half. sometimes she has good intentions but most of the time she’s also just messed in the head and she really fucked with YN’s trust issues. HMMM I WANTED A BACKGROUND STORY FOR SUNA TOO TBH but I didn’t know where to fit it and I didn’t want to add random, unnecessary details :<< AND FOR ATSUMUUUUU…. atsumu crushed on YN real hard… until now, even though he has a gf (now wife in the timeskip) you can tell he still cares about YN

NAUUUR angst is way more comforting than comedy sobs. and yes baby, I’m doing okay !! just a lil busy with uni work but nothing I can’t handle <33 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS EGG ANON, I REALLY LOVE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS ON IT BECAUSE YOU HAVE SUCH A BIG BRAIN AHHH I love you, stay safe too bb <33

#asks with naoya's trophy wife #series ( broken records )#long ask #anon:🍳

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callboxkat · 4 years ago

Text

Infinitesimal (part 58)

Author’s note: It’s hilarious to me that this happens to come out in July, about as far as possible from Christmas. An alternate title for this part would be Christmas in July.

Warnings: Illness, hospitals, Remus, nsfw mention, mention of getting hit by a car, censored swearing, references to poor family relationships, peer pressure, Christmas stuff

Word count: 5186

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

When Logan got home from the hospital for the second time that day, he went straight to his room. He kicked off his shoes, set a timer on his phone, and turned to the bed. His body thumped on the mattress, and he was instantly asleep.

Two hours later, he was being woken by the song that served as his alarm. Normally, he enjoyed the song; at that moment, it was one of his least favorite sounds in the world.

Logan groaned into his pillow, then reached over and fumbled around on the bedside table, only to realize that he hadn’t actually taken the time to put his phone there before he fell asleep. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked around, finally spotting the device at his side on the comforter. He rolled over and grabbed the phone, silencing the alarm.

He yawned, glanced at the time, and reluctantly got out of bed before he could persuade himself not to. He needed to prepare dinner for himself and the “mouse-men”, and then he needed to go back to the hospital for the third time that day.

With Remus this time.

Logan wasn’t sure how he expected that visit to go. He hoped it would go well, or at least not end in disaster. Remus seemed like a bit of a loose cannon. Plus there was always the fact that he and Roman hadn’t seen each other in a long time, and Logan didn’t know why.

When Logan had gone to drop off Roman’s belongings, Roman had said that he was willing to see Remus sometime after dinner. Logan had texted Roman’s brother afterwards, letting him know the news. Remus and Logan had then agreed that Remus would be at the apartment building at 6:30, and Logan would drive them both over. Sure, Remus technically could have driven himself, but Logan got the feeling that Roman preferred that Logan be there, too.

…

Logan probably shouldn’t have been all that surprised that the knocking began only five minutes after the clock struck 6.

He frowned, pulling his phone out to confirm the time, and sighed, looking back to the “mouse-men”, who until seconds before had been eating their own dinner across from him.

“My apologies,” he sighed. “That must be Roman’s brother. I wasn’t expecting him for another half hour.”

Logan had warned the “mouse-men” that Remus would he returning, of course; but none of them had expected to be interrupted like this.

They seemed to accept that he was telling the truth, although Virgil still made a point of sending a warning glance his way, just in case.

Logan stood up, set his half-finished plate on the chair, and went to get the door.

Remus stood there, wearing a Santa hat and holding one out for Logan to take. Remus’s had lime green leopard fur where the white would usually go, and the one he offered Logan had comically large elf ears.

“Ready to go?”

“Um.” Logan frowned, looking down at the offered hat. “It’s only just past 6. We weren’t going to depart for another half hour.”

“Were we?”

“Yes.”

“Wellllll.” Remus made a face, then shrugged. “We might as well leave now; I’m here.”

“I haven’t finished dinner,” Logan said. “We’ll leave at 6:30, as planned. You can wait in the hall, or in the lobby downstairs.”

Remus pouted, but Logan stood firm.

“Hat?” he said finally, still pouting. He swung the object slightly closer, like he was trying to tempt Logan with it.

Logan sighed and took the hat, having no intentions of actually wearing it. He closed the door and went back to the living room.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he returned to his chair, taking another bite of his dinner.

“So long as he’s not poking around in here again,” Virgil muttered, probably to himself, but notably loud enough that Logan heard.

“Don’t worry; I asked him to wait outside.”

…

Half an hour passed, and Logan was ready to return to the hospital.

He’d expected Remus to have left, to wait down in the lobby; but instead, when he opened the door, there he was in the hall, his back and head on the floor and his legs up on the wall, playing a game on his phone.

“Man,” he sighed, when Logan appeared, “if I knew it’d take this long to get to the hospital, I’d’ve made them give me a ride. I could easily get hit by a car or something. Do you think if I did it right I could do a flip over the—” His gaze moved to Logan then, and he broke off with a frown. “Where’s your hat?”

“Inside.”

Remus didn’t blink.

Logan stared back at him for a second, then walked back into the apartment, grabbed the ridiculous hat, and returned to the hall.

Remus smiled and allowed his legs to slide to one side and thunk down on the floor beside him. He scrambled to his feet.

“Let’s go!”

…

Logan wrinkled his nose.

He and Remus were sitting in the car together. They were more than halfway to their destination, and perhaps Logan should have just let it drop; but an unpleasant odor was getting harder to ignore.

“I hope that one of your presents this year includes some deodorant,” he sighed as they turned onto the block the hospital was on.

Remus hummed. “Sorry, I’m out. I was feeling snackish last night.”

“…What?”

“Kidding. I forgot to pack it.”

“There’s a convenience store not far from the hospital. We’re going to stop there first.”

Remus sighed. “Fine, but they’d better have the good flavors.”

Whatever reply Logan might have given was interrupted by a sudden, loud ding!

…

Remus fished out his phone, turned down his volume, and opened up the new text.

Unknown Number: [photo message]

The photo was of Roman, lying down in a hospital bed, with a cannula in his nose. He was smiling crookedly, but he looked exhausted.

Remus wasn’t sure he liked the feeling that the picture made churn about in his stomach, but only a second later, a new message popped up under the first and made him forget it.

Unknown Number: I lived b*tch

Remus started cackling.

“Look, look,” he said gleefully, shoving the phone at Logan so the nerd could see.

“I’m driving,” the spoilsport said.

“So pull over!” Remus said, leaning back in his own seat and beginning to type a reply. “I’ve got comedy gold right here.”

Remus: Your a resilant Grape

Unknown Number: thanks Stinkbug

“Awww, he remembered,” Remus said. He tried to shove the phone at Logan again, only for him to dodge, leaning away to keep looking at the road. Rude.

Remus: Getting redy to stink up ur rm

While he waited for a reply, and occasionally nudged the phone at an unwilling Logan, Remus tried to imagine what an eight-year-old grape would look like. Would it be all wrinkled, like a raisin? Would it harden like some kind of fruit marble? Would it still be all moldy? Or was eight years way too long for that? Maybe the grape mold would have evolved into a grape mold monster, growing and growing and growing until it was too powerful to be held back by the constraints of a shelf life.

Remus fantasized for a moment about a giant grape mold monster attacking the buildings the car passed by, Godzilla style.

He was interrupted as the car pulled over, and Logan thrust out a hand. “Alright, show me this ‘comedy gold’ of yours.”

Remus grinned and showed Logan his brother’s texts.

“Ah,” said Logan. He didn’t seem to understand what was funny about a photo of Roman in a hospital bed captioned, “I lived b*tch”.

Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and went back to his phone, disappointed. “No sense of humor.”

Logan frowned, and they pulled back onto the road.

…

Once they had checked in as visitors to the hospital, Logan strode towards the stairwell.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Remus said, making him glance back, “didn’t she say he was in room 503? As in the fifth floor 503?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe you like being tortured; but I’m not walking up five flights of stairs!”

Logan glanced towards the stairs, then back at Remus, who was starting towards the elevator bay.

“Stairs are better for cardiovascular health.”

“My twin has asthma; that makes me asthma-adjacent, so making me go up stairs is child abuse.”

“You’re 19 years old.”

“So?”

“That makes you neither a child nor significantly younger than me.”

“Roommate’s brother abuse, then.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s five flights,” Remus reminded him. “The elevator will be so much faster!”

Logan glanced towards the elevator bay, folding his arms. “…What if I wear the hat?”

Remus laughed. “Come on, like you’re getting out of wearing the hat.” He walked forwards, took Logan’s wrist, and pulled him towards the elevators.

“I’d really rather not,” Logan said as he was dragged along.

“What, are you claustrophobic or something?”

“…I’m admittedly not a fan of elevators.”

“You’ll be fine, it’s one ride.”

He pressed the button for the elevator, and they waited. Logan couldn’t help but glance occasionally back towards the stairs, especially since by the time the elevator arrived, there were three more people waiting for the same elevator.

The doors slid open. Logan was glad to see that it was not as small as he had feared—probably to make room for gurneys and wheelchairs, he reflected—and if anything it only had the same unnaturally clean smell as the rest of the hospital, and nothing worse.

Still, as all five of them crowded into the elevator, along with the frankly excessively large bunch of balloons one of them held, Logan was not exactly happy.

The elevator began to move, and Logan gripped the railing tightly, standing as far away from the others as could be managed in such a small space.

Remus kept eyeing the enormous cluster of balloons, a stark opposition to the single Get Well Soon! balloon that they had picked up at the convenience store, envy in his eyes.

A silver lining to the experience for Logan was that the three visitors got off at the third floor, and no one else joined them, so the trip up the last two floors was fairly tolerable.

Finally, they arrived, and the elevator doors slid open. Remus stepped out, and Logan followed after, trying to seem less relieved than he actually was.

“We’re taking the stairs on the way down if you want a ride back,” he told Remus.

“Fiiine. Now put on your hat, his room’s right there.”

Logan kept the hat in his hands as they approached.

Just before they reached the doorway, Remus paused. Logan glanced back at him. He looked nervous, suddenly.

“Are you ready?” Logan asked.

Remus grinned, adjusting the hat on his head. Logan noticed as he lifted his arms that the sweater he wore read ‘Merry X-mas F*ckers’.

“Yep! ’Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

Logan looked him up and down, then strode into the room, opening the door quietly. “Roman?”

Roman lay in the bed, his eyes closed, earbuds in his ears. His eyes opened as Logan came in, and he smiled tiredly. He pulled out the earbuds, tapping a button on his phone. “There’s my… favorite nerd. Back again… so soon? You must’ve… really missed me.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I brought someone to see you.”

“Hazel, is that you?”

A confused expression crossed Roman’s face, and he looked past Logan to where Remus stood in the doorway in his lime green Santa hat and vulgar sweater, the Get Well Soon! balloon bobbing at his side. Logan moved to sit beside the bed, glancing between them.

“Jeez, I know you cried like a baby at The Fault in Our Stars, but you might be taking this fanboy thing too far.”

Roman cracked a smile, laughing softly and clearly trying not to cough. “That was… years ago. Now, get over here… Stinkbug.”

…

They spent nearly two hours at the hospital. Remus and Roman talked, and Logan did his best not to be too intrusive. He could tell they were dancing around the elephant in the room, the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in quite some time; but he figured there were better times to discuss such a thing.

Finally, a nurse came by to let them know that visiting hours had ended.

“Aw, come on,” Remus whined at him. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. Just think of the sleepover we could have.”

“I’m sorry, but you do have to leave. Your brother needs his rest.”

“Who says he’s my brother? Maybe he’s my cousin.”

The nurse glanced between the obvious twins, then towards Logan, as if asking for help.

“He’s joking,” Logan assured him. “We’ll leave in a minute; don’t worry.”

The nurse nodded. “Have a good night,” he said, before leaving the room.

Remus sighed, then looked back to Roman. “Sorry, The Man says we have to leave.”

Roman shook his head, looking amused. The expression faded a second later, though, at the prospect of being alone again. Logan frowned, remembering the news Roman had given him when they arrived—that the doctors thought it would be best for him to stay in the hospital for Christmas as well, rather than checking out in the morning as they had hoped.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Logan promised.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Remus corrected, grinning at Roman. “And I’ll make him wear the hat!”

“We’ll be back,” Logan agreed, deciding to ignore the hat comment.

…

“So, what’s the plan?”

Logan glanced at Remus, who had his feet up on the dashboard despite Logan’s repeated protestations about safety and sanitation concerns.

“The plan?” he repeated.

“Yeah. The plan, for tomorrow? For Christmas?”

“My only plan was to visit Roman.”

Remus’s mouth opened, and he stared at Logan for a solid five seconds. Logan’s fingers tapped on the wheel awkwardly.

“I take it that isn’t acceptable to you?”

“Isn’t acceptable—alright, come on. Really. You can do better than that. You can’t really make my brother spend Christmas in the hospital and not do better than that.”

“I’m not making him spend Christmas in the—”

“Missing the point, Nerdy Wolverine! We’ve got planning to do.”

Logan frowned, not liking where this was going.

“We can go back to your place and figure it out.”

Logan hesitated, waiting for a car to pass by before turning a corner. “I suppose we can do that in the building’s lobby.”

“Okay, seriously. What’s up? Do you really think I’m going to rob you or something? I know I haven’t been around lately, but you know I wouldn’t do that to Roman.”

Logan chewed on the inside of his lip. He didn’t mean to offend Remus, but he really couldn’t let him in the apartment, whether it hurt his feelings or not.

Remus looked out the window. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Keep your secrets.”

“I just don’t know you that well,” Logan defended, unsure of what else to say. There wasn’t much else he could say.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever.”

They drove in silence for a moment.

“You do know where he’s got the presents hidden, right? Since you won’t let me get them?”

“What presents?”

“You really think Roman doesn’t have presents hidden away?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

Remus squinted at him. “…You didn’t get him anything, did you?”

Logan was aware of how telling his silence was.

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas; Roman knows that.”

“Did you not get him a birthday present either because it wasn’t your birthday?”

Logan sighed.

“He even got me a Christmas present. I got it in the mail already. Do you really think he didn’t get you one?”

Logan just huffed, until a realization dawned on him. “That’s how you knew where our apartment was.” Apparently the joke about internet stalking had just been that—a joke.

“Yep. And I didn’t even open my present yet because I wanted to come here and surprise him! And I get here, and I bet you two don’t even have a Christmas tree!”

Logan adjusted his grip on the wheel. Remus wasn’t wrong. In their defense, they had been a bit distracted, given what had happened with Emile and the other “mouse-men”.

“You’ve got a mall here, right? What time does it close?”

“…In about an hour.”

…

Logan closed the apartment door behind himself, stuck the keys in his pocket, and strode into the kitchen, pausing the flick on the lights. He set down the ridiculous hat Remus had gotten him on the kitchen table, and paused in front of the doorway into the living room. He’d left the light on in there for obvious reasons, since the sun had gone down even before he’d left with Remus.

As he debated going in to check on the guests within, Patton looked up at him and put a hand to his mouth. Logan realized he was holding a finger to his lips. He glanced past Patton and saw that both Virgil and Emile were asleep, Emile in his bed and Virgil on his side between his brother and Patton. Logan held up a hand in an acknowledging gesture, and continued down the hall and into Roman’s room.

Remus had said that Roman had always had a habit of hiding presents in an air vent, and would most likely have done the same now. Logan looked around and spotted the vent above Roman’s desk—fairly easily accessed, he had to admit.

He glanced around at the floor leading up to it, grimaced, and decided he had a little time to clean up, first. Remus could wait a few extra minutes.

He gathered up the rocks first—most of them were easily spotted, although several had made their way under the bed and bedside table, and a few even up to the bedroom door—and deposited them back into their box, which he returned to the bedside table. He also returned the fallen dresser drawer to its usual place. One of the corners of the drawer was broken, but it was only a minor cosmetic issue. Logan simply threw away the scrap of wood and slid the drawer back in the slot. Then, he collected the things that had fallen out of the drawer; and while he was certain that how he arranged them would not match whatever organization system Roman might—or might not—have had in place, he did his best. At any rate, it was certainly better how he had found it.

He found the inhaler last, sitting under the bed, not far from where he had found the expired one he had tried to help Roman with. Logan looked at it for a long moment, silently placed it on top of the dresser, and moved on to the vent.

He glanced around for a screwdriver, guessing that Roman would have one in here if he were really hiding presents in the vent, and spotted it on the desk, next to a fresh-looking scratch in the wood. Logan frowned, running a finger over the damage, then glanced up at the vent. Only three of the screws were in place. He glanced around, and, not spotting the missing one on the desk, finally spotted it on the floor.

Odd.

Logan shook his head, picked up the screwdriver, and stood on the desk chair to reach the vent. He unscrewed the three screws, pocketed them with the other, and removed the vent cover. There was something inside: a large plastic bag. He slid it out of its hiding place, waving away some stray dust motes that came free, and set it on the desk. He glanced inside, confirming that there were in fact presents inside. Then, he replaced the vent cover, stepped down from the desk chair, and left the room, bringing the bag of gifts with him.

He paused to wave good-bye to Patton, turned off the kitchen light, and went down to meet Remus in the lobby.

He found the young man sitting in a chair, his feet up in the one across from him, the shopping bags from the mall at his side. He perked up upon seeing Logan.

“You found them!”

“I did,” Logan confirmed. “You were right.”

“Of course I am.” Remus leaned forward and took the bag from Logan. “He’s so predictable. See, there’s two for you in here….” He pawed around in the bag some more, absently listing a few more names, then paused, pulling out three very small, carefully giftwrapped boxes.

“Who are E, V, and P?” Remus asked, turning them over in his hands.

Logan glanced over sharply, his eyes widening before he could stop them. “Those are, um, college friends,” he said.

Remus clearly didn’t buy it. “He got three college friends ring boxes? Ooh, are they his boyfriends? Does my bro really have three boyfriends? Is that what you didn’t want me to see in the apartment? Damn, he’s outdoing me! Is he going to propose to them all at once?”

Logan opened his mouth and shut it again. “…No,” he said meekly.

Remus grinned, looking over the boxes for a second longer. “Sure, sure. I believe you.” He obviously did not believe Logan; but he did return the three small boxes to their place in the bag, instead only removing the two with Logan’s name on them.

He set the presents aside and picked up one of their shopping bags, pulling out gift bags, tissue paper, and a few other items.

“So, let’s figure out tomorrow. What time should we get there?”

…

Logan reluctantly allowed himself to be herded into the elevator again. As much as he… preferred not to use elevators, he had to admit that he wasn’t keen to carry so much stuff up five flights of stairs.

Thankfully, no one seemed to want to share an elevator with them, given how crowded it would have been. Logan was relieved.

Roman grinned as they walked into the hospital room. “You wore the hat!”

“I wore the hat,” Logan confirmed, sounding disgruntled. It was only to free up space in his arms, and for no other reason, of course. Remus’s nagging about how much it would cheer up his brother had had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t come across any mirrors, but he was sure he looked ridiculous, with his professional attire clashing with the giant-eared hat.

“What’s… all that?” Roman asked, watching as they hauled in the large shopping bags.

“Christmas,” Remus grinned. He’d dumped his bags on the floor and was already pulling out the tree. It was small, and plastic—pickings at the store had been slim, and they couldn’t exactly bring in a nine-foot fir tree—but it would fit perfectly on one of the chairs. Remus grabbed one from beside the empty bed and dragged it over, setting the tree on top.

Meanwhile, Logan set down his own bags and began unpacking them, stacking the presents at the end of the bed, and handing the box of ornaments to Remus.

Roman watched them both with wide eyes as they transformed the hospital room into something more festive, putting up garlands (strictly where they would not be even remotely in the way, upon Logan’s insistence), decorating the tree (Remus held it up so Roman could add the star at the top), and placed a box of various Christmas cookies on the table. Roman soon wore a reindeer headband and a necklace of colorful LED lightbulbs. Remus had brought his laptop, and had (perhaps less than legally, Logan suspected) downloaded several classic Christmas movies.

“We can always go for some Netflix or Hulu if you’re not feeling the classics,” he said as he set it up on what was meant to be Roman’s serving tray, “and I personally love some good Krampus, but I know you’re like obsessed with Rudolph.”

Remus had also gotten a pack of colorful paper at the mall, so while the movies played, all three of them cut out snowflakes and slowly decorated the walls.

The nurses who occasionally came in to check in on Roman seemed to like what they’d done to the room, despite Logan’s worries that they might have gone overboard or inconvenienced them. But the laptop and quickly dwindling cookies were easily moved if need be, and none of their stuff was in the way of getting to Roman or his monitors.

Just past lunchtime, Remus reached out to pause the movie—Frosty the Snowman—and dramatically placed a gift bag in Roman’s lap. “Time for presents!”

Roman, who had seemed unable to stop smiling since they’d arrived, grinned wider. “Guys, you… didn’t have to….”

“Yes we did! And don’t worry, it’s not just you opening stuff. You’re not very good at hiding presents.”

Roman glanced at Logan, a trace of alarm in his eyes, and Logan quickly clarified, “He told me you like to hide things in vents.”

Roman relaxed, and he laughed, breaking off to cough. “It works… doesn’t it?”

“It definitely worked for me when we were kids,” Remus readily agreed. “Very convenient for early access.”

Roman threw his pillow at him.

“Alright, alright, no pillow fights in the hospital; you’ll break something.” Logan grabbed the pillow and handing it back. “Which of these would you prefer I open first?”

Roman pointed at one, and meanwhile, Remus nudged one of the gift bags on Roman’s lap closer to him. “Open mine first!”

Logan peeled back the paper on the first gift, careful not to tear anything, revealing a shoe box. He lifted the lid, and saw a book inside—one he didn’t recognize. It was thick, and had a dark red cover with a simple black design of a magnifying glass.

“What is this?” he asked, picking it up.

Roman had waited to watch Logan open the gift. “It’s a book! Well… a story. I wrote it. It’s about… Sherlock Holmes… but you’re Watson.”

Logan blinked, inspecting the book more closely. It did, in fact, have Roman’s name stamped where the author’s would normally go. “Really? How did you get it bound like this?”

“The internet.”

“Ah, of course. Thank you, Roman—I’m very intrigued. I’m certain I’ll love it.”

Roman grinned, only to have Remus shove his gift at him more insistently. Roman shook his head, amused, and picked it up. He took none of the care that Logan had in opening his present, tossing torn scraps of paper to the side. Inside was a teddy bear, but not exactly like the ones Logan usually saw in stores. This one was zombified, complete with blood and a partially exposed brain.

“You got this… at Halloween, didn’t you?”

“Maaaybe,” Remus said, grinning. He turned to tear into his own gift then, the one that Roman had mailed to him, with fervor. Logan silently gathered up scraps of paper as Remus scattered them. “Oooh!”

It was a book about frog dissection, complete with numerous illustrations.

“I’m going to rip these out and put them on my wall,” he announced, thumbing eagerly through the pages.

“Okay, open your… second one,” Roman said to Logan.

The second present was heavier than the first, but smaller. Logan unwrapped it carefully. It was a rounded, clear glass paperweight, the center engraved with the spiraling Milky Way Galaxy.

“Oh, wow…. Thank you, Roman,” he said sincerely, lifting it up so that he could look at it in the light.

Logan’s gift for Roman, despite being the last opened, was nothing special, in his opinion—it had been gotten in a hurry, of course, within the hour that he and Remus had had at the mall; but as Roman pulled out the book on Disney’s art through the years, the joy on his face was clearly genuine.

“Oh my gosh… Logan, I love this!”

…

They left most of the decorations up in Roman’s room for the night, with Logan planning to take them down before his roommate checked out in the morning. He figured there was no harm in it, and Roman clearly enjoyed them.

Remus and Logan drove back to the apartment building that evening, their stomachs full of cookies, a bow stuck to Remus’s forehead, and the presents they’d received in the backseat. Logan was still wearing the ridiculous hat Remus had gotten him.

“Thanks,” Remus said as they got out of the car.

“For driving you back? That’s no trouble, I assure you.”

“No,” Remus said. “Well, that too, but I meant… thanks for helping me with this. I can’t say the hospital was part of my plan, but I really wanted this Christmas to be special.” He shifted where he stood. “I haven’t seen Roman in a while, and I was hoping that… you know, that maybe I could just show up, and maybe… I don’t know. I wanted my brother back is all.”

Logan glanced at him.

“Anyway. Thanks for helping me.”

He grabbed his dissection book from the backseat, looked at the cover, and glanced over to his car. “Guess I should be going. I’ve got boyfriends to kiss, mischief to… mischievize.”

“Remus… may I ask you something?”

Remus tilted his head. “If you want to be my third boyfriend, I’m sorry, but I don’t date my brother’s roomies. Besides, you live kind of far, and I’m not into the whole long distance thing.”

“What? No.”

Remus cackled. “Kidding. Shoot.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I know that you and Roman had some family issues, but I must admit that I’m unaware of what they are. I understand if you are against telling me, but I would appreciate some insight, if you’re willing to provide it.”

Remus screwed up his face. “Well… if Roman didn’t want to say….”

“Of course.” Logan shook his head. “Forget I asked. That was insensitive of me. It was simply an impulse question, think nothing of it.”

Remus glanced towards his car again, then looked down at the pavement.. “I don’t know what exactly it was,” he admitted. “Our parents lied to me about it, said he… Well, they said some things that weren’t true, so I’d side with them.” He grimaced, then forced a grin to his face. “I got back at them, though. Let’s just say I “butt-dialed” them, in the middle of a very fun time with my boyfriends.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I get the idea, yes.”

“Anyway. I found out they lied, and I want to make it better, because I was kind of a d*ck to him about it. So, thanks. Nerd.”

Logan nodded, and watched as Remus walked off to his car, throwing and catching the keys as he went. He dropped them just as he reached the car. Logan watched as he picked them up, pretended nothing had happened, and unlocked the door.

It had been quite an unusual Christmas, to say the least.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #infinitesimal!sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #emile picani #virgil sanders #ts sides #ts fic #ts fanfic #g/t #gt #sanders sides g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides fan fiction #fanfiction #infinitesimal fic

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heartdrift · 3 years ago

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hi!! tumblr recommended me ur blog and i used to be obsessed w twd and caryl as a whole years ago. i scrolled thru ur blog bc every once in a while i like to keep up w caryl to see how they’re doing. and just wanted to ask where theyre at this point! is carol still married to ezekiel? also the series is ending soon right? its mind blowing to me that they haven’t gone in a romantic direction yet. do u think they’ll stay just a “platonic” /deep bond the rest of the series? i feel like they’ve been teasing a romantic connection since s2. love ur blog btw!!

Aww this is such a nice message to get, thank you for keeping up with my blog!

To answer your questions - no, Carol isn't with Ezekiel anymore. They broke up/divorced at the end of S9. The "official" reason is that they grew apart because Henry got killed by Alpha (she's the head of the Whisperers if you don't know about that storyline, though it's over now).

That being said, there's more than enough evidence that Daryl had a lot to do with it. There's a scene near the end of the season where Ezekiel is watching Daryl and Carol interact, and in that same episode he asks Daryl to back away so he and Carol can get back on track and heal. So. I have some feelings about that lol.

And yep, the series will be ending with 11 which is airing now! There will be a mid season break, I'm sure, and there will be 24 episodes this time to tie everything up.

But, in case you haven't heard, Daryl and Carol will have their own spinoff after TWD ends!! It's set to premiere in 2023 but there's no title or details yet.

I'm with you that it's unbelievable they haven't happened yet, and I also feel like it's been planned in some way or another since S2. I feel like they've been delayed in very irritating and OOC ways in order for the will they/won't they to keep drawing people in and keep Caryl fans watching.

But, yes, I really do think they'll happen this season. I've certainly been wrong before with this show lol, but I think Kang (the showrunner that took over from Gimple after S8) has been setting it up since she took over and a LOT of things line up for it. Plus, it just makes more sense to me than making it happen in their spinoff.

Sorry for such a long reply, but feel free to message me again with any questions or to just chat. I can assign an emoji for you too haha.

#anonymous #answered

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jungxk · 5 years ago

Text

just one (vi)

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

warnings: smut (f recieving), protected sex

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 5.3k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

you watch sadly as you tip your case of empty paint tubes into the bin. they were your absolute favourite, a birthday gift from jimin almost two years ago. you had been so careful and stingy with them all this time to preserve as much as possible - at least to get you to the end of the semester - so it was disheartening to have to finally throw them out. oils were always your favourite. still, there wasn't much time for moping; if you were to get your next piece finished by the deadline you better start now because of the drying period between layers of watercolour.

"maybe jungkook has a hairdryer..." you mumble to yourself before padding over to his room. he's sitting at his tiny little work desk with his back to you when you peek over his shoulder. "kook, do you have a hairdryer?"

he points without removing his eyes from the screen. "the bottom drawer over there."

"thanks," you do a double take as you pass him with the appliance in tow, his eyes a little bloodshot and face twisted into what looks like terror. usually you couldn't so much as clean a paintbrush without jungkook all over you while you were at his place, but he barely spoke the whole afternoon. you take a tentative step towards him, because if he was anything like jimin when he's stressed he might get rabid. "you alright?"

"i dunno, am i?" he collapses back into the chair, threading his fingers through his hair which was getting wonderfully long. but the only thing you can pay attention to now are his panicked eyes and jittery knees. "i don't know what the fuck any of these numbers mean! why do i even need this for photography-"

"what is it?" you smooth your hand over his back, muscles stiff.

he deflates under your touch. "i agreed to peers taking questionnaires about my portfolio so far and i fucking regret it, noona. this stats software looks nothing like minecraft. i dont know what this all means. my prof said it'd help with cohesiveness - whatever that means - but he's off on one if he thinks this has done anything other than confuse me and ruin my life."

you try your best to hold back a smile, but jungkook is so cute when he's pouty and frustrated. "okay, well what are your variables?"

"my what? baby, i'm not in the mood right now-"

"no you dipshit, like," you gesture with your hands. "what are the things you're measuring? in the questionnaire?"

jungkook stares at you blankly. "i'm...what?"

you roll your eyes, grabbing the back of his chair to swivel him and plop onto his lap. "let me see."

jungkook has no idea what's going on, both because he doesn't know what you're talking about and also because you're covering the screen so he's spared of having to follow your clicking and tinkering. all he knows is that you fit nicely on his lap and that your bare thighs are warm on his, and it's much easier to focus on that anyway. especially since you aren't wearing underwear. after a few minutes he hooks his chin over your shoulder to at least try to keep up. "what are you doing, noona?"

"just cleaning up your dataset," you mumble. you finally perk up after a few more minutes. "oh, okay! so all you want to know is if the people who like the first half of your portfolio like the second half just as much, and whether that opinion affects the other? like a correlation, right?"

he sits up excitedly. "yeah! yeah, that's it," he stares at your profile in disbelief while you waste no time in running the analyses. "how do you know about this stuff, noona?"

"i did stats in my science major. the software i had back then, now that was a real pain in the ass. but this one isn't so bad," you reply absently while jungkook keeps staring at you like you're an angel that descended from the heavens especially for him. he has yet to believe otherwise. "hmm, you know i think you can skip all the sample level descriptives and cronbach's alpha scores and go straight to pearson's r if all you're looking for is a correlation. what would you prefer?"

he breathes in your hair; coconut, jasmine. his cologne. "you’re so sexy when i don’t understand what you’re saying."

jimin's face twists when he tests the contents of the pan. "can you tell me why this tastes like tae's dirty socks?"

“can you tell me why you know what tae’s dirty socks taste like?” you lean over the counter, swiping a finger over the ladle before bringing it to your mouth. you always used to cook for your family when you were younger, and although you had gone off it after what happened, you didn't mind when it was with jimin. with him, you didn't think about the memories of cutting onions with your father or grinding chillies with your mother and sister. it all felt new again, something that was never tarnished. which is why jimin is the only one you can stand to cook with even if he's unable to make anything but mojitos and a single pasta dish. "not enough garlic."

he squints at his phone while you manoeuvre him out of your way. "but it says two cloves in the recipe?"

"it's never two cloves," you take the knife and start to crush and peel more. "always start with four, maybe five."

"can't we just order takeout?" jimin pouts pathetically. he just washed his hair so its still damp, cheeks a rosy from the bathroom steam. you only wish his long line of hookups could see their ladies man now, bundled up in a powerpuff girls sweater that he stole from you months ago.

"no," you pluck his phone from his hand before he can dial, replacing it with more cloves for him to peel. "you've been having takeout all week! all that oil can't be good for you, what's the point of sweating your tits off in that gym if you're just gonna eat shit?"

"i don't always eat shit!"

"jimin. we share a just eat email account. i know the chinese place isn't sending me customer loyalty codes," he rounds the stool where you're sat in the small place between your back and the wall, his palm skirting behind your waist to move you gently aside. "just let me see you eat a vegetable today, i'm begging. so if you keel over tomorrow from IBS i'll feel less guilty."

"alright alright," he huffs, rubbing at his puffy eyes with his sleeve before picking up the knife again. "i don't see what the big deal is, if i was breaking out then that'd be another issue but my body can clearly handle it. maybe it's like that episode of drake and josh where his body becomes accustomed to all the junk food he eats and-"

"please don't use drake and josh as a marker for your health."

"fine," and then without missing a beat, "but what about kenan and kel? all that orange soda and kel was totally fine. healthy even."

"physically, maybe. but did you see the screw in the tuna episode? don't tell me he didn't have inner demons that may or may not have been increased by an overly processed diet," you pause. "wait, am i the kenan in this friendship?"

"depends. i want to say you're the brains but i've also seen you try to open a can with a fork, so."

"hey! that wasn't my fault!" you exclaim, but jimin ignores you purposely. "taehyung told me you fucked yeri in the kitchen, how was i supposed to know what was and wasn't contaminated?"

"___, the fork was plastic."

"well what else would you have me do, starve?"

"what is this, the fucking famine? you said it yourself, we share a just eat email so the smart thing to do would be order. besides i dunno what makes you think i'd fuck a girl with a can opener in my vicinity anyway-"

"um, you're you," you chastise. "so i rest my case."

"then i'm definitely kenan," jimin laughs when you swat at him before your phone vibrates, one after another until it almost falls off the kitchen counter if you didn't grab it in time. you don't dare to unlock your phone when you see the contact name on the screen, too hyper-aware of jimin eyeing you over the chopping board. even he sees the gist of the messages jungkook sent you.

[jungkook 7:13pm] u left ur shirt here again noona

[jungkook 7:13pm] at this rate ur never gonna get it back are u :)

[jungkook 7:14pm] i'm free all day tomorrow

[jungkook 7:16pm] wanna come over?

[jungkook 7:16pm] i still haven't washed it btw so

[jungkook 7:17pm] we can do laundry together :))

[jungkook 7:18pm] or maybe later tonight ? i can pick u up ?

you don't even get a good read of the messages - all those smiley faces gave you enough of an idea. it wasn't a surprise or anything, but you still switch your phone to do not disturb and leave it face down on the counter like you have something to hide. which you don't. so why did it feel so wrong? so disrespectful, here in jimin's kitchen? you gnaw at your cheek.

jimin has his back to you so thankfully you're spared of having to gage his expression. he's probably sent a million thirsty texts so he knows what they look like, knows that he shouldn't be surprised. still, he shifts from foot to foot uneasily. the only thing that makes him stop is you leaning wordlessly over him to lower the stove to a simmer, turning the tap on to wash some rice and hum quietly. here was jeon jungkook, arguably the biggest stud on campus blowing up your phone on a friday night but nothing felt different. you'd always choose him and jimin knew that.

"what do you think of egg fried rice?" you ask over your shoulder. "i haven't made it in ages. the one with the veggies?"

jimin smiles. "i love that one,"

"he's not back yet?" you ask when yoongi lets you into the flat, shoulders deflating childishly. he gives you a lazy shake of his head before nudging you to the sofa to take up your usual spot on the matted cushion in the corner, kicking your shoes away and sitting cross legged. yoongi and namjoon's flat was only round the corner from jungkook's, a worn down little two-bed that smelled rather questionable at times, but it quickly became a familiar place. a safe place. especially because of how often you'd come over while jungkook was running late at class or the gym or photo-hunting. coming to terms with the fact that you were sleeping with jungkook wasn't that hard, but being friends with his friends was.

"it's leg day. you know how jungkookie feels about his chicken calves," yoongi says before flopping down next to you. namjoon was tucked into the other side with a book, effectively squishing you into yoongi with his big shoulders. if jungkook was here he'd pout about having nowhere to sit and the thought only makes you more pleased. "he'd be there until sundown if you weren't waiting for him."

"are you sure you're one to talk about chicken legs?" you reach to tickle yoongi's knees and he barely manages to flinch away in time.

"i love my chicken legs the way they are, thanks. can't say the same for your boyfriend though."

you freeze. "i told you to stop saying that, yoongi. you know he hates the b word. one more slip up and you won't ever see me here again. last time he avoided me for two weeks!"

"never see you again? doubt it. your hair clogged the shower drain yesterday so you pretty much owe rent at this point," yoongi keeps flicking through the channels on the television. "besides, i know what a man with a monkey on his back looks like. kookie just doesn't like being reminded of it because unfortunately for him there's no rehab to quit you."

a rush of blood goes straight to your cheeks. yoongi loves to tease you and you know that, second only to jungkook who actually does get off to it, but you still tap nervously on the carpet with your toes while desperately hoping for namjoon to step into the conversation with a weird conspiracy theory or black hole fact he read on an astronomy blog. anything to dig you out of this metaphorical hole you and jungkook are hellbent on ignoring. yoongi sees the way you curl in on yourself slightly, a sensible and collected flower like you reduced to a fidgety school girl. it's cute.

"hyung," namjoon says with his eyes still glued to his book. "stop winding her up or her face'll explode and then jiminie will come for your throat."

yoongi scoffs. "and? what's that short-ass gonna do, cry on me to death?"

"you're like two inches taller than him."

"two and a half, actually."

"so he really was a crybaby?" you scoot to fold your legs under you. "jungkook told me before but i didn't believe him! i've tried everything but i can never get a reaction out of jimin...i mean, if horny isn't an emotion."

"oh yeah, totally," namjoon puts an arm on the back on the back of the sofa behind you when he looks up. his silver hair brings out the beautifully rich undertone of his skin and it's difficult not to stare, being so close. "if the patriarchy hadn't fucked him up he'd be a real tree hugger, i'm sure of it. but the last time i saw him cry was...hmm..."

"five years ago," yoongi chimes. "when jungkookie got caught."

"ooooh yeah," namjoon nods. "but jimin and jungkook were super close back then. he was so protective of him, waited in the custody office for hours until they finally-"

"wait," you look between them. "caught? what do you mean?"

the boys exchange a glance between them. it's not like you didn't know that yoongi sells weed and often with namjoon's help. in fact, they often told you about their wild stories and close calls. but they had never mentioned jungkook being involved with any of that stuff, and neither had he. you always just assumed that he'd kept his head out of it, being a college student and all but yoongi's shrugging and namjoon's pursed lips tell you otherwise.

"jungkook got charged with possession as a minor," yoongi says. "i mean, seventeen but still. too baby-faced."

"jungkook sold for you?" you repeat, not quite believing your ears. he had always been the better off out of his friends that often did shadier things, but the more you got to know him the more you felt like the jungkook you heard about and the jungkook you knew were two different boys. it really shouldn't have come as a surprise, since he had practically grown up with yoongi, namjoon and jimin. his hyungs were his family and he'd do anything for them, there was really no reason he wouldn't take up their trade.

"oh yeah, almost a year. he was good at it too," namjoon laughs. "our kookie's good at everything if you give him enough chances."

"so what happened?" you press. "does he...does he still sell?"

"are you kidding? we got him out of all that shit the second he stepped out the office," yoongi rubs the back of his neck. "jungkook isn't like us. he's a good kid with a lot of talent and he didn't need to be doing all that you know? we convinced him to go to school instead but even then, jimin made us swear to look out for him because he left earlier than kookie."

"wow, jimin really hasn't changed," you lean back. "in like, taking care of people i mean. so is that when jungkook got into photography? he did talk about getting his first camera when he was like eighteen or something..."

namjoon nods happily in recollection. "yup! we were so proud when jungkook got accepted into university, especially after jimin and hobi. people from our town don't usually pursue higher education-"

"especially with kookie's record," yoongi laughs.

"why?" you blink at him.

"the weed was one thing, but jungkook also got a strike for violence."

namjoon winces. "hyung, he's gonna throw a tantrum if you tell her..."

"i don't care. she's fucking him, she has a right to know," yoongi retorts evenly, dark eyes swivelling to meet yours. his light hair is matted from under his beanie, barely missing his lashes. "a few years ago jungkook beat a guy so bad he had to go into emergency. it was pretty gross. broken nose, missing teeth, you name it. he's been on thin ice since but he doesn't act like it."

you take a second to digest the information. "do you...do you know why?" you waver, unable to keep the horror from your voice. "knocking a guy's teeth out? people don't just do that!"

"kookie did," namjoon sighs.

"but why? it's so...i just can't imagine jungkook doing something like that..."

"something like what?"

your head snaps to the doorway where jungkook can be seen only partially when he bends over to unlace his shoes, namjoon and yoongi simultaneously pinching your legs to wipe the wide-eyed look off your face. it was one of the many times when wearing your heart on your sleeve did not do you any favours. you just about manage to look normal enough within the half a second it takes for jungkook to come in, hair mussed from his post-gym shower and tee wrinkled from being stuffed into the bottom of his bag. his eyes look extra big today, nose and knuckles blushed pink from all the lifting. he couldn't look farther from the violent offender yoongi and namjoon described. in fact, the sudden urge to kiss him hello was near suffocating.

"i was telling her about the time you wore hyung's underwear for two weeks," namjoon explains, years of lying paying off with how smoothly he returns to his book.

"what!" yoongi splutters. "are you kidding?! a whole week, jungkook that's disgusting-"

the younger boy winces. "not the same pair!"

"wait. you took more than one?!"

"um..."

"how many. tell me right now you little shit."

"i promise they were clean!" jungkook says defensively, but his buck teeth show in a defensive little grin. it's impossible to be mad at him. "my washing machine broke, remember? and i never have change so i didn't go to the laundrette's and-"

"which ones?" yoongi's voice becomes obnoxiously loud with dismay. "tell me right now so can go upstairs and burn them. jesus jungkook you could have at least asked me, now i have to live with the knowledge that your bollocks is acquainted with mine until i die-"

"hyung they were clean," jungkook insists. "and if i asked i knew you wouldn't have let me borrow them!"

"yeah because it's gross! why didn't you just take joonie's?"

"i did. but he caught me and told me to take yours instead."

you just about manage to insert yourself between yoongi before he can grab a fistful of namjoon's hair while jungkook throws back his head in a loud cackle.

[jimin 7:58pm] you dont mind do u?

it's hard not to roll your eyes at his message, momentarily leaving your phone on the bed while you unclasp your bra. it wasn't the first time jimin had bailed on you last minute because of some girl he'd picked up for longer than expected. you're just thankful that this time he had the courtesy to tell you before you got to his house and burst into his bedroom without knocking only to see areas of your best friend you really did not need to see. even though you shudder at the memories - yes, plural - the sinking feeling of disappointment can't be masked. it's movie night.

[you 8:01pm] yh its fine

[you 8:02pm] but u owe me one i put on a bra for you asshole

[jimin 8:04pm] ofc babe

[jimin 8:04] just skip it next time :)

you snort before locking your phone and throwing it on the bed, padding over the room in your knickers to select some sleeping shorts off the floor. jisoo went home for a family birthday and seulgi had a deadline for monday, so it was safe to say you were alone for the weekend. you were used to being alone but you didn't like it; it was the reason why you'd always trudge to jimin's if the girls weren't home or even yoongi and namjoon's, even if it was just to take a nap on their sofa. you needed the noise, the background bickering. that's why there's only so much paint brush washing and kitchen cleaning you can do before reaching for your phone and messaging jungkook.

or at least that's what you tell yourself when he's in your bed within the hour, head resting on your stomach and his leg thrown over your ankles. you trace along the tattoo on his bicep closest to you, admiring the cohesiveness and line placement while jungkook dozes off, like he often does after sex. he's had a long week so you let him sleep, hair sticking up and mouth open like a toddler, so impossibly cute you can't help combing through his nape. jungkook doesn't often spend the night at yours so this was a rarity, and you had to admit he did look a little out of place in your tiny little room. he was far too big for your bed, one foot already hanging off, clothes and jacket hurled into the corner with only cheap fairy lights to rely on so you don't go tripping over his shoes at the door.

you could draw him like this. jungkook's eyelashes are short and pin-straight, eyebrows angled and distinctive. quick, sharp pencil strokes. he's got the faintest shadow above his top lip from where didn't have time to shave today. you'd use charcoal for his hair, black with a slight wave. a swooping curve for his nose, a more gentle line for his jaw. he looks harmless like this: not at all resembling the boy yoongi described.

"why are you so quiet, noona?" he grumbles into the duvet, eyes still closed. "you should be snoring my ears off by now."

you pout. "i'm too busy wondering how i'm gonna get your river of drool out of my pillow."

he snorts. "throw your sheets in on a fast cycle and voila."

"what fast cycle? i just press every button on the machine until it starts."

he opens his eyes. "you're an animal."

you laugh, tugging on the roots of his hair where your hand is still nestled inside. "how do you know so much about washing machines anyway?"

"my mum worked a lot growing up," jungkook yawns. "hyung did the cooking and i did the laundry."

you freeze. "you have a brother?"

"i swear i told you that," he scoots across your stomach, taking the pillow with him to position it over your hip so he can look at you properly. his eyes look glassy in the lights, lids hooded and hair pushed back. a real dreamboat wrapped in a hello kitty duvet. "two years older, same as jimin."

"no wonder jimin cares about you so much," you keep playing with his hair, watching his eyes droop closed. "he may as well be your brother." jungkook hums in reply, growing more and more drowsy from all the petting. "so...how come your mum worked so much?"

his eyes open to look at you, hesitating. "dad left when we were young. she didn't really have a choice."

"i didn't know that jungkook..." you pause. "that must have been hard."

he rolls to face the ceiling, like he's thinking twice before he answers. "not really. eomma's a badass, there's nothing she can't handle. yeah money and stuff wasn't easy, and it sucked when i was younger and didn't understand why hyung and eomma were so upset after what happened, but it's whatever. the three of us are so good together, you know? i like it like this."

you nod. because you do know. or, did. you wonder now if that's the reason jungkook got involved with yoongi and namjoon in the first place, to help out his family, but even you know some questions are better left unasked. instead, you chip away at jungkook while you can, since you know barely anything about him beyond student life and his friends. who knows when he would be in the mood to open up again. "so what does your brother do?"

"an accountant. for some fancy law firm in the city," he smiles. "hyung is super smart. like you."

you laugh. "you know i didn't finish my first major, right?"

"by choice. not because you weren't capable," he finishes, and to that you have no choice but to shut up. no one had ever put it that way before. "he's super quiet like you too, keeps to himself. gives really good advice. oh my god, and his kimchi pork stew - amazing!" his teeth gleam take up his whole mouth when he smiles, lines creasing around his eyes. "so many times when me and mum would argue, hyung was the reason why we'd stop. guess i got her temper."

you watch him closely. "you argued often?"

"at one point, yeah. not because we didn't like each other or anything, just..." you can see him hesitating again, cheek sucked in from where he chews it while staring up at the ceiling as if the memories are playing back at him on a projector. you keep quiet, let him get there on his own. "mum went through a phase where she dated a lot. felt bad that neither of us had a father figure and all that bullshit. she brought home some real dickheads, some top tier cunts i'm telling you. and i...wasn't exactly nice to them. ever since then i just hate seeing girls be pushed around by assholes, you know? it does something to me, i dunno. here," he lays a hand over his stomach. "i can't just watch. i can't. it's like i'm gonna be sick."

it's hard not to cry listening to him, seeing the lines in his forehead appear along with the crinkle above his nose. it made sense now, what yoongi told you about before. thinking back to the whole escapade with jinyoung in your kitchen, the whole thing hit you differently.

jungkook was exactly the kind of boy your old family would have frowned upon, reckless and thoughtless and emotionally-driven in the face of adversity. absolutely everything you were taught not to be. but you admired him for those very reasons. before you can start crying you sit up, silencing jungkook with a kiss before he can ask you what's wrong. it's firm and deliberate, your hands holding both his cheeks. he's breathless. "you seriously fucking worry me, slick."

"oh?" his eyes stay focused on your lips while he moves to you, positions you underneath him on the foot of the bed, pulling your thighs around his hips so you gasp at the feel of his semi on your soft inner thigh. he dips his head to kiss along your sternum, hand ghosting over your breasts before closing his mouth around your nipple.

"i nev-never know what you're gonna do next," you exhale shakily, arching into him involuntarily at the sensation. jungkook takes the opportunity to rub the pads of his fingers against your cunt, using the remnants of your arousal to help you along. sure enough you accept his fingers greedily, but he takes his time in stretching you out and easing in further, further.

his thumb gently passes over your clit and you shake. "never? not even now?"

you have to forcibly yank his face away from your tits to kiss him, slowly and with passion. his skin grows damp under your hands, muscles rippling under your touch from where he holds himself up on his forearms. he likes feeling the softness of your tummy against his, your thick thighs cushioning him snugly against you. just like always, it's torture having to pull away from you for a brief second to grab a condom, but the familiar chuckle you breathe out to see him speed back into your arms almost makes it worth it. you take the packet from him, about to tear it open before he grabs your hand with a cheeky smile. "in a minute."

before you can question him about it you yelp he tugs you by the hips, sliding up to angle your ass so your knees have no choice but to hook over his shoulders. jungkook's arms wind around the top of your thighs, thick and secure, nails scraping gently through your coarse curls before he pulls your legs apart as wide as they'll go and lowers his mouth onto you. the noise you make is just as embarrassing as always, so loud and uncontrollable, hysterical even. you've gotten used to being jungkook's fourth, fifth and sixth meal of the day but he steals your breath away every time, leaves you squirming and trembling and this instance was no exception. today he was feeling indulgent so he eats you out messily, makes sure he's loud enough for you hear every squelch and slurp. you physically shake when he sucks a gently kiss to your clit, proud of yourself for not screaming. jungkook, however, isn't happy about that and keeps sucking until you do. harder, harder, and then filling you up with his fingers so you have something to clench around when you cum all over him in a rush.

your back is still off the bed when he reaches your eye level again, the family sound of the foil wrapper ripping from the condom packet making you lift your head up to look at him. he's already rolling it down his length when he peer downwards, and even though you only get a glimpse of his blushing head he's sticky and hot with pre-cum. you wiggle in anticipation and jungkook laughs at your cuteness before leaning back down, taking your hands in his for a change. he can see the appeal, interlocking your fingers with his palms against yours and using only his hips as leverage to push into your sopping center, letting you move against him so he's lodged in as deep as he can fit before he starts rocking into you.

your moans are his favourite song, maybe that's why he wants to listen to them all day. he'd like to make you cum again but it's difficult for him once his hips start stuttering uncontrollably, no matter how much he tries to slow his pace. you let go of his hands then to take his face, his eyes closed when he feels you press your smooth lips to his cheekbone; an encouraging kiss. a go on, i want you to kiss. the moan he let's out before giving in is fragile and wispy, nose digging into your neck while he ruts against you to his end. you clench around him harder just to hear jungkook whimper again, pliant and weak in your arms. all of a sudden, out of nowhere you wish you could feel the rush of his cream spilling from you when he pulls out to discard the condom. he nestles back into your breasts afterwards, smelling himself on your skin.

jungkook falls asleep smiling.

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Not Nineteen Forever (20) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: hey hey! thank u so much if u gave a lil note or sent a bit of love my way for ch19. it was really my fav to write so far so i’m so glad it resonated with at least somebody!! there is only one more chapter to this whole fic after this and i’m emosh. after the rollercoaster ride we’ve all been on, i hope u enjoy this fun lil chapter as much as i loved writing it!

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Brooke, Nina, Silky and Vanjie were locked in the library, and Brooke and Vanessa finally talked things out like adults.

this chapter: exams are over, dissertations are submitted, degree classifications are being allocated and the girls are nervously waiting for adult life to hit them like a freight train. what better way to avoid thinking about responsibilities than to go to the beach?

***

The day had started, as most of Scarlet’s days often do, with a message to the group chat.

Well, no, that was a bit of a lie. Scarlet’s day had started with her making breakfast, talking to her Mums over facetime as she ate it, and reassuring them that no, she hadn’t found out her degree classification yet and when she did they’d be the first to know. It was hard beginning each day with her heart in her mouth, frantically checking her phone to see if the website had been updated and then trying to relax when she found out it hadn’t been. Scarlet tried not to think too much about it, post-Uni life that is, but with each passing day it became an unignorable fact that she had to face. Graduation season was a mere month away and Scarlet didn’t want to face it but she had to, because the reality was that Scarlet didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. Not a single clue. Gone were the days of six-year-old Scarlet, who spent the mornings being an actress with a short break at lunchtime to develop her career in the veterinary sector and finishing the day off creating new play-dough recipes for her Michelin-star restaurant. High school had been so good at pushing everyone into a university-shaped mold but now that Scarlet had completed her three years there she felt a little like the aquarium fish in Finding Nemo once they had escaped their glass box: stuck in a plastic bag bubble, thrown out into the vast, unexplored ocean, and simply asking herself now what? Really, what could she do with a Philosophy degree? Everyone asked her the same question when she’d been making her UCAS choices and now here she was asking herself the same thing. She wished she could remember what 18-year-old Scarlet had replied. Her Mums had been surprisingly supportive of the whole endeavour, but then again they had probably been happy to have their pouty, whining teenage daughter out of the house. Funny how times change, Scarlet thought to herself as she squeezed a generous dollop of washing-up liquid onto the sponge and dunked her empty plate into the hot water she’d filled the sink with. Her Mums had just been on the phone encouraging Scarlet to move back home while she decided on what to do next. It was tempting, but the prospect of being back in the country all isolated and away from her friends and Yvie and the exciting busy-ness of the city didn’t exactly fill Scarlet with glee.

Hearing her phone buzz against the counter, Scarlet almost smashed her newly-dried plate in her haste to read the notification just in case it was an email about her classification. It wasn’t. It was, however, a message from the girls. Nina, to be precise.

Kim Kardashian-West: GUYS it’s meant to be the SUNNIEST day today and Monet’s flat are all going to the beach!!! we should all go too!

Scarlet frowned, looking at the decidedly grey sky. It didn’t exactly inspire much hope.

Yvie’s bitch: Are you sure you’re reading the forecast for today? It looks a bit grey outside xxxx

Kim Kardashian-West: Scarlet I’m a primary teacher. A basic knowledge of the days of the week are kind of an entry level requirement

cursed SatNav voice: Am I FUCK going to sit freezing my ass off on the sand watching the rain piss down all around me!!

cursed SatNav voice: If i wanted to get soaked I would just call Brooke xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No.

cursed SatNav voice: Ain’t that right @Brooke Lynn Hytes

Maple Syrup: you know it bby xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Hell. I’m in hell.

Scarlet snorted a laugh. Akeria could well have been joking or deadly serious. Looking up and out of the tiny little window that was positioned beside the sink, Scarlet swore she could see a small ray of sunshine fighting through the clouds. She tilted her head, considering Nina’s offer.

Okay Then: yes i am absolutely down to get blackout day drunk today

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Bitch it’s 11am who hurt you

Okay Then: listen this is perhaps the only time of our lives where we have literally no responsibilities at all. i’m getting drunk

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: I sent off nine masters’ applications yesterday.

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No responsibilities my ass

Okay Then: well as huge as it is, i’m sure even it could use a little sun xo

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: WHY ARE YOU HOES ALL SO SENSIBLE AND GLOOMY? I’M WITH PLASTIQUE LET’S GO GET DRUNK

Maple Syrup: Ooooh now you mention it a fruity cider would go down so well right now

Yvie’s bitch: Yeah go on then, I’m down!! Xxxxxxx

Scarlet’s bitch: Scarlet it’s literally 13 degrees outside you’re insane

Scarlet’s bitch: but admittedly you are also my girlfriend who i love very much

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: EW

Scarlet’s bitch: so if you’re down i’m down

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: UGH fine i’ll go if all you idiots are too

Kim Kardashian-West: AAAH you guys this makes me so HAPPY!!!

Kim Kardashian-West: We only need Vanjie for a full house

Maple Syrup: Vanjie if you come I’ll let you suck my dick

cursed SatNav voice: How big is it

Maple Syrup: 2.75 inches when fully erect

Maple Syrup: Invisible to the human eye when flaccid

cursed SatNav voice: Hard pass

Scarlet’s bitch: Jesus Harvey Christ

cursed SatNav voice: But you bitches convinced me so i’m in

It turned out that most of the girls were still in their pyjamas, much like Scarlet, so they were given an hour to shower and make their way there. They were lucky that the city sat on the coast, and although much of the coastline was dedicated to harbours and pebble beaches there was one little beautiful strip of sand that lay about a half-hour bus ride out to the suburbs. Yvie and Brooke were getting a lift from Plastique and so they offered the last seat to Scarlet, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the girls out of their way. Besides, the sun was peeking out a little stronger now, and if it was to fully appear then it would be perfect weather for earphones, a summer playlist, and looking out of a bus window pretending she was in a music video.

Stepping outside of her flat, Scarlet was glad she’d ended up choosing dungaree shorts and a plain white t-shirt. It was definitely warmer than it looked, and she had to sweep her hair up into a ponytail to stop her neck getting too hot. She stopped off at the corner shop for a four-pack of cider (Brooke’s message had made her want some) and then walked over to the bus stop, where she managed to get one after not too long of a wait and sat on the top deck, letting the growing rays of sun fry her through the window. Once she was off the bus, she checked her phone for the meetup point. Nina, Monet and her flatmates were sat on the sand “around 10 metres in front of the chippy. But Monet has no concept of measurement so it’s anyone’s guess, really.”. Scarlet didn’t mind a small walk to find them. The promenade was packed with people all dressed in Summer clothes, the pavement giving off that smell of hot gravel which always reminded Scarlet of hot days and happy memories. The platinum-white sun cast its rays over the deep blue of the sea so that little diamonds sparkled against the waves, all tumbling over each other lazily and every so often giving a satisfying crash which mingled with the sounds of dogs barking and children giving happy cries. Scarlet found the chip shop but couldn’t see the girls amongst the mass of bodies laid out on the golden sand, so she shot Nina a text. As she waited for a reply, Scarlet took a deep breath and was hit with the unmistakable smell of the sea and chippy batter combining at once. She was a Winter person- she preferred frosty mornings and dark twinkly nights and getting cosy with a searing hot coffee and her duvet, but she loved how happy Summer seemed to make everyone, the sense of community that came with a hot, sunny day. Once Nina had given the other landmark of “there’s a guy with an inflatable sofa to our immediate right”, Scarlet managed to find the girls with no trouble and she was soon dashing towards them excitedly and letting out an embarrassingly childish squeal as she reached Nina and crashed into her in a hug.

“Scarlet!” she greeted her cheerfully, much of her face obscured by a huge floppy woven sunhat. Breaking out of the hug, she turned to address Monet’s flatmates. “Guys, you remember Scarlet, right?”

There was a chorus of welcoming noises as the other girls greeted her, some more distractedly than others. Cracker was busy rubbing her arm with a thick streak of white sunblock which seemed to have the same consistency as double cream, Bob was laid out against a bright pink beach towel with a set of huge sunglasses over her eyes, and Monique was trying her best to remove the cork from a bottle of cava. Monet was by Nina’s side, her head resting against her girlfriend’s shoulder as she stretched her legs out and buried her feet in the sand.

“Hey, congrats for finishing uni, Miss Scarlet,” Monet smiled at her, Scarlet smiling back despite the fact she was being reminded of adult life hurtling towards her like a bullet train.

“Thanks! Congrats to you both too. How does it feel to have an actual certified genius for a girlfriend?”

“Like I’m horrifically inferior and will never amount to anything.”

“Shut up!” Nina battered her on the arm, outraged as Monet and Scarlet shared a laugh. Nina had received a mark of 95 on her dissertation, a number that the girls had considered impossible to attain at university, but Nina had managed it. It was quite revolutionary as far as undergrad research went; a study into how well-prepared teachers felt to support transgender children in schools, with recommendations as to how to do just that within its conclusion and a call for councils to give further money and resources to the cause. “Your diss was amazing as well.”

“Yeah, what do you mean that more research into ability groupings in maths isn’t groundbreaking?” Monet rolled her eyes, laughing again as Nina protested.

“Who knew so much effort went into a primary teaching degree? I always thought your dissertation would be to…I don’t know, write a children’s book, or make a picture out of pasta spirals and glitter, or create a nursery rhyme or something,” Cracker piped up, Bob giving a snort beside her. Monet looked ready to defend her degree angrily when Nina sat up straight and fixed Cracker with an intrigued look.

“Oh, a nursery rhyme? Like…there was a young girl named Cracker, who was an incredible slacker. Her degree was dumb, so she tried to make fun, of her friends who decided to smack her.”

Scarlet let out a screech, as did Monique and Bob. Cracker could only burst out laughing and throw her hands up in defeat as Monet grabbed Nina’s face and pressed an emphatic kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Oh my fucking God, babe, I love you so much,” she laughed, wiping away a tear of mirth from her eye.

“Love you too!” Nina smiled happily, just as Monique finally got the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying, hollow pop.

“Aw, you hoes got champagne on arrival? How fancy.”

The girls turned around at the familiar voice to find Silky, Akeria and Vanjie all making their way towards them from the promenade. Excited again, Scarlet ran to hug them, namely Vanjie who she hadn’t seen since their final exam. They hadn’t spent too much time together but it had been enough time for Vanessa to elaborate on the story she’d told the girls in the group chat of how she, Silky, Brooke and Nina had all somehow been locked in the library overnight. Scarlet knew that had had something to do with the fact that she and Brooke were friends again. She didn’t know whether they’d fucked their frustrations out or actually talked like adults, but whatever they’d done Scarlet was glad about it. Whether or not they were reconnecting with a view to getting back together or not, Vanessa and Brooke were back to flirting on the group chat like high schoolers, and all was back to normal.

“Right, who’s wanting some of this? I’m not sure I got enough for everyone, though,” Monique asked loudly. Scarlet didn’t miss the way Vanessa stayed silent as the other girls clamoured for some fizz. She knew Vanjie had broken things off with Monique, whatever “things” were, and Scarlet somehow didn’t think she was enjoying being on the other side of a breakup much either.

“Did you even bring cups?” Bob asked, sitting up and quirking an eyebrow at her flatmate. Monique groaned.

“Ah, fuck, cups.”

“You absolute idiot sandwich,” Cracker rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes darted quickly to Vanessa before she stood up and grabbed her purse from her backpack. “C’mon. I’ll come to the shops with you and we can get some.”

The two girls walked away as Silky, Akeria and Vanessa all laid out what looked to be a duvet cover that they’d brought with them in lieu of a towel or blanket. Scarlet didn’t even think to question it. She knew it had been Silky’s idea without needing to ask.

“I feel like a dick,” Vanessa jerked a thumb towards Monique’s retreating frame.

“Don’t,” Monet and Bob said in unison, Nina letting out a small laugh.

“Y’all are The Shining levels of creepy,” Akeria frowned, digging out three huge bottles of beer from a shopping bag and giving one to each of her flatmates.

“Well, we’re right! You were friends with benefits, everyone knew that. It’s not Monique’s fault she caught feels but it sure as hell ain’t yours either,” Bob shrugged, ever the blunt but honest friend.

“So what is going on with you and Brooke now?” Monet asked, leaning forward and propping herself up on her elbows. Vanessa fixed her with an unimpressed look.

“Gee Monet, whatever happened to so how’ve you guys been, or how was exams, or literally any other small talk?”

“Yeah, and whatever happened to it’s none of our business?” Nina side-eyed her girlfriend disapprovingly.

“Well, girl! We’ve been in dissertation hell for a month and a half. Shit kinda got boring,” Monet shrugged semi-apologetically. “Anyway Vanjie, Monique’s away and Brooke’s not here yet and I doubt you want to talk about it when either of those two are here in front of you? And I’ve been trying to grill Neens about it but she keeps using lame excuses like we shouldn’t be getting involved and shouldn’t you be thinking about your classroom, so c’mon, bitch, spill.”

Vanessa smiled slightly, gesturing as if it was obvious. “Well, she knows I love her. And she loves me.”

Monet let out an “aaw!” at the same time Akeria let out an “ugh”. Vanjie ignored them both and continued.

“But she hurt me, so I ain’t lettin’ her get back in my good books that easy. Of course I wanna be with her, more than anything else in the world, but we need to get that trust back before I even entertain the idea.”

“So have you…y’know…had any kinky, passionate reunion sex yet?” Monet winked at her. Vanessa looked at her flatmates, a humoured smile playing on her lips.

“Akeria’s threatened to kick me out the flat if I even so much as think about it.”

The girls howled with laughter as Akeria tried to suppress a smile. “She thinks I’m joking.”

“I really don’t,” Vanjie raised her eyebrows at her, Akeria playfully shoving her onto the fluffy sand beside her and causing her to get it all up her side. “God fucking damnit, now I don’t even get to look nice when she arrives.”

“Oh, here she comes now, actually,” Silky said, nonplussed. Vanessa scowled at her.

“Quit playin’.”

Scarlet followed Silky’s gaze. “No, Vanj, she actually is.”

As Vanessa muttered a shit, Scarlet waved excitedly at Plastique, Brooke and Yvie, smiling when the latter pulled a goofy face and waved back. Plastique seemed to be carrying something huge and wooden underneath her arm.

“Lord Jesus, what the hell is she doing,” Silky shook her head as the girls came closer into view. Scarlet jumped up happily to hug her girlfriend, Brooke muttered a soft hey as she sat down next to Vanjie and hugged her, and Plastique, after she’d greeted the others, unfolded a multicoloured striped deckchair.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Scarlet let out a laugh, unsure whether to be impressed or exasperated by Plastique’s levels of extra.

“What?! It’s a sunny day, we’re at the beach, this is literally what deckchairs are for! Have fun getting sand in every possible orifice, losers,” she stuck out her tongue at them as she sat back and gave a happy sigh.

“Ariel not joining us today?” Nina asked.

“Nah, she’s gone home to see her parents. Why the hell you’d want to go home now when you could be dragging out your last month of uni life is totally beyond me, but hey.”

Yvie gave a deep laugh. “Plastique, your family have a townhouse in London, a chalet in Chamonix with membership to a private ski resort, and a literal penthouse in Dubai with an outdoor pool on a balcony. Why the fuck are you here?”

The girls all exploded with laughter, even Plastique conceding with a smile and a self-aware shrug that she was a rich bitch.

“Hey, I’m moving back in after graduation and won’t see you guys for ages, let me enjoy your shitty company.”

“You could fly us all out,” Brooke smiled hopefully, cracking the top off her bottle of cider with her keys.

“Yeah, lemme borrow twenty grand off my Mum real quick,” Plastique snorted sardonically.

Bob reached across to Monique’s cava, giving a small sip. “I’m moving home too. Gotta save money.”

“At least you both know what you’re doing,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, trying not to sound too bitter and accidentally just coming out with the verbal equivalent of black coffee. Luckily, Brooke held out her bottle and nodded emphatically.

“We can’t all have Akeria’s serial-killer levels of ambition or just walk into a job like Monet and Nina.”

“Hey! It’s a probationary year that we could literally fail if we screw up, stop thinking we have things easy,” Nina protested.

“How could you possibly fail being a teacher unless you literally boot a child in the face?” Yvie laughed in disbelief. Seeing Monet and Nina gearing themselves up for a verbal sparring match, she gesticulated wildly. “I’m kidding, ladies, I’m kidding! You work very hard and kids are little shits and you don’t get paid enough. Happy?”

“Very,” Monet rolled her eyes, accepting the cava that Bob held out to her and taking a swig before passing it to Nina.

“What’re you guys doing after uni?” Bob asked, then instantly cringed hearing the groans she got in response. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot that question is basically Satan incarnate.”

“Well, I applied to a bunch of newspapers. But the journalism industry is a shitshow anyway, so fuck knows what I’m doing or if they’ll even accept me,” Silky sighed. Her mood was decidedly flat. It was rare for her to be anything other than high-energy, volume turned all the way up to 100.

“Well, your classification might help!” Bob said comfortingly. Scarlet looked at Silky to gauge her reaction. She didn’t know if she’d been given hers yet, but the girl’s embarrassed face soon gave her an answer.

“Well I got a 2:2, so. Probably not,” she shrugged, Bob trying to backtrack apologetically. Scarlet felt bad for Silky. There was nothing wrong with a 2:2 and a degree was still a degree, but she knew how much Silky believed that despite her grades not being great, she’d still pull it out of the bag in the end, maybe manage one essay that pulled her marks up. Even though the girls were all still proud of her, it was another thing for her to let herself down.

“We’re still proud of you, Silky. You worked fucking hard and you got your degree, and that’s something to celebrate,” Nina smiled affirmingly, holding the cava out for Silky to drink. She smiled gratefully at the girls around her before accepting.

“Thanks, ladies,” she said quietly, before taking a swig. The cava seemed to return Silky back to normal, and she cried out after drinking. “An’ besides! 2:1s are boring anyway. Go hard or go home, bitch, and I’m goin’ the fuck home!”

The girls indulged Silky in a laugh. They sat for a while, chatting easily and passing the bottle of cava around, the lack of cups now not so much of a problem as it had seemed previously.

“Hey, anyone want a paddle?” Brooke asked suddenly. Scarlet gave a snort of outrage.

“You’re insane. That water’s got to be minus five.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! Vanj?” Brooke asked, her voice hopeful. Vanessa shrugged easily, casting the girl a quick smile and then dragging Akeria and Silky to their feet.

“To be fair, I am getting really warm. Getting my feet cold might be nice,” Nina reasoned out loud. Monet jumped up with her cheerfully. “Yvie, you coming?”

“Nah. Think I’ll stay here with my girl,” Yvie squeezed Scarlet’s hand, Scarlet smiling back at her happily.

“Awww, Yvie! You’re too cute,” Plastique cried sarcastically from her deckchair, the other girls laughing. She was too busy sunbathing to paddle, but Bob decided she’d follow Monet’s lead and join the others in the water. Scarlet laughed as she watched her friends tear down to the sea like children, the white spray flying into the air as they all hit the water at once.

“We’re friends with actual kids,” Yvie laughed, Scarlet nodding in agreement.

“God, we really are,” she smiled affectionately, watching Akeria take a step into the sea then jump back as if it was made of molten lava and not freezing cold water. Just as the girls had left, Scarlet became aware of two sets of footsteps approaching behind them. It was Cracker and Monique, back from the shops with a plastic bag twirling around Monique’s hand.

“Hey,” Scarlet greeted them cheerfully, then added, by way of explanation, “They’ve gone into the sea.”

“Oh, fun!” Cracker beamed. Monique picked up the bottle of cava and rolled her eyes. There was a shot-sized dribble at the bottom.

“You sons of bitches are nothing if not predictable,” she laughed, fishing a brand new bottle out of the plastic bag along with a set of cups. Yvie held her hands out apologetically and Monique shook her head, letting her know all was forgiven. Scarlet looked out to the water again. Bob had Monet on her back and Vanessa was leaping on Brooke’s, Brooke unable to catch her from the amount she was laughing. It looked as if they were about to do some sort of race or fight. Vanessa finally got onto Brooke’s back, her arms looping around her shoulders like a bush baby.

“So. That’s that then,” Monique gave a little sigh as she looked out to sea. Scarlet did a double-take as she looked at her. Her expression was mostly hidden behind her huge mirrored sunglasses, but Scarlet could see the small frown on her face. She knew who her gaze had fallen on. Scarlet felt bad for the girl.

“Hey, don’t take it personally. Vanjie thought you were great, she really did. She told me all the time,” Scarlet said reassuringly, Monique giving her a little smile of gratitude. “You know that way when you’re still hung up on someone you love. That’s all it is.”

Monique rubbed her arms, wrapping them around herself in a hug. “My own damn fault for catchin’ feelings.”

“Happens to the best of us, girl,” Yvie piped up. Cracker smiled at the pair of them gratefully, squeezing Monique’s shoulder supportively.

“We’ve been trying to tell her that.”

Monique laughed suddenly as she saw Silky chasing the girls with a huge, slimy-looking clump of seaweed she’d fished out of the water. The smile remained on her face as her laughter died down and she looked at Scarlet and Yvie inquisitively. “Brooke’s gonna treat her nice, right?”

Scarlet thought about Brooke’s helplessness after her and Akeria’s birthday weekend, her heartbroken confession of love in the toilets of the grubby karaoke bar. She watched how tightly Brooke was holding Vanessa on her back, as if to let go of her would be a crime. Scarlet smiled at Monique. “She will. I know she will.”

Seemingly satisfied, Monique kicked her sandals off and turned to Cracker. “You wanna go paddle?”

“Girl, I thought you’d never ask.”

Scarlet was satisfied staying with Yvie on the sand. They turned to Plastique only to find her napping in her deckchair, her skin beginning to take on an ever-so-slightly pink hue. Deciding to avoid Plastique’s potential wrath if they woke her up, Monique and Cracker dashed down to the ocean to join the other girls. Scarlet sat quietly with Yvie for a moment, taking in the scene of their friends all clowning around in the water.

“You still looking for jobs?” Yvie asked her. Scarlet sighed. She didn’t mind talking about post-uni life with Yvie, didn’t mind being honest about how scared and unsure she was with the person who loved her and she loved back.

“Yeah. It’s hard applying without my classification, though. And, I guess, even harder when you’ve got no idea what the hell you want to do with your life.”

Scarlet gave a self-deprecating laugh which Yvie gently joined in with. Yvie laced her fingers around Scarlet’s and gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll figure it out, babe. There’s no time pressure on these things.”

“I know. It’s just hard when…hell, you’ve got Monet and Nina about to start their entire careers. I mean they’ll be in charge of a whole class of kids. Akeria knows what she wants to do and she’ll get there. Hell, even if Silky’s classification wasn’t as good as she wanted it, journalism is at least something she wants to go into. And Vanjie’s decided on events management. You know you want to at least do something with criminology,” Scarlet sighed, suddenly feeling so small. “It’s so hard trying to figure out what you want to do with your life when everyone around you seems to know. How the hell are you meant to know yourself?”

“Listen,” Yvie brought her thumb up to stroke Scarlet’s knuckle, calming her instantly by about 80%. “The great thing about your life is that…it’s yours. Nobody else’s. Just yours. Say you decide on a job and you hate it. Do you think you have to stay because the pay’s good and it’s something steady? No! You leave, because you can get another job. You don’t like it? You change. You want to go back to uni to doss about for another year? Do it! There is no rule to life that says you need to live it a certain way. And fuck yes, it’s scary! I’m scared! I don’t know if I’ll like any of the jobs I’m applying for, they could be so different in reality to what they are on paper. But you know I’ll support you whatever you decide.”

Scarlet’s voice was quiet as she watched the waves crash around her friends. “I just don’t want to disappoint my parents.”

“Scarlet, your parents love you unconditionally. And I’ll say it again- it’s your life. Yours. Not theirs. You can do whatever the hell you want to.”

Scarlet nodded, Yvie’s words a small comfort to her in the world that now seemed so big and scary. Yvie’s voice was quieter as she spoke again. “So…you’re going to live back home once all this is over?”

“I guess so. I don’t really want to, but I don’t want to live alone either. And it’ll help me save money, although if I don’t have a job I guess there’s not much money to save,” Scarlet snorted a laugh. She didn’t want to think about any of this, but Yvie was asking her so she gave an honest answer. Scarlet didn’t miss the way her girlfriend fell silent, nodding her head, a sad little frown on her face. She didn’t want to move away from Yvie. She didn’t want to return home. Yvie was her home.

Suddenly there came a splash from the water and Scarlet’s gaze was jolted away from her girlfriend and down to the sea. Silky had somehow fallen into the water and the girls were all howling with mirth as she screeched and tried to splash them all. Scarlet couldn’t help but join in with the laughter as she watched Akeria help fish Silky out of the water, the girl sitting in the wet sand and laughing so loudly that Scarlet could hear it even from farther up the beach. As Scarlet composed herself and her laughter died down, she turned to see Yvie looking at her, a dopey little smile on her face.

“What?” Scarlet laughed, touching her hair self-consciously. Yvie looked down at the sand, then back up to meet her eyes.

“Move in with me. After we graduate.”

Scarlet’s eyes grew suddenly wide in shock. Yvie was still holding her hand and Scarlet’s grip on hers had tightened. “Really?”

Yvie’s face was earnest, and Scarlet could see her gulp as she nodded quickly. She took a little gasp of air before explaining herself. “I mean, we both already basically live together. You’re at mine so often anyway, we know what we’re like to live with. We’ve not spent more than a full week apart since…fuck, I don’t know. I would do long distance for you, Scarlet, but I don’t want to. I want to go to IKEA and build flat pack furniture and make slow cooker casseroles and fucking…pay council tax with you. I hope you don’t…think I’m being too intense. Jesus, we’ve not even been together a year, fuck, sorry, this was a shit idea-”

“Well when you know, you know, right?” Scarlet smiled at her girlfriend, squeezing her hand. Yvie smiled back at her, reassured and happy, and Scarlet could hear the seagulls in the air and the crash of the waves and the laughter of their friends. She wouldn’t have had any other soundtrack to accompany the moment. “Yes. I’m in. Let’s get a flat together. Just the two of us. I don’t know what the fuck I want to do with my life, but I know it’s going to be a lot easier if I’m doing it with you.”

Relieved, Yvie leaned in and met Scarlet’s lips, kissing her once, twice, three times before pulling away and squeezing her hand. They met each other’s eyes and smiled, breathlessly giggling a little. Deciding to move in together didn’t seem to be the huge, relationship-changing milestone that society had hyped it up to be. It made sense to Scarlet: they loved each other, enjoyed the other’s company, they’d practically lived together for the past however-many-months. Okay, they hadn’t really hit any real speed bumps in their relationship really, but Scarlet trusted Yvie and she trusted herself. They were a team, two puzzle pieces that fit together. Whatever the crazy, scary, mixed-up adult world had in store for them after graduation, they would face it together.

Just then, Scarlet’s phone vibrated. She picked it up from its place underneath a carefully-folded corner of her towel. Opening it and reading the email, her heart dropped.

“Oh my God,” she said, her heart thudding uncontrollably.

“What’s the matter?”

“My classification’s through.”

Scarlet’s fingers were shaking and her palms were sweating as she frantically logged onto the uni’s intranet.

“Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be fine,” Yvie reassured her, but Scarlet could feel her blood racing in her veins. She didn’t want to look. She did want to look. As the page loaded, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing had ever seemed so catastrophically life-defining before. The page loaded, Scarlet blinked, then she screamed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Plastique flinch in her deckchair. Yvie’s face was expectant. Scarlet could hardly get the words out.

“A FIRST, I GOT A FUCKING FIRST!” she screeched, Yvie practically tackling her into the sand as she hugged her. Scarlet felt like her heart was about to burst. The three years had all been worth it and she felt like the biggest weight and worry in the world was finally lifted off of her. This was, admittedly, contrasted with the feeling of Plastique piling herself on top of the two girls, screaming excitedly the whole time. Scarlet suddenly batted them off of her, grabbing their hands and tugging them towards the shore.

“I wanna run into the sea! Can we run into the sea and tell the girls?”

Nodding excitedly, the three friends tore towards the coastline screeching like banshees. Scarlet could feel the wind in her hair, the sun beating down on her, and the sand shifting underneath her feet with every step she took.

She had never felt so conscious of her own mortality and yet as if she could live forever all at once.

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creativeskullcreations · 4 years ago

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Chapter 10: A Real Guilty Feeling

Hey everybody, here's chapter 10! But, unfortunately, it'll be the last chapter you see for a while. I need to take a break from writing for a while, do something else and recharge a bit. Maybe also knock out some drawings too while I'm at it.

Current timeline is looking like this: Couple of weeks without writing, and then maybe build up a bit of a buffer of chapters for <i>Outside</i>. But first, I'll be working on episode 2 of <i>Happy Times at Handeemen HQ</i>. Y'all are starting to show an interest in that, and I wanna put something new out for it.

If you want to keep updated, or even just see what I'm drawing, you can follow my art Tumblr here. Also check out my YouTube, in case of livestreams or speedpaints!(Am I plugging my own stuff too much?)

Whenever I'm ready to start posting again, I'll make sure to leave an announcement on here.

I'll see y'all later.

When Will got home, he dumped Stacy's stuff and scout on the couch. He then pointed out his locked workroom, and told her that she was never to go in there no matter what. That done, he left her to her own devices, and went off to bed. He took off his shirt and jeans, then crawled under the sheets. The last thing he did before passing out was shoot off a message to the group chat about how DnD Night was canceled until further notice.

When he woke up, far too few hours later, it was to a light weight on his chest. He stared at Scout for a moment, then picked her up and dropped her on the floor, rolling onto his front. He grabbed his phone, squinting at the too bright screen. Several messages were in the chat, and he sighed as he opened it up and scrolled to the top.

Masonary: um, excuse me?! i asked for that day off u can't cancel!!! somebody better be dead! D:<

Blooming_Stitches: Mason, shut up. We don't know what could be going on.

drWEED420: ugh, stacy. I told you to call me.

Masonary: y would stacy need to call u sam?

Masonary: is it because she hacked ur account and changed ur name again?

drWEED420 has changed their name to DrSamIAm

DrSamIAm: no but it is something we'll going to talk abaout.

Will_and_a_Way: Stace is in the hospital for infected surgery stitches

Blooming_Stitches: I'M SORRY WHAT

Masonry: dude i was joking about som1 being dead

DrSamIAm: goddamit stacy

DrSamIAm has left the chat We're ALL Idiots Here

Masonry: ok first of all what happened to stacy

Masonry: second who changed the chat name again?

Blooming_Stitches: lol

Will sighed, the went into his phone and pulled up his drop box, where he'd sneaked the file into a while ago. He hesitated briefly, then sent it to the chat. Stacy could be mad at him later, but he was too tired to think up a cover story for her right now.

Will_and_a_Way posted a file in We're ALL Idiots Here

Masonry: ?

Blooming_Stitches: !

Will_and_a_Way: read that if you guys want to know what happned.

Will_and_a_Way: I'm going back to sleep now try not to kill each other

He clicked his phone off, dropping it to his mattress and letting his head fall on his pillow. Within seconds he was back asleep, completely oblivious to Scout Jumping back on his bed and climbing onto his back. She curled around the small Kirby toy, using it as a pillow as she settled back into sleep herself.

()()()

When Will woke up again, it was to a light weight in the center of his back, right below his shoulder blades. He huffed, glaring at the wall. He took a deep breath, then heaved himself up with all his strength. As predicted, Scout was catapulted off, and he quickly got out of bed, heading to the kitchen.

He made himself some toast, checking his phone on the way. The group chat was mostly just full of the various reactions from Lisa and Mason. Sammy had come back at some point, going on a rant about what Stacy hadn't told him.

He read over the various comments as he ate, able to tell where they were in the document. Unsurprisingly, Mason finished it first, and Lisa was intent on meeting Scout. Sammy had told her Scout was nothing special, which Will privately agreed with. He finished the back reading and, seeing as nobody was online at the moment, locked his phone again. He picked up his toast and moved into his work room for the time being, deciding to get something done.

It was easy, really, for Will to get lost in his work. Dissecting the "toys" he brought home, taking them apart and recording it in his notes. He was currently working on the body of the head he'd been looking at last night. The brown, fuzzy thing was strapped securely onto the table, the front having been sawed apart and spread open.

He shifted through the innards, making careful, detailed notes about what was in there. He would compare them to the stolen blueprints later, figure out what was supposed to be in there and what wasn't. For now, though, the intention was to make a catalogue of parts.

When his phone alarm finally went off, signalling it was lunch time, he straightened up with a sigh. He pulled off his rubber gloves and, making sure the straps on the table were tight, went out to the kitchen. He made himself a simple sandwich, eating it in the kitchen as he glanced through the group chat. Mason and Lisa were on and currently discussing things, but Sam hadn't been on again since his rant.

He lurked a bit longer after he finished his sandwich, then got up to go back to work. On the way through the living room, he paused when he saw Scout sitting on the couch. She was curled up in the corner, Kirby plush on her lap as she stared at it. Even as a Puppet, he recognized the look on her face as one Stacy had often worn in the first year after her mother had died.

'Why the hell do I feel so bad for that thing?' He sighed, rubbing at his face. Making a snap decision, he went over to his DVD shelf and pulled out The Iron Giant. He turned on the TV and player, then loaded in the movie, skipping the previews. When he reached the main menu, he selected play and dropped the remote near Scout. He then left, heading back towards the basement and his work.

Scout watched go, staring silently after him as he once again disappeared behind the locked door. She didn't even try to follow him, instead settling in to watch the show he'd turned on. With any luck, it would be violent and/or funny enough to take her mind off of things.

()()()

'That is the saddest shit I have ever seen...' She sniffed, rubbing at her frustratingly dry eyes. 'I can't believe he let himself get blown up like that. What the fuck.' She rubbed at her eyes some more, then tried to figure out how to choose a different show. When she couldn't figure it out, she threw the remote down in frustration. 'Fuck it! Where's Will?'

She Jumped from the couch, heading over to the locked door. She peered in the crack between the door and the floor, but couldn't see anything. She could hear, however, and what she heard were power tools. The sound sent a shock through her system, dredging up unwanted memories of Riley's lab. She drew back, then jumped onto a nearby table when the noise stopped. Thinking quickly, she opened the drawer that was there and tried to pretend that she had been going through it.

Will came out of the room a minute later, wiping his hands with a dirty towel. He glared when he saw what she was "doing". "What the hell are you doing? Get out of there!" It wasn't quite yelling, but his voice was definitely louder than it needed to be. Scout suppressed her fear and scoffed.

"Fine. There wasn't anything but batteries in there anyways." She slammed the drawer closed, feeling a small, petty joy in how the contents rattled around when she did. She watched him cross to his bedroom and, when he'd closed his door, opened the drawer back up in order to snoop for real.

Batteries, keys, some weird plastic clips, and other odds and ends she didn't have words for had been organized neatly in the drawer. Working quickly, she shuffled everything around even more, then shoved a handful of what was sitting on the table into the drawer. She then closed it again and sat back as innocently as she could, tilting the shade of the lamp next to her. When Will came back out, now dressed in different clothes, he sighed and fixed the shade.

She watched as he gathered up a couple of things, then came over and grabbed up a set of keys she hadn't dumped into the drawer. There was a pause, or maybe more of a hesitation, and then he scooped her up and left the house, ignoring her protests.

"Hey! Hey lemme go! H-mmph?!" He easily covered her mouth with one hand as he locked the door. He made his way to his car, not letting her go into he'd climbed in and dumped her in the passenger seat. "What was that for?!"

"Okay, here's the deal." He told her, ignoring the question. "We're going to go see Stacy. To do that, we have to go through a whole hospital full of people. And you will be quiet and good the whole time, or you will be going out the nearest window."

"We're going to go see Stacy..." That was the one thing she had really comprehended. Her Host was alive, Scout knew she had to be. If she wasn't, then the Puppet wouldn't have long to-

It didn't matter. She didn't matter, not after what almost happened. Not after what she almost did, accidentally or not.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as Will started the car, realizing belatedly that he'd continued talking to her. She hoped he hadn't noticed she wasn't paying attention. Whatever he'd been doing behind that door, she did not want to become his next patient.

In the silence of the car ride, Scout easily lost herself in the thoughts swirling through her head. The most prominent were thoughts of guilt, knowing she was to blame for this and wondering where she had gone wrong. Maybe she hadn't tried as hard as she should've to subjugate her Host back in the Studio? Or maybe she shouldn't have stayed with her after they escaped. Maybe she should have left after making sure Stacy was okay.

'Maybe I should leave anyways.'

She missed it when Will parked, only noticing when he picked her up. She let herself stay limp, though not so much out of compliance than a desire to try and keep working on the plan that had come to mind.

Vaguely, she was aware of the clean white halls Will was taking her through, as well as a nauseating smell that reminded her of Riley. A few other unclaimed Hosts like Will, though wearing clothing that, again, reminded Scout of Riley. She watched those ones carefully, just in case. She may not like Will, but Stacy did and she didn't want something to happen to him.

Will came up to a door, opening it and peeking inside. Scout tried to look, but could only see the very end of a weird looking bed. Whatever he saw he seemed to like, as he fully entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him and approaching the bed.

"Hey Stacy." He began quietly, and Scout felt her stuffing go cold at the sight of her Host in the bed. Her normally warm brown skin was several shades paler, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was mostly upright, though leaning heavily against the pillows behind her. The scariest thing, though, were the several tubes connecting her to various machines by the bed.

Scout felt another cold rush of guilt when she saw how Stacy's eyes lit up when she spotted them. She waited for her to say something, anything, but the Host didn't speak, instead lifting her hands to use that weird hand language.

"She can't talk right now." Will translated. "She had to be intubated and her throat still hurts. But, for some reason, she's happy to see you." He sounded annoyed by that, and Scout couldn't help but be confused. Surely Stacy knew about what she did.

'Unless she doesn't.' The Puppet realized. 'She doesn't know shit about how it works. She had no idea what I almost did to her.' Somehow, that didn't make it any better.

Against her will, she was handed over to Stacy so Will could go set down the bags. Stacy hugged her tight, and Scout couldn't help but curl up in her hold, clutching at the weird shirt she was wearing.

She ignored the humans as they talked, or rather as Will talked and Stacy did one handed signing. Instead she stared at the tubing connected to Stacy's arm, watching the clear liquid slowly drip it's way into her body. She didn't know how long she stared for, but she must've dozed off at one point because she suddenly became aware of her hair being stroked.

It couldn't have been too long, as the room was still bright, though she couldn't hear Will anymore. Instead there was a quiet, steady beeping that matched up with Stacy's heartbeat. It was relaxing, and brought up memories of when Scout had first woken up, all those years ago. Before she'd been made to take part in Riley's "tests", or found that TV. Even before she'd met her siblings and learned who and what she really was. Those first few moments when it had just been her and Daisy, enjoying the gift of life.

She almost wished she could go back to that point. Things were so much better back then, when her world consisted of Daisy's sewing room and her siblings. When she didn't have a Host to worry about accidentally killing, or her own people coming after her.

But she wouldn't have to worry about that for long. If her plan ended up working, Stacy wouldn't be in danger ever again.

#outside #fanfiction #hello puppets #stacy stein #scout #will carson

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angelkurenai · 5 years ago

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Living on - Steve Rogers x Reader - Part 2

Avengers: Endgame SPOILERS BELOW read at your own risk

Title: Living on

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: Avengers: Endgame spoilers

Summary: After losing your husband and father of your child, Tony, in the big fight against the mad titan Thanos you feel incredibly lost. Thankfully you have your friends by your side all the time, Steve Rogers more than anybody else cating to your every need and doing his best to help you be happy again. If only you could see him as a friend. After lots of time Steve himself admits to having feelings for you and how he is willing to wait for you. The real question is, are you ready to move on from Tony?

Read Part 1 here!

“He loves you.”

Did the words shock you? Perhaps not as much as they should. Did Tony saying those words shock you? You had no idea in all honesty.

“He loves you. He loves you so incredibly much, more than words can say. He always has. You may ask, how do I know this? Ah long story but baby I'm Tony Stark and above all... a man madly in love with you. Takes one to know one. That's not really the point here.” he shifted in his place, his eyes back on you “Does he love you more than me? Hm definitely not. I'm Tony Stark and I'm Iron Man.” he shrugged with a small scoff and a smile on his lips “But does he love you enough to make you smile and sing and dance and be purely happy for the rest of your life? Definitely yes.”

You didn't know if you should be relieved or feel another weight rest on your chest. For how long had he really known? For how long had he had to deal with the doubt of you leaving him? You knew you always subconsciously tried to fight whatever part of your heart that loved Steve and focus only on Tony – which wasn't really that hard because of how much you loved the latter – but you always tried not to let him notice and somehow you had apparently failed. For how long had you unwillingly hurt him you didn't know and even more didn't want to know. What you wanted to know, though, was why he didn't look in any pain. He didn't look like a man that was broken he'd lose the woman he loved to another man. More like one that had accepted his fate and that made things only worse for you and your heart.

It only made you wonder how many times had he gone through something like this. Ready to let you go to Steve only to find out he still had you and probably fear when the moment would really come.

“Thing is, Steve is good. Steve is, well, a total sweetheart and the absolute dream boyfriend. He's also got a good ass, that's one of your things isn't it? Of course it is.” that one did earn a small laugh from you, even if it choked on a sob “You wouldn't be with me if you didn't have a thing for that. Granted, you've always also had good taste but this is not about me now.”

“Uh my point is, he cares about you. He cares enough to do anything in his power to make you happy. I mean, we didn't see to eye on so many things but if there is one thing that we could agree on it's you. 100%. It's you, you being happy. We'd both do anything to make sure of it.” he took a small breath “Do I feel good knowing he'll be there for you and not me? Probably more than I expected. Jealous? Oh you bet your beautiful ass. But it's something I'm used to. He's always been part of your life, just like me, in a different yet very similar way. And if there's one I know that will do this, one that I trust to do this, it's him. Don't tell him that, not yet, just let him be a bit bitter about what happened.”

“I don't want you to feel guilty either. I know that you love me. It's kind of like... an intuition? I didn't use to believe in those but after everything that's happened, I cannot ignore it. Frankly, I need it too.” he sighed, rubbing his eyes for a second “And it feels good. Because you've always done your best to show me how much you love me even if a small part of your heart always kind of belonged to him. You've stood by my side through thick and thin, even when I was the biggest pain in the ass. You made me feel more loved than I had ever dreamed off, how can I be mad about that? And now... life goes on. That's how they say, isn't it?”

“I was thinking-” he cleared his throat “I was thinking- What was it? Oh yeah Steve and you. I think I've always had a feeling about it. Did it bother me? Not as much as it should. Plus, the sex was always better afterwards.” he shrugged but it was tired and you could practically see the energy slowly but surely leaving his body as it showed on his smirk “Guess that's why I was always a bit too competitive with him. I didn't hate him, no, by no means. And we didn't argue because of you so don't- don't blame yourself for that. It's just that he and I didn't agree on many things. I mean, yes, we did agree on loving you and for that I could never hate him. I think despite all of it, there was a deeper understanding. He couldn't control his heart and neither can you. And that's why I can't stay mad at you either. For what you may ask. Well, it's simple...”

“For moving on with him.” he looked you straight in the eyes “You want it. You will want it. Either way, the way I see it, Steve is your future. And I know he'll want it too... Do I want it? Yes and no. If by some miracle, which I doubt will come, I make it, I'd give everything to be with you again. But that's not the case, I'm not making it out of here and as much as it kills me to know it, I'm also a bit relieved to know you'll have him there. Or at least hope you do.”

He hoped you could be with another man? How could he hope such a thing? How could he even care only about your happiness even during his final moments? Or even at least the moments he thought would be his last. It made the pain twist your heart painfully inside your chest even more. Despite the differences he had with Steve he was willing to let it all go for your sake. You knew he had long ago forgotten the man for the secrets he'd kept from him just for your sake. He could always see how much it was tearing you apart on the inside so after the fight with the Captain, he never once mentioned it to you because he hated having to make you pick a side.

“What am I trying to say? Well it's simple.” he sighed softly, smiling lovingly “I want you to keep living on without me. You can do it, I know you can. And I want you to enjoy this, I want you to live this. To live your life with him and oh it's going to be a wonderful life. I am calm knowing that he's going to be there for you, to give you what your heart had always desired and that only he could-”

You couldn't do it. Not because you were listening to Tony say something like this but because during his last hours he could be thinking about something like this. How long had he even known? There were far too many questions that couldn't be answered, especially not just a couple hours before-

With a shaky breath you stopped the message, making the hologram disappear. Fighting the tears from your eyes seemed like the hardest task possible at the moment. You thought you had cried to the point you were completely dry when you first lost him but apparently there was still so much more left in you. Only that this time, and after all these years, it felt like with the tears came a sudden need that you couldn't deny or fight. You wanted to hate yourself but when Tony didn't, why should you? You needed Steve to hold you right now so bad, just like had done from the first moment. Thinking back to it, you could almost feel it too.

“Feels like today was never gonna to end.” you muttered, letting out a shaky breath as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Better days will come. You'll see that.” Steve's voice was reassuring and as expected when you looked up, you saw his eyes were already on you “But that will unfortunately take time and you have to be strong for your daughter. But I'm not worried about that.” the smile was soft on his lips as he turned towards the sink and spoke in a low voice, the way someone would utter a secret or a confession “I always knew you were the strongest Avenger.”

As hard as it was to believe at that moment, the corners of your lips lifted into a smile and your heart managed to feel just a bit lighter “Just don't tell Thor this. It's going to break his poor heart.” your teasing words earned a soft chuckle from him that felt so intoxicating and even more like a true breath of fresh air that you had not managed to take in over 24 hours. But sadly, it took only second for your smile to fall.

“Besides... I think we all know who the strongest Avenger really was. There's no point in-” you choked in your words when you thought about your dead husband. Steve paused mid-movement and looked at you full of worry, eyebrows furrowed deeply.

You noticed, of course, but shook your head to reassure him and mostly to shake off some of the pain “I'm fine. I'm fine.” you cleared your throat but he didn't seem convinced in the least bit “I'm actually starting to thing it's you Rogers that's going through a rough time. And I mean probably worse than mine.”

“Why do you say that?” he looked at you over his shoulder, concerned look ever present.

“Because the Steve I know would take out his problems on a punching bag and not in a kitchen washing dishes after having spent his time cooking dinner for about three hours.”

“Why? Didn't you like it? I thought Morgan enjoyed-”

“It was excellent and I'm sure she's going to be giving you puppy eyes very soon to cook it again but-” you raised a finger, moving to stand beside him and have a better look at him “That's not the point Steve. Cooking, letting Morgan play with the new shield and even joining in when she asks you to, cleaning the table, wash the dishes, trying to-”

“I just thought that since I had nothing better to do that I'd do something nice for you and her. I'm ure you ave so much on your mind, wouldn't be bad to take one worry off your shoulders.” he said in a soft voice, wiping his hands with a towel “I believed that you could probably use some-”

“Help?” you questioned, eyebrow raised and face stern although always loving because how could you ever stop caring for this man? Your heart would always beat for Tony, sure, but it would always beat for Steve as well whether you could admit it or not. “Do I look like I need any help with that Steve? I'm handling it just fine. Why shouldn't I be? Because I lost my husband no more than 24 hours ago? Because he got the ending he always thought he would but never wished for? The ending I tried so hard for over so many years to convince him he wouldn't have? Because I'm left with a little girl all alone and have to show life moves on and so should we? Because I'll have to hide my tears when she asks about her father or when I see her play with his things? Because Tony Stark is gone and there is nothing I or anybody else can ever do to bring him back? Because I am alive and he's not? Because he'd somehow-”

“No” he said breathlessly, eyes wide “No. No no. (Y/n). (Y/n)!” he tried to reach out to you, his hands took hold of your shoulders and gave a shake “(Y/n), listen to me. Hear me out here. Calm down- Calm down!... Please. Please, you're gonna wake up Morgan, (Y/n).” the mention of your daughter's name managed to make the words stop pouring from your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let the tears roll down your cheeks and Steve to pull your shaking body closer to his.

After all the crying you'd done one would think this would end faster but it really didn't seem to want to end, not until realization dawned on you. Placing your hands softly on Steve's chest you gave him a small push and pulled completely away from him. Not meeting his eyes and while wiping out your tears you finally whispered in a hoarse voice “You shouldn't be here Steve.”

“What?” the gasp was very much audible in his voice “(Y/n)...” he tried to reach out for you again but you took a step back, wrapping your arms around your middle and he only let his hand drop, an exhale leaving “You can tell me anything you want, but that is not going to change my opinion. I am here and I will stay here for as long as I can. You may think you're all alone with Morgan after Tony left but you have friends, (Y/n), you have me.You do need your friends by your side and you do need their help, there's nothing wrong with that. Because it's not out of weakness.”

“Is that why you're here then?” you whispered, finally looking up to meet his eyes “Is that why you're doing all this too? Because you're a friend?” you were sure he could as well understand all the things you wanted to say with the last question, all the things you didn't dare voice out loud especially now that your husband had just died. The guilt was eating you up on the inside already as it was but if you did say it, if you admitted to not seeing Steve as only a friend, then you didn't know what would happen.

“Because we're family.” he breathed out “Because I care about you. Because I know how well you can hold your own but also because you need a shoulder to lean on, we all do. Because I can't bear the thought of leaving you alone during a moment like this. That's why I'm here. We've always been and it was Natasha who made me realize this. I've left you and let you down far too many times, I don't plan on doing it again. Especially this time. If I did something like that again, I would never forgive myself for it. And if you fear that someone could... think I have other reasons then-” he shrugged, placing the towel back on its place “It's their fault. I could never take advantage of you or the situation like this. You of all people know it. But if, for whatever reason, you doubt it then I could always-”

“No” the word left your lips so fast that it surprised you more than him. When you looked down you realized you had reached out for him, taking hold of his arm. You slowly let your hand fall as your head lowered “I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's just-” you stopped yourself and he tilted his head to the side, eyes filled with worry until you looked back up at him “You could've stayed. Today, when you returned the stones, Steve. You could have stayed... back then. With her. But you didn't and I just- Why?”

“Her? You mean... Peggy?” he asked reluctantly before you gave him a weak nod. He held your gaze for a couple secondsbefore he smiled a bit sadly, shaking his head as he glanced down “I could have, yes. I could stayed there after I'd put the stones in their right place. Maybe until I had a long life and cam back when the time was right. I could have had the life I didn't get with Peggy, a marriage and kids probably and nothing bad was going to happen here because we still would've won.” he nodded his head and you kept yours still hanging low, not ready to show him or even dare admit to yourself how much the prospect of him staying with Peggy hurt you and even more made the jealousy burn deep within your heart “But-” and the kind of hope that word gave you, the way it made your heart rate pick up only added onto the guilt “Once I saw her, I realized I couldn't do it. I mean, I never really felt like I could but when you have the opportunity to yu kind of give it a second thought, don't you? Well, I did and it just didn't feel right. Being with her didn't. None of it did and in the end... I realized Tony was right.”

“T-Tony?” you whispered your husband's name with a frown.

Steve hummed, nodding his head “Well, for one, he always told me I need to get a life. Plus, we uh had a talk before we went to search for the stones and thinking back to his words... he really was right and I think I'm going to listen to his advice once more.”

“His advice?” you said shakily “Does that have anything to do with the new shield?”

“Probably something like his last wish, you could say. And uh it sort of has to do with the shield.” he smiled a bit “You saw Morgan play with it huh? Granted, she wouldn't let go, of that and her father's helmet, so we might have a new little Avenger there. But uh yeah, some of it has to do with the shield too. Or basically the title itself. I'm... I'm thinking of passing it all down, to Sam of course, at some point. Soon I hope. Giving up the fight. I mean, my fight and my war is already over so... yeah.”

“A-and after that you'll do... what? Go where?” the thought of losing him scared you to the bone.

“Well, going home would seem like a good option. That is... if home is willing to take me.” there was a level of uncertainty and even fear in his voice, but without him needing to say anything else you could already understand all the words that he still held back and felt an odd sense of peace.

“I'm sure it is.”

Opening your eyes, which you had not even realized you closed, you felt the tear roll down your cheeks yet a strange feeling set in your heart. One that you knew very well but had almost forgotten all this time. One that you wanted to feel again.

Before you could regret it or change your mind, you reached for your phone and made the call.

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shock777archive · 5 years ago

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A little Excerpt from a BBRAE Roleplay between my friend and I:

A little context: It’s two years after the end of season 5. Raven is 18, nearly 19 and Beast boy is 18. Raven has fallen in love with Beast boy after he nearly died protecting her from a cult of Trigon seeking revenge. Literally a week after theyve recovered from their wounds, Raven has been losing control of her powers and has been sinking into depression and even losing control of her demonic powers. Robin told everyone to leave raven alone to collect herself, but beast boy had to talk with her...and so he decided to write her a letter.

The excerpt is below the cut! :D I just wanted to share this cause it’s super in character and fucking cute ;A; I really wanna draw this and make it a full on fic, as it does fit nicely with my headcanons... Also, forgive us for any spelling errors. this is via the LINE app on cell lmao

The parts written by me are indicated, and my rp partner is the marvelous @angel-dust-ryuuki

Me: Beast boy stuck his head out of his room...looked to the left, looked to the right. No one in sight. It was nearing bed time and everyone was in their respective rooms. He heard muffled robin and starfire chatting, but could not make out anything they were saying. Raven's room was still cold, and almost gave off an unholy aura. It was dead silent. He wondered if Raven had gone to sleep finally? In any case, Beast boy carried out his little "plan." "If robin wont let me speak to you in person..." He thought to himself, kneeling down to her door. "I'll just have to write instead!" Beast boy slipped underneath raven's door, that single piece of crinkled up paper. Raven noticed it right away. She could always feel when someone was near...And she saw the little paper quietly slip under her door. Beast boy trotted back to his room, took one last look down the hallway at her door, and then closed his door behind him. Plopping back down on his queen sized bed, he began to game some.

Raven didn't know what to expect. But judging from the crinkly-ness of the paper and the horrendous writing, it had to be beast boy. Beast boy...her heart fluttered. Raven opened up the crude letter to look at a small little paragraph or two. She had to squint her eyes to read it.

"Raven- It's me, beast boy. I heard you weren't feeling well with everything that's going on. I just want you to know that it's okay to feel the way you do. Sometimes we have good days and sometimes we have bad days. And I know you're gonna say 'I'm not allowed to have bad days', but...I just want you to know we all hope you feel better soon! I hope I didn't do anything to hurt you or make you upset. Let me know if i did! You can punish me in any way you want! ...well, just don't take away my videogames! (he drew a random smiley face here).

If you're having trouble sleeping, maybe come hang out with me for a little while. I know it's a stretch, but I know robin and starfire do their...Adult things at night and cy usually has to charge his battery by late night...I'm usually up though! You're free to come visit. I won't tell anyone don't worry! The offer's always there and my door is unlocked at night if you need anything. You don't even have to knock! (insert another smiley face here.)

I hope you feel better soon, rae.

-From: (there were a few words here that were scratched out and illegible, followed by a slightly more bold signature: ) Changling. "

Angel: Raven blushed at the letter and held it close. She couldn't help but feel the warmth of his words in this cold room. Deciding to play along.

Beastboy was on his bed when a crow appeared. Dropping a neatly folded and stamped letter on his chest before it disappeared like smoke.

"Dear Changling, Nice name by the way. It's rather fitting. Do you plan to make it your new hero name?I appreciate the concern for what appears to be a more then unwelcome bad day. I know you want to tell me it's okay to feel the way I do. But feelings are not something I can have. You know how unstable my powers are. You didn't hurt me or make me upset. Nothing that has happened is your fault. The fault only lies with me. So please do not blame yourself for any of this. I will take your offer under consideration.-Raven

Me: Beast boy smiled and then looked around his room for more paper. Of course he was cleaner the more mature he had gotten, no longer being able to tolerate the smell. Most of his mess remained inside his closet though. Finally finding another paper he began his response.

A few moments later another paper slipped under her door.

"yeah, changling sounds pretty neat huh? I'll have to admit even I'm surprised I came up with that! (emoji here). Maybe I can ask robin if my personal file can be updated.

Look, I know you're not too keen on spending an evening late at night with some weird green dude but I SWEAR. I won't make you play video games or even make you talk. U could just come and read one of Ur books and I can do my own thing... I know how being alone can make u feel depressed."

Raven paused for a moment. She felt a chill go down her spine. Her room was so cold.. No doubt thanks to her powers reflecting her mood a little.

" the offer is always here. Even if I'm asleep or something u can wake me up! I don't care! I just want you to feel better raven."

Raven blushed deeply and sighed continuing to read the last bit.

"I'm glad I didn't mess up anything... I seriously been feeling like u were mad at me about something. But thanks raven. I won't worry anymore."

Angel: "Dear Changling,I'm sure Robin will have no problem with that. I've heard from Starfire he too is planning to soon change his Hero name to Nightwing. "Pausing on how to continue this. But feeling...lonely? Sighing. "I know your intentions are good. But my powers are unstable right now and I'm not even sure what might happen. I would prefer not to put you in any danger as much as possible."The last part she sighed a bit. "But...I do appreciate the letters. I wasn't even sure you knew how to write.-Raven"Bahaha of course she chide at him a little. XD Well he's never written a letter for her before. Heck he didn't even write one for Terra.

Me: Beast boy scowled at her sarcastic remark. He got out yet another piece of paper -(turns out he found an old empty sketchbook he was gifted but never used).

--- Another letter under her door. Beast boy was getting out of breath at this point XD

"Night wing?!? Okay well at least my name is cooler...."

Raven giggled and then immediately blushed when she realized she was laughing... At one of beast boys jokes?!? Hell had truly frozen over... Raven hadn't noticed it yet, but as she was writing these little letters back and forth, her emotions were stabilized... And her furniture no longer was floating. Hell, even her room began to warm just a tad...

"I think ur just using Ur powers as an excuse not to hang out with me! And yes, I know what happened earlier. Rob-(scratched out) night wing told me earlier. Look, I get that u have to control Ur emotions and stuff. But u were fine before all this trigon stuff happened. Maybe u could use a distraction or two? (winky face smile emoji here)

I do know how to write but I know how to text even better. U can message me via communicator u know.......

U do know how to make a private chat with that thing don't u? "

Raven looked at her communicator which lit up right as she finished reading his message.

In all green text in a private message it read: Sup?

Angel: She texted back then:

I'm aware. Starfire and I private message from time to time. How exactly would you plan on distracting me?

Sending the massage to him then. Putting the ball back in his court. She blushed.

Me: It showed he was typing... Then it showed he wasn't... Then it showed he was. Raven watched in baited breath almost awaiting a response. Why was her heart so giddy all of a sudden? She was technically still a teen at age 18, though the giddiness of young love had not yet crawled its way into her heart.... Til now.Finally his message popped up."okay well I just found out about the private message thing tbh...." he wrote. No wonder he always replied or sent mass texts in group chat...." well I know u like to read. Why not give one of my comic books a try? Or maybe u wanna watch a scary movie?" Raven saw that he was texting her again. Another message popped up."Okay bad idea. Emotions. Bad. Got it."

Angel: She almost rolled her eyes at his text messages. They were kind of amusing. 'You're pretty insistent on me coming into your bedroom " she texted back. Bet he would read that and we'll get embaressed. XD

Me: there was a long pause on her communicator. Then It showed he was typing, followed by a long pause of not typing. Was he embarrassed? Did it go over his head? Raven was tapping her foot nervously on her bed, awaiting a response. Still hadn't noticed the stability in her soul or room...she was that engrossed in this conversation. (Just like any earth teen, amirite?) Finally, then came a response: "I just want you to feel better, Rae." Is all he wrote in that long time. Raven's face instantly turned pink. She had to put her communicator down and cover her eyes for a moment. Meanwhile, Beast boy was in his room worrying sick that she thought he was up to no good. The last thing he wanted to come off as was some kind of creep like that asshole Adonis. But maybe Raven didn't know that about him?! He just wanted her to know he was a gentleman..He was purely doing this to help out a friend and nothing more.

#hope you like #bbrae #rp #me #angel-dust-ryuuki #asdkfjaslkdg

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