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sunarinluvr · 4 years ago

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|| haikyuu boys finding you asleep on the couch after an argument ||

includes: kuroo tetsurou, miya osamu, & oikawa tooru

a/n- hello! sorry for posting so late, but this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i was actually in the mood to finish it so i hope yall enjoy! oh and im not really sure about how i feel about it,,, might take it down later we shall see.

warnings: none ( lmk if there’s anything! )

KUROO -

last night you saw a post kuroo’s “work wife” had made on instagram with her kissing him on the cheek, and it didn’t make you feel the best, so you decided to bring it up to him the next morning. and you did, just as he was getting ready for work you talked to him about it.

you were standing in front of him filled with anger arguing about how it made you uncomfortable, “can you please listen?! i dont feel comfortable with your “work wife” kissing you?” you yelled. “Y/N it was on the cheek its not a big deal!” and to be honest you just wanted to cry.

finally, he walked past you and opened the door. “i don’t have time for this y/n, stop being so insecure! at least she wouldn’t argue over something so small!” and with that, he slammed the door and you stood there stunned. kuroo knew that he shouldn’t have said that, instant regret and guilt filled his gut.

but he already said it, he can’t do anything about it now. with a frustrated sigh, he went to work. hoping to fix everything when he gets home. you stood there speechless, as you realized you still had work so slowly you made your way to the bathroom.

after getting ready and grabbing a quick snack you were out the door with a heavy chest. once you get home, tired and feeling worse than before. you trudged to the couch and plopped down letting out a shaky sigh remembering the argument and the words he said repeating in your head.

you broke down crying, and before you knew it, the exhaustion from today took over and you were sound asleep on the couch. kuroo got home an hour later, he felt guilty and was already practicing how he’d apologize to you as he walked in.“y/n? kitten?” no answer.

he called out again, and was met with silence, he made his way over to the living room where he found you sleeping on the couch. gently walking towards you he knelt down, and saw your tear-stained face which made his heart sink. “i fucked up” he said to himself.

giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead he softly apologized and carried you to the bedroom. you ended up waking up when you felt his body weight dent the bed. “tetsu?” you said softly squinting at him. relief rushes through his body at the sound of his nickname. looking at you with guilt in his eyes

“im so sorry kitten, i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t mean to hurt you” he said gently. at that tears started flowing again and he was quick to hug you and wipe your tears with his other hand. “it’s ok, i shouldn’t have been so insecure anyways”

he shook his head with a frown “no it’s not your fault ok? i didn’t mean anything i said. i love you so so much and i’m so lucky that you’re mine” you look up at him and gave him a small smile “okay” before cuddling closer to him. giving you a soft kiss on the lips he hugged you tighter as you both fell asleep.

OSAMU -

osamu was just having a horrible day, his head was pounding and the customers he had to deal with today were just plain rude. then he had to do most of the work since one of his employees called in sick, and for some reason, everything just annoyed him.

you on the other hand did not know about his day at all and thought it would be nice of you to make a surprise visit. walking in with a huge smile on your face stopping midway when you realize he wasn’t at the counter. “where’s samu?” you asked sweetly to the employee

“he’s in the back, i think he has a headache,” she says giving you a small smile. you can tell something was off by the way she spoke but decided to just brush it off and make your way to the back. “hi samu! surprise!” you exclaimed cheerfully as you make your way towards him

he just kind of looks at you, which you thought was weird, but you decided to hug him anyways. when he doesn’t hug you back and groan, you pull away and look at him “baby i heard you had a headache. i didn’t bring any medicine, but we could eat first and i-”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence since osamu just stood up. he was infuriated and had no clue why, usually loved listening to you but today he was just annoyed. “look y/n a don’t mean ta be rude, but a don't have the energy for this right now. please just go home.” he said coldly staring right at you.

“excuse me? i came here to surprise you and this is what i get??” you said in shock, voice a little louder this time. rolling his eyes “Oh wow am so surprised! now will ya please go home? a don’t wanna argue right now!” he yelled. with tears forming in your eyes you quickly wiped them and left. osamu knew he shouldn’t have said all that, but he was too mad to run after you in front of all the customers.

you rushed home and sluggishly made your way to your room to change into something comfier, making your way to the couch, curling up into a ball allowing your tears to fall, and somehow falling asleep, after getting tired of crying. he gets home a few hours later, guilt building up in his stomach as he mentally slaps himself for the things he said.

walking into the living room he opened the lights and you were the first thing he noticed. seeing you curled up into a ball on the couch made his heart drop to his stomach. you on the other hand woke up because of the sudden change of lighting.

gradually adjusting your sight you see him and switch your gaze onto the floor when you saw him look at you too. seeing your puffy eyes he walks towards you slowly and sits beside you giving you enough space. “am sorry, a shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on ya.”

you look at him with watery eyes and his heart sinks “yea i was just trying to be nice, sorry i didn’t warn you before coming” he opened his arms and you instinctively scooted closer to him, he sighs “no a love it when you surprise me a was jus having a bad day a love ya so much ok?” finally hugging him “okay i love you too” giving you a quick kiss he offered to make you food and of course you said yes.

OIKAWA -

you love oikawa, and you’re very supportive and understanding especially when it comes to his career. but he has an awful habit of overworking himself and as much as you love him you can't bear the fact that you couldn’t even see him anymore.

he goes home late at night -as in you’re already sound asleep late- and when you do stay up to see him, he’s too tired to even keep a conversation. then the next morning he’s gone before you could even wake up. you’ve spoken to him about this many times, but alas nothing changed.

you woke up to an empty bed as usual, but today was different though, you’ve planned a dinner for about 2 weeks now. you were very excited because it’s been so long since you both spent some quality time together and he promised to come home early.

getting up you send him a little text reminding him of your dinner tonight, with a smile you head on over to the bathroom to get ready for work. once work was over you made a quick visit to the grocery store to buy the ingredients you’ll need to make tonight’s dinner.

quietly humming to yourself while going through each aisle, and double-checking your list to make sure you’re not missing anything while checking your phone here and there. oikawa still hasn’t replied “he must be busy,” you say to yourself as you send him another text about the dinner just in case. after about 30 minutes you get home rushing since it was already late, and immediately getting started on dinner.

once you're done you sat down and waited, and waited, and waited. it's been 4 hours. dinners cold and still no sign of your boyfriend. you decided to call him pissed off that he couldn’t even show up to one dinner, “hello? y/n i can't talk right now i still need to practice”

he said as soon as he picked up. “tooru? did you get my texts? what about dinner, we’ve made plans for this 2 weeks prior! i even-” you were cut off “look just eat without me ok? we can eat again somet-” now it was your turn to cut him off.

“oikawa tooru, you leave the house while i’m asleep and come back when i'm asleep. i just wanted to spend time with you..whatever good luck at practice,” you replied as you hang up. his heart sank when he heard the crack in your voice rushing to his car on his way home to you because he knows he fucked up.

buying your favorite flowers for you on the way home cursing himself and the world for making it traffic at that exact moment. when he got home the first thing he saw was the food and you fast asleep on the couch. he felt a pang of guilt about being late.

“y/n chan?” he said while gently waking you up. you stare at him with red puffy eyes and he hugged you giving you the flowers “im sorry baby, i should’ve prioritized you and our dinner. i promise ill do better” you saw how genuine he was being so you accepted the flowers and hugged him tighter as he offered to reheat the food you made.

reblogs are highly appreciated!

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kakujis · 3 years ago

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merry christmas robin!

NSFT. 18+ only! m!whitney x f!pc

tw: dubcon, …. whitney 😩, cucking robin LOL,

hi everyone! i was inspired to write this during my last minute christmas shopping! also lots of inspiration from @oyasuminto ‘s fic where whitney f*cks u in front of robin~

THIS IS SO LONG SORRY???? also plz b gentle this is my first time writing smut and ACTUALLY posting it :>

it’s odd when whitney gives robin a christmas gift without any of his usual vitrol, besides the fact that he threw it haphazardly at the orphan’s face. robin catches it and mutters an awkward “thanks,” before he heads home for the night. he knows you’re off to go spend christmas with whitney, as much as it pains him, and he scurries back to his room, locking the door before throwing the gift into his trashcan.

you hadn’t been yourself lately, unable to meet robin’s eyes especially. you even gave him his gift by leaving it outside his door, knocking and scurrying away as he opened it. it was unusual of you.

after an hour of playing the new game you got him, he looks back at the gift. he reaches in and pulls it out. shittily wrapped, must’ve been whitney, he thinks before turning it over and seeing your all too familiar handwriting. “For Robin”, it’s a little messier than usual but he smiles for a moment before frowning. somehow, you convinced whitney to get robin a gift as well.

it’s probably something stupid, knowing that asshole. he thinks before deciding to open it against his better judgement.

inside the box is a usb which immediately has robin’s stomach in knots. his hands are shaking as he grabs his old laptop plugs it in. it takes a few moments which robin uses to contemplate just what he was doing. when the file appears, it’s a video with no title. just a bunch of random numbers and letters. he hovers his cursor over it.

“this is stupid…” he mutters, moving the mouse to close out of the tab before he thinks of you. you’d probably ask him if he liked it and if he could talk to you again, he’d do anything. he couldn’t bear to bring himself to lie either. he loved you after all.

he clicks on the video and it opens to you, brow furrowed as you adjust the camera in front of you. robin notes that you did your makeup for the occasion too, which you usually only do for your cafe job. you also sport a red lip, clearly done for the festivities. you sit in an unfamiliar room, scurrying back to the center of the camera.

“h-hello!” you say, almost shouting, “m-merry christmas, robin!” you smile, sitting with your legs crossed in a cream sweater and red skirt.

robin smiles at your eagerness. you’re so cute he almost forgets this is a joint gift with whitney, until the door slams with you and robin both jumping. whitney sits on the bed behind you, wearing dark jeans and a white tee. you frown, mumbling something to him that robin can’t hear.

whatever you say is ignored as whitney walks over to the camera, staring straight ahead. his blonde fringe covers an eye, while it feels like the other is going right through robin’s soul. it’s unnerving and robin can’t help but look away. whitney smirks, his mouth curling up to one side.

“hey there dork.” he starts, “my little slut here wanted to get you something.” he gestures behind to you, revealing your blushing face.

robin winces, he really hated how much whitney degraded you. he never understood why you kept trying to change him or what you saw in him. in robin’s eyes he was an asshole that not even you could fix. but alas, everyday you scampered from robin to whitney’s side, letting him curl an arm around your waist.

“don’t be mean, whit.” robin hears you say, “you promised this time.” you crawl towards the camera. “so what are we doing?”

whitney smiles at you, before turning back to the camera. “i know you like my slut and i felt a little bad knowing your virgin ass would never get to touch her. she makes the cutest faces when she screams.”

you start to protest before whitney grabs you and pulls you to his chest, clamping his hand around your mouth. “shut up, you wanted to give him a gift and i’ve got the best idea.”

you struggle against whitney’s grip, pushing at his arms and grabbing at his hand. it’s futile, as whitney is much stronger than you.

“make sure you watch, this is for you after all.” whitney says, looking into the camera one more time, before dragging you and throwing you onto the bed.

immediately, you try to curl up into a ball but whitney sticks his knee in between your thighs and pushes you down. robin is digging his nails into his palm now, eyes wide and contemplating if he should continue watching.

this is fucked, like, really fucked. he thinks, reaching out with shaking hands. he almost closes his laptop. almost. at this point, whitney’s turned you onto your stomach, holding you in place with his hand on your back.

“let go! let go!“ you scream, struggling against him.

“why should i?” whitney asks, “it’s for your friend. didn’t you wanna give him something?” he sneers, pushing your skirt up before hiking your underwear down. “oh? breaking the rules for him too?“ he smacks your ass hard and you squeal, burying your face into his pillow.

“i-i don’t…” you begin, raising your head slightly, tears already falling down your face.

whitney smacks your ass again, causing you to squeal and squirm again. “speak up or he won’t hear you.”

“i don’t want him to see me like this!” you yell, holding his pillow underneath you.

robin feels himself tearing up as well, wanting to save you like you saved him.

whitney laughs. “aww, you don’t want him to see how filthy you are? how you beg for me to fill you up everyday?” he grabs the back of your head, pulling back before he leans over to lick the salty tears from your face.

he lets you fall limply back onto the bed, sniffling. “you’re wet, slut.” he says matter of factly, before sliding a finger in. you moan involuntarily and whitney chuckles. “you’re so easy to break.” he says sliding another digit in and setting a fast pace.

you try to shift your hips to match his pace and bring your climax closer. whitney keeps his hand on your back for a moment before releasing you, “actually yeah, fuck yourself on my fingers.”

you mewl, quickly doing as he asks. your hands grip his sheets and your legs tremble as you fuck yourself fast to climax, soaking his fingers and moaning his name. whitney takes his fingers out and holds them out, showing the camera, well robin, the slickness between.

“bet you want a taste huh?” whitney asks, smiling at the camera.

you wriggle forward for a bit of respite, panting hard, but your newfound freedom is short lived as whitney grabs your hips and pulls you back toward him.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going? i’m not finished.” robin has no clue when whitney unzipped his pants, too focused on your flushed face, mascara streaking down.

robin should feel bad, he should feel awful and he does…. except he’s also turned on. maybe it was the cute noises you made or the way you trembled as you came, but his dick was uncomfortably straining against his jeans.

“w-whit, i just-“ you start to say, before whitney slams into you. you gasp, burying your face into the sheets again. whitney grabs your hair again to pull you back again as he starts rolling his hips.

“hey dork, does this bother you? seeing my slut that you’re so keen on getting fucked by me?” he looks towards the camera, his other eye barely visible underneath his fringe. “i know you think about doing this to her.”

you grasp onto the sheets harder, trying to find anything for purchase. “n-no, don’t listen to him, ro- ah!” you try to turn your head away, cut off by your own gasping.

robin feels his heartbeat quicken when you try to say his name. whitney was right, he does wish that was him.

“he needs to see your face, this is for him after all.” he grunts, as he fucks you with such force that your hands are grasping at anything to keep balance.

“w-wait, i, i can’t, ah, keep my balance” you moan, arms trembling and tears forming at your eyes once again. “it’s t-too much..”

he pulls you back even more so that you have to grab onto him to stay upright. with the two of you now a bit too far on the right side of the screen, whitney stops and drops you before sliding out and walking over to adjust the camera.

“there,” he says, centering it back on the two of you, before he walks back to you. “oh, i forgot that you’d probably want to see these,” he smirks before ripping your sweater open. “my bad.” he tugs it off of you as you can no longer protest. he smacks your ass and you ready yourself back into position.

slowly, he eases himself back in. you groan, eyes rolling back.

“whitney…” you whimper before looking back at him. it’s as if you forgot you were on video, getting fucked for your best friend.

“what?” he grins, before cocking his head to the side. “speak up slut.”

“fuck me please,” you ask breathlessly, starting to grind back onto him yourself.

whitney holds you still before motioning to the camera. “tell him that, tell him you want me to fuck you stupid.”

you shake your head, suddenly remembering that there’s a camera recording your every move.

“then no, i won’t fuck you.” whitney doesn’t let you squirm, keeping you firmly in place.

you squirm for a few moments longer before pleading, “please, please..”

“tell him.”

your tears flow freely now as you lock eyes with the camera. something you hadn’t done since the beginning. robin’s heart races, you’re still so pretty, crying and all.

“i-i want whit-“ you start before he yanks your hair again.

“say his name or else whose he gonna know who you’re talking to?” he hisses.

you start again, sobbing harder from embarrassment and pain. “robin… i want whitney to fuck me.”

robin shifts in his spot, hearing you say his name is driving him mad. he doesn’t even know when he pulled out his own cock and started rubbing.

whitney starts moving, albeit a slow, tortuous pace. “and?”

“and i want him-“

Slap.

he slaps your ass hard, which has robin wincing. your ass is bright red and robin can tell it’s going to bruise.

“names.” he commands.

“and i want whitney to ruin me,” you sob.

“and?” he starts to pick his pace back up now.

“and to, um, i don’t-“ you start slurring and stuttering, drool escaping from your lips.

Slap.

“you know the answer, slut.” he says, digging his nails into your hip.

“and i want whitney to fill me up and make me feel good and to fuck me-“ you’re babbling now, gasping and moaning at every thrust.

“good slut.” whitney grunts, as he fucks you so hard you swear you’re seeing stars. for a bit, all robin can hear is the sound of skin slapping and your mewling of whitney’s name over and over.

whitney drops your hair and you loll forward, moaning into his sheets as he cums, filling you up, just as you wanted. it’s enough to send you over the edge as well, squeezing and milking him for every drop.

seeing you cum was what sent robin over too, bucking and leaking all over his hand. suddenly, a wave of guilt washes over him and he shifts to grab a tissue box sitting by his desk.

however, the video isn’t over yet as whitney saunters over and grabs it. he moves it, first zooming in to your face red, eyes glazed, and tear-streaked with your lipstick smeared. then he zooms onto the cum leaking out from your pussy. his sheets are soaked with your fluids and his cum.

before the video ends, whitney turns it around to face him, smirking as his blonde hair sticks to his forehead. robin glares, hating whitney more than he thought possible.

“merry christmas, nerd.”

#degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #robin the orphan #tw dubcon #pibby writing

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machine-gun-casie · 4 years ago

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Funnel Cakes, Ferris Wheels, And Some Feelings

anon: A fluffy best friends to lovers concept with MGK where he and the reader spend the day at the carnival and end up admitting their feelings for each other on the Ferris wheel👉🏼🥺👈🏼

wc: 2.3k

tw: bad driving, food, a tik tok song if u squint.

:: :: ::

“Colson, please.” You whined, dragging out the ‘please’.

“I already said no.” He spoke monotonously without looking up from his phone. You pouted and gave him your best puppy eyes. “Stop with that shit you do with your eyes. It’s cute, but it’s not cute enough.”

“Then what is cute enough?” You threw your head back to add to the dramatics. “I really wanna go, but a carnival is no fun alone. I mean, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing?” Colson raised his eyebrows at you and only slightly lowered his phone. “If you’ve never been to a carnival alone, now’s a great time.”

“No,” you laughed and shoved his shoulder, “I’ve never been to a carnival period.”

“You’ve never been to a carnival?!” Colson asked a little too loudly in disbelief. “How have you never been to a carnival?”

You shrugged and made that hum people do when they have no clue. “I figured since this one’s in town, we could go together.” You let out a long heavy sigh and flopped onto Colson, pulling out an ‘oomph’ from the blonde haired giraffe boy. “But if you really don’t wanna go…”

“Alright, get up.” The words were short and clipped, and Colson only pulled out this tone when he was serious.

“What? Are we going?” Sitting up a little too fast, you looked at Colson with eyes that were incredibly hopeful.

“Yes, we’re going. Go put on your shoes.” He nodded and pointed to your shoes by the door.

“Aaah!” You squealed obnoxiously loud and smiled when you saw Colson wince. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Colson pushed you farther away from him with a gentle kick of his legs against yours and closer to the door. “Go! Before I change my damn mind!”

“You’re no fun.” You pouted, dropping to the floor to put on your shoes.

“I’m taking you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes but a soft smile slowly spread across your face. You jumped up and looped your arm through Colson’s when you were done, hugging his arm close to your chest. “Thank you.”

Colson noted the genuine sincerity in your voice and his demeanor softened as he led you out of the front door. You and him were always bickering, but everyone, including the two of you, knew that it was only playing around. “You know I was gonna take you as soon as you mentioned it, right?”

“I know. I’m just- yeah, I’m just thankful. For you.” You chuckled and shook your head, stopping in front of the car. “Fuck. That was really sappy, huh?”

“Oh yeah, way too fucking sappy.” Colson nodded, a teasing smirk on his face. He opened the passenger door for you and held out his hand to help you in. When you put your hand in his, he grasped it and pulled you closer. You let out a sigh as he pulled you into a hug, your arms around his waist and one of his was around your shoulders while the other cradled your head. He placed a chaste kiss to your forehead and smiled. “But sappy isn’t always bad.”

The car ride to the carnival was about as hectic as any car ride with Colson. A few red lights ignored here, a few fire hydrants almost crashed into there, and a long hearty giggle fest at the tree Colson almost burned down not that long ago. You arrived faster than the google maps approximation of an hour, L.A. traffic surprisingly not that bad. Still very very bad. But less so than usual.

“Alright!” Colson slapped his hand on the roof of the car as soon as you were parked and out of your seats. “Rule number one of carnivals: Funnel Cakes!”

He pointed towards a stall right past the ticket vendor, and he was clearly right as people flooded from the ticket vendor right up to the food truck.

“I think we need to get tickets first.” You chuckled, rounding the length of the car and reaching Colson. You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the ticket vendor.

“I know that.” Colson rolled his eyes. “Aside from the obvious, there’s rules to going to a carnival.”

“Oh, is there?” You asked, humoring him.

“Definitely.” Colson nodded as seriously as he could. “You have to eat funnel cake, you have to go on the carousel, you have to win a huge ass teddy bear, and you have to end the night on the ferris wheel.”

“In that order?” You asked once you had secured your place in line at the ticket vendor.

“And no other order.”

“Does the bear go on the ferris wheel or does it wait on the ground?” You asked, always the logical one. “It could fit on the ferris wheel, right? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d steal a huge ass teddy bear left unattended. Can’t blame someone else if they felt those same urges towards our future abandoned huge ass teddy bear.”

“You make some great points.” Colson nodded, moving forward in line. Now only three other couples stood ahead of you.

You mentally scolded yourself for the use of the word ‘other’. You were not a couple. Colson is your best friend. Nothing else. You weren’t even sure if he considered you his closest friend. He had so many, it was hard not to compare yourself to them. All the clips online, the videos he posts late at night, the stories he’s told you of wild nights out. You felt like you could never compare.

Colson was always so calm with you. Made you wonder, did he slow down his usual escapades for you? Were you holding him back?

“-if not, we’ll put it in the car.”

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you shook yourself out of your thoughts.

“We can put the bear in the car if there’s no space on the ferris wheel.” Colson repeated himself, eyebrows furrowing like yours. “Where’d you go there?”

“Hmm? Oh, nowhere. Yeah, bear in the car if need be.” You looked ahead in the line and saw that there were now two couples in front of you. “You know, if you really don’t like carnivals, we can head back. We haven’t bought any tickets or anything-”

“Hey, woah, what?” Colson interrupted you. “No, you can’t do that to me! Now I’m excited to win you a huge ass teddy bear! We’re not going anywhere.”

“Alright alright, I was just making sure!” You defended yourself. You felt the blood rush to your ears at Colson’s words. He was gonna win you the teddy bear. Like a sappy movie. Yeah this was definitely not helping your feelings.

Tickets were bought soon after, and true to his word, Colson’s first order of business was buying each of you a funnel cake.

“With this, there’s something you gotta keep in mind.” You nodded for him to continue. “You do not think of how ginormous it is. You just eat that shit. Every last bite. You gotta finish it, even if it’s too much.”

“I don’t think I can eat the whole thing, it’s huge!” You held the extremely large deep fried web of cake up to show him how truly gigantic the serving was.

Colson opened his mouth to tell you ‘yes, you still have to finish it. no exceptions.’ But then he saw your face. Fuck. He really couldn’t say no to you, could he? “Fine, you can give the rest to me. But only ‘cause it’s your first time!” When you smiled and nodded, Colson felt a wave of joy course through him. And after that a shock wave of fear.

This was not the time nor the place for his romantic feelings for you to come up. He really thought that he had successfully shoved those feelings deep into the recesses of his mind, but alas their heads keep rearing back into the forefront of his brain. He felt wrong about the feelings he had for you. Almost like he was taking advantage of you. He felt like you would regret all the time you spent together if you found out that during every movie night, every late night grocery run, and every early morning drive, Colson had a raging boner of the heart for you. He chuckled because he knew that his phrasing would bring you to a giggling heap on the ground.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’.” He smiled to himself and looked down at his funnel cake.

“No, now you gotta tell me.” You smiled, glad to see that your best friend didn’t seem to hate being here. “Spill, hot stuff.”

Colson flushed at the nickname and cleared his throat. “Just thinking about how Case would have loved this place.”

“Yeah, I bet she would.” You mused as you looked around at all the kids running around. “You should bring her the next time she comes down here. If it’s still around, I’m not su-”

“We should.” Colson corrected you, stopping you mid sentence.

“Hm?”

“We should take her. Yeah, she’ll like it if I brought her to one of these.” He shrugged. “But she’d go crazy if you came too. She’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“I can’t blame her, I’m amazing.” You shrugged with a smirk.

“Ha ha ha.” Colson dusted off his hands and reached over to pop the last piece of your funnel cake into his mouth. “Get your ass up, it’s carousel time mother fucker!”

Carnival activities took more time than you thought. The games took time because of the long lines at every stall, and the rides took time because the operator couldn’t start them until most of the seats were filled. In conclusion, when Colson said that you were to end the night with the ferris wheel, you really didn’t think it would be dark out by the time you were lugging the huge ass teddy bear towards the colorful manifestation of the fear of heights.

Thankfully the ferris wheel had four seater booths, so the teddy bear you affectionately named Wild Boy got to ride with you. You sat him on the bench opposite you and Colson and fastened his seat belt just to be safe. Once you were settled and the ride started moving, you let out a content sigh.

“That was so much fun.”

“Yeah?” Colson asked, placing his arm around your shoulders. You nodded and pulled yourself closer into his side. “What was your favorite part?”

“Definitely when you wasted six tickets to get Mr. Boy over here.” You giggled.

“Hey!” Colson raised his hand a little. “How dare you say that was a waste. It was an honor using up six of our precious tickets. I don’t think you get it, y/n. I had to get you this big ass teddy bear.”

“You had to?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup.” He popped the p and nodded, looking straight ahead and trying his hardest to keep a neutral facial expression. “Them’s the rules.”

Your face broke out into a tightlipped smile as your giggled escaped as puffs of air through your nose. “Where is this rulebook of carnival trips?”

“Up here, baby.” Colson grinned, tapping his temple. “I haven’t gotten it published yet, but I don’t know if I will.”

“Mmm.” You hummed and nodded. “The information is too sacred for the public.”

There was a lull in the conversation, leaving you to review the last few spoken words between the two of you. You sat up a little straighter and furrowed your brows once you recalled Colson’s previous words.

“What?”

“Oh my god, did you,” you paused and turned to look at Colson, “did you call me baby?”

Colson had never called you that. Come to think of it, Colson has never called you anything but your name. Not that you were complaining, but the deviation certainly stood out to you. You couldn’t blame him really, you had to stop yourself from calling him something similar all day. Today’s activities felt almost too much like a date. But you thought you only felt like that because you had feelings for him.

Colson looked straight ahead and furrowed his brows in thought before he slowly turned to you. “Maybe.”

“Uh.” You felt a small smile sneak itself on your face.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I like that.” You tried to respond nonchalantly, mentally face-palming yourself over the words you chose.

“Cool.” Colson smiled and relaxed, leaning back again.

You both stayed silent for a few moments, simply processing. Then you quickly snapped back to face Colson only to see that he had done the same thing.

“Wait, does that mean-”

“Fuck man, it better.”

Your eyes grew wide when you actually realized what just happened. You reached out and pulled Colson towards you so quickly that the ferris wheel booth you were sitting in shook. You looped your arms around his neck and quickly placed your lips on his. Before you could question whether or not he wanted this too, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him, deepening the kiss.

When you pulled away, you saw that you were halfway through your trip on the ferris wheel, leaving you and Colson at the very top. “Holy shit, I’d like to quote Mod and say ‘movie.’”

Colson couldn’t help but agree. It was the most cinematic moment of the day.

“So you’re telling me, this whole fucking time-” Colson couldn’t help but chuckle. “I thought you liked Baze!”

“Baze?!” You gasped. “No! It’s been you, it’s been you for a long time.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s been you for a long time for me too.” Colson grinned. “Does that mean I can kiss you all the time now?”

“You never even have to ask.”

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discrunkled-twog · 3 years ago

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Last Line Tag

Hello! Here, if you want, post a chunk of recent writing, or a work in progress!

Tagged in this by @jezifster

Tagging @bluey-anonymouswriter08 @andromeda612 @akirameta84 @ajesternamednate, if you guys want to join.

Note: This was originally for school, but I ended up liking it a lot. I was asked to write about an obstacle I overcame, which unfortunately, had to be written in the first person, which I'm not used to, but I actually think it turned out decent.

Also, yeah, this did happen. I also changed my siblings' names.

"Now, bed of mine..."

My bed, of course, inanimate and still as all beds should be, had no response to my threatening.

"You will be good to me, I hope...?"

No response, as was to be expected.

I sighed and laid down, only after arranging the pillows and getting dressed, or at least, as dressed as I would be getting.

And to sleep I go...

Thirty minutes passed.

And. To Sleep. I Go.

And to sleep I did not go, since life is cruel. Now, I should've gone to sleep, for sure, especially because it was fairly late and I was tired. Either my brain, my body, or God himself decided to interrupt my slumber, but either way, it was clear that I was going to experience some difficulty going to sleep.

This is it. I'm staying awake all night, I guess. I mean, I have always wanted to do it at least once and say I did it, so why not? I don't think I need to wake up early or be exceptionally rested, though either way, I'm sure I could function okay during the day.

I fell asleep. Certainly after all this build-up, drama, and compelling, riveting narration, that must be it! My tale has been told, my troubles have gone, and I will take my leave...

Now hold on a second, you're not getting away that easy, bub.

While that certainly was a daring feat, and an obstacle has been overcome, this is not the end of this particular story.

Now that I had dozed off, I would sleep for a few hours before eventually awakening to everything feeling so entirely wrong. To this day hour, I am unsure if it was the arrangement of the pillows, my outfit, the temperature of the room, or even a combination of the three, but alas, I was awake, and probably staying that way for a while.

I tossed and turned, both literally and figuratively, as I rolled around in bed and flip-flopped between entertaining alternating notions.

I could get up and do school, but I think it's like, three in the morning. I'd get it done way faster, but I'm not going to go wake everyone up because of it... Or maybe if I'm quiet... Ehhhhhh...

I estimate that about thirty minutes passed, and I did fall asleep. I slept quietly and dreamless, at least for the time being.

And again, I did wake up, but there was no tossing and turning this time around.

In fact, I couldn't move at all. My limbs and torso were confined in what reminded me of plastic wrap; though it was nothing more than a mental barrier, I was just as helpless about it. A fish on a hook of my brain's devices, trapped being unable to anything but grin and bear it, and maybe open my eyes from time to time.

Well, this is great. What a wonderful situation I am in.

Mental sarcasm was commonly practiced in these situations.

I tried to move. It wasn't frightening at first, though unless I happen to be hallucinating vividly about obscured facial expressions and calling family members, it isn't. But as the fool I am, I tried to move again and again.

I bet I looked rather silly, or I would've, had I been thrashing around as violently as I was attempting to. My legs and arms were flailing, I was sure of it, and with every passing moment, my breaths became heavier as I attempted to break the sort of force field with the sheer force of my lungs.

Of course, at three in the morning, when I could hardly even piece my thoughts together, this was nothing but repeated, fruitless attempts. And coincidentally, my thoughts weren't any more coherent.

Baldi knows every door that we open... Following from behind, we can hear him... There is no place for playtime... Avoid them all from every side...

A very certain song was repeating in my head through the entire ordeal, though I'm yet to decipher what my head meant by pulling that little stunt.

I stayed there for about ten minutes, still and silently panicking until something snapped and I was able to move my hands, the mobility spreading to the rest of my body. I rolled onto my side, kicking the pillows off the bed.

Took me long enough. Can I sleep now...? Am I allowed to sleep now...?

I sighed and fell asleep again, in between occasional jolts as I felt myself nearing the same constriction.

The end of my story, no? I slept peacefully from now on, and triumphed, stronger than ever, right?

Right...?

Alas, the world had turned a blind eye to my needless suffering, and this was not the end of my spiel...

I awoke for a second time, constricted, though the room was fully lighted. It still seemed to be the middle of the night, but the light from the fan was on and I could hear mumbled voices through the door. I laid, inanimate once again, but my struggle only lasted for a few minutes as I escaped through a slight wiggle in my fingers.

As I found myself able to move, I rolled over again, this time falling to the floor, not feeling the impact, but feeling the fabric of the carpet rub against my face. I stood up, not wanting to go through the whole ordeal for a third time.

"Okay, I'm awake now. And awake forever- I'm staying awake forever now..." I mumbled to myself.

I was fully dressed in an outfit I can't recall the details of as I went around my room.

It seemed to be my room, aside from the carpet, but since it was a fairly... 2016 version of my room, with a sink, yellow walls, and a brown door to my closet behind me near the foot of my bed instead across the headboard, the presence of brown, oddly-stained carpet was believable enough for the semi-conscious me.

On a surface reminiscent of both the counter of the sink and an ironing board we didn't own, I saw a bow of opened cookies. Now, I never cared much for Oreos, but the sheer absurdity of their presence and the fact that they were just sitting in my room, calling to me was enough for me to eat one out of curiosity.

It was softer than I expected, and I suddenly noticed that there were more boxes, of different colors and sizes, under my bed that definitely didn't have an under, and on various surfaces.

Ah, they're leftovers from Carol's birthday party...

Though this though was entirely incoherent and nonsensical, it made perfect sense to me at the time, even though it was nowhere near my sister's birthday in the slightest.

I held the cookie in my hand, the one I had previously eaten the entirety of, though now it appeared with only a bite out of it.

The quiet mumbling outside had stopped, and under my door, Felix, my brother, was peeking; the door's gap had gone from about half an inch to over half a foot sometime in between my cookie escapades.

"Nana...?"

Oopsy doopsy, I can't let him see me with a cookie.

I popped the rest of it into my mouth and ate it as quickly as possible, and then rushed over to open the door.

"Boy, stop peeking under the door! Didn't I already tell you to quit it?" I told him.

He left without responding.

I sighed and went downstairs, my old childhood home perfectly melting into the staircase of my current abode, only to spiral off into a combination of our current living room and our old, 2019 state kitchen.

Of course, this didn't faze me in the slightest.

My mother stood there, only looking at me, accompanied by my brother.

"Good morning, Momma," I said, approaching her. She looked as though she was about to speak and-

I laid in my bed, the six-in-the-morning darkness visible from my scrunched up position on the bed. Though of course, I wasn't able to fix my position.

Nope. No. Stop it. Stop. It. Fricking heck, why? Why all this? Was once not enough for you, brain? Care to explain yourself...?

Is it okay to have a feeling... That maybe there is more to this game?... However now, just keep behaving...

The Living Tombstone was my mind's idea of a response, for some reason.

Alright, you're going to be that way...? Fine.

Another ten minutes of subtle, mild torture, kicking and screaming, in my head, in futile attempts to wake up. It wasn't until I was able to move my eyes freely that it scared me in the slightest, because I could see my own pathetic struggles, and though I knew exactly what was happening, that might've only made the experience more disorienting.

Finally, my hand raised and so did the force field, and I sprung out of bed, unwilling to wait around for it to repeat itself.

Guess I'm getting up now. Okay. Nice, nice. Fun, really. Hmm...

I prevailed, de panzazo by the skin of my teeth, all because my will never faltered and sleep didn't let me, well, sleep.

I trudged into the living room, to greet the world, tired and frustrated.

And with that, my tale has been told.

Fin.

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

Yes it's silly, I don't care.

#writing #last line tag #short story #I guess??#I dunno #here is words #my writing

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fafulous · 4 years ago

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Take Me Home (4/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Chapter Warnings: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS (BOOK Ending), Reminiscing the Loss of a loved one.

Andy soon came to realise that walking out on you was never ever really a solution. In reality he knew with his current state, without you he was doomed.

He needed you because he has no one. He needed you because it was his chance at something new; something no one would understand.

He needs you because in between all those shenanigans in these few months, he was falling hard for you.

But he did what he had to that day because he just wanted some space. In his head it seemed to be fine, but alas it hurt like a bitch.

On the other hand, Nikolai had no idea what was going on. It only took him minutes to fall in love with his new room. The lights, the colour of the room made him so jubilant, later on only to see you a bit unhappy. You were able to deflect from your son’s questions, but how on earth were you going to tell him that Andy won’t be meeting him anymore.

It hurt. So hard. All you needed was one conversation with him to settle things away but he wanted his space and so you half heartedly respected it.

Nikolai on the other hand was hitting a real low seeing you unhappy the whole day sporting stuffy red eyes. Like any other kid, Nikolai jumped to the conclusion that their mother is crying because she got a boo-boo or lost her favourite toy.

But that little brain of his pieced it slowly once he realised Andy never visited them for any of the dinner nights.

“Mommy pwese don’t cwy” his nimble fingers wiping your fat tears rolling down your cheek.

“I know peaches. I’m trying so hard to get Andy back okay. I’m sorry for crying around you like this baby.”

“B-but Wandi pwomised he neva gonna hurt you mommi…”

“Oh Niko,” you wiped the cookie crumbs around his tiny lips, “Your little brain won’t get it. It’s okay.”

“No. Not owkay. Wandi hurt you. Wandi bad. I don’t wike Wandi cahr now.”

You couldn’t help but surpass a giggle. “Niko. Andy is never bad. Never. He is just feeling sad and lonely. We just need to tell him we have him and love him okay?”

Love? Too soon. Maybe it’s more than like but it was too late to change it for your son and for yourself. You always saw how Niko’s eyes sparkled whenever Andy was around; he was soon accepting him to be a member of the household.

“Owkay,” he dug his head to your neck, “I wike Wandi and his cahr.”

–

The following week were hard for you and him. From sharing couches to kisses, now the only thing you both shared were small talks.

Yes. Small Talk. Or texts rather.

Andy told you he finally found a therapist to speak to and slowly expressed his wish to still visit Nikolai till you both figured out what was happening between you two.

Why did this have to get so complicated?

You on the other hand replied he was free to do so because to be real, the little kid missed him too. So, the next day he asked you for permission if he could take Nikolai on a car drive.

You had no idea what would go on in his head at times. From seeing Andy’s perspective, he was denied of the choice of telling you his story. It was his fucked-up childhood, his story that he wanted to tell you. Not a pity tatter-tale gossip story that was to be heard from your characterless, ex-husband.

Andy later in the evening sent a message that he was ready, and you saw the man your heart so longed for.

His eyes were back to being sunken, those blue irises not having the guts to meet yours. His hair was ruffled like he just woke up from a nap. Looking at him made you realise how much your hands were twitching to just hug him. You were reminded of the first night you spent at his house; that blue sweater he gave you while you two made out on his couch for the first time was now worn by him.

You walked towards him as you held Nikolai’s convertible baby seat to be fixed in his car and he was kind enough to open the door for you.

Andy on the other hand knew he had to- no, wanted to strike a conversation with you; but didn’t know what to say.

Hey long time huh?

Y/N. Hey, how are you?

Hey listen…

Nope nothing came out of his mouth while you fixed the seat.

He took in your appearance too; that ray of sunshine that beamed from your smile was non-existent; replaced with a forlorn look that he hated to see on you. The past few days were definitely much harsher on you than it was for him. Andy knew he couldn’t get any more foolish. He had to get back to what you two had before.

He needed it.

“Have we gone back to square one? Because of what? My ex-husband?”

Andy came out of his tiny reverie and focussed back on you. He didn’t pay attention, but he did realise you said something bitter that meant to sting him.

“Honey listen-”

“Oh, don’t you honey me Andy. How could you? How could you be so- so-“ you tried so hard to not break into a stream of tears.

How could you be so hateful to yourself Andy? Did you not trust me?

“How could you just desert me like that? D-did you think I was going to throw away my second chance at life for something you father did? Did you want to throw away your second chance at life because of your father who has no role in our lives right now?”

He sighed dejectedly, disappointed with himself. Hearing your voice break wrecked him, “I know Y/N. I was an asshole that day, leaving you without an explanation.” He found himself taking steps towards you and cupping your cheek, tilting his forehead onto yours, “I am so sorry hon- Y/N. I am sorry.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him, his eyes still closed; now content that he and you could just touch each other after a very long time.

Any other situation, you wouldn’t let a man walkover you so easily after fucking up. But this was Andy. The man who made you believe in second chances. You gave him a first chance already, and now it was again your turn to give him one more.

“You weren’t an asshole Andy,” you held on to his hands, “Its just, I don’t know…”

“I know you know exactly what you want to say Y/N. Just say it.”

You could hear Nikolai running around his circles with his unicorn plush doll behind you, “I was angry when you left, but at the same time I tried to understand your point of view, your emotions and your feelings about this whole situation. But I think or- or I know that I didn’t deserve to be ghosted like that Andy, because I liked you for you, not what your father did, especially when we had something so good going on.”

He removed his hand from your cheeks and looked down like a disappointed child. He knew he was at fault and so he didn’t say anything; head hung in shame looking at the little, carefree boy that he loved so dearly.

“It’s only had if you want it to be,”

“What do you mean?”

You saw a glint of that eagerness that Andy always had with you before, “I told that we had something good going on? It’s only had if you want it to be…“

Andy took some time to find his words. Again. It was the second time he fucked up so bad and here you were, taking him back even after he exploded like a mine. Was this woman for real?

“Of course, I want this honey. I always want us. You’re always so good to me.”

He reached out to graze your cheeks, but he was blocked by your squealing son.

“Cahr Wandi! Can we gooo?”

You were surprised that you weren’t interrupted by your son sooner, but nevertheless your son’s new founded patience was found to be a blessing in disguise.

The cutest sight unfurled before you as Andy made grabby hands at your son, only for the latter to be scooped into Andy’s arms like a cocoon.

“Come on Y/N, join us wont you? For a drive?”

You shook your head, “I think I’ll pass.”

“Y/N. I want to really make it up to you. Like real time. Please come with us?”

“I know Andy, but who will make dinner if I come along with you boys?”

Andy slowly grinned at your implications. He never ceased to be impressed by your gracious generosity and the small acts of kindness.

“I’m not mad, not as much as I was before I promise,” you dared to but tiptoed to place a kiss on his cheek, “We can talk over dinner today.” You saw how his cheek sported a cherry red tint, slowly creeping up till his ear. A teenager in a old man’s body.

“Peaches,” you turned to your son right now jumped into Andy’s arms, nuzzling his face in that soft sweater, “Be good and behave okay peaches? Don’t trouble Wandi- I mean Andy for anything on the way okay?”

Everything drowned inside a chorus of laughter when Andy realised how you had called his name. Niko had no idea what the humour was for but joined the chorus when he found his two most favourite people in the world giggling.

Were you forgoing all that pent-up sadness that this man gave you this week? Yes. Yes you were.

And you would soon realise that it was the best decision you made.

Hours passed by and the boys came back home. Nikolai was gleefully pulling onto Andy’s beard and curiously asking him when he was going to get a ‘bweard’ like him and heard both the boys animatedly inhaling; the smell of aromatic food that stirring their tummies.

“MOMMY IS MAKING PAWSTAHH!”

Andy was so confused. You always made the best Italian food for your child.

“Let’s just say after that episode we had with Chad, I was cooking boring greens and ordering takeout for the little one and me. I lost the will to cook. Thought I’ll revive the poor kid’s taste buds.”

It was always these small gestures that pulled you towards Andy; like this one. He tugged you by your shoulders and placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then cupped your cheeks so lovingly.

“Sorry Momma bear.”

“Shhh. It’s okay grumpy cat,” you winked.

Dinner on the other hand did go relatively smooth than you expected it to. Andy explained himself, his feelings and what he felt that day when he left you and tried his level best to process your emotional state that day.

The baked pasta was licked clean by your two boys and you while Andy also spoke about his past few days with his therapist, who seemed to help him more than he possibly could ever think of. Over a glass of wine, Andy held your hand promising you that he wouldn’t do any more foolish stunts that ended up hurting all of us in the process.

But as you and Andy were doing and drying the dishes, you felt that he was holding back something.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing.”

“That thing you used to do when I used to pick movies that you don’t like.”

His grin could make your whole body mushy and soft like a teenager having their first crush “So? Is that my fault honey?” he feigned hurt, glad that he could now call you back with his favourite sweet name.

“Nah,” you playfully tapped his shoulder. “You give me that look so prominently so that I understand that you want something from me, or you want me to do something for you.”

Andy looked so lost and you knew something was biting his thoughts because he enjoyed doing domestic chores with you; his favourite being you washing the dishes and him drying them out and keeping them inside the cupboards. He didn’t reply until the last wine glass was kept inside the cabinet

“It’s just-” hesitated Andy. You waited patiently for him to find his words.

“It’s about Jacob.”

“Oh.”

For a startling few seconds, you held your breath; thinking about Andy’s son was something wrecked your thoughts and heart every single time.

“My therapist says that I haven’t, you know, fully processed Jacob’s death. Like I’m holding on to something. But parents don’t, right? They can’t move on from their child’s death right? It’s practically impossible.”

You weren’t sure what to say but you nodded, gripping on to his arm and gesturing to sit with you to the couch where little Niko dozed off with two of his stuffed dolls clenched in his hand.

“But she did say one statement that made sense to me, I don’t know. It made sense about how we can’t forget our children who are no longer with us but we can learn to accept the fact that they are no longer with us.”

Oh bub, how much have you been through? “Do you agree with this Andy?” You asked him to keep yourself strong during this conversation for him, and you did.

“Of course, yeah. Maybe. But the thing is I think I haven’t accepted it honey.”

You took both of his hands and squeezed reassuringly, “I have no idea what you are going through bub but I’m glad you are talking to me about this. Take your time; its going to be hard, but I’m right here okay? Whatever you need, I’ll do within my best ability.”

He hummed, but still hesitant.

“Andy its okay, tell me. Talk to me bub.”

He squeezed your palms even more tightly, turning towards you completely. “C-can I ask you a favour? I mean you can say no, I will understand.”

I’m ready to give you all the happiness in the world to you bubba. “Anything for you Andy? Tell me now.”

He didn’t meet your gaze, but instead shifting his focus to trace your knuckles, “My therapist told me to visit Jacob’s grave whenever I was ready, to mourn him, to accept he is no longer with me and you know…talk to him I guess. To process my emotions. And um…Oh god I am a bubbling mess Y/N.”

“Hey its okay baby take your time. There is no pressure.”

“I can’t do this alone honey…I need you there with me. Can you come with me to the graveyard?”

How could you ever say no to this solemn situation?

“Of course, honey. Absolutely anything you need.”

And what seemed like after ages, Andy Barber enveloped you into his signature bear hug. Both of you left a huge sigh of breath, relief washing over that both of you were slowly getting back on track.

Until you heard a rugged whimpers from the little boy beside Andy.

You didn’t want to tell Andy about this, but Nikolai’s nightmares were back and the little boy was finding it difficult to sleep at night. The new nursery still did not work for him, so he ended up sleeping on top of your chest; your heartbeat probably soothing him to sleep.

But Andy the experienced father he was, quickly scooped him into his arms and started cradling him, rocking him side by side with his arms protecting him, humming a familiar soft tune that seemed to calm you in the process too. You saw how Niko’s head was cushioned between Andy’s pecs and muscles, slowly relaxing and nuzzling into his touch.

Niko’s scrunched up face was now back to a peaceful baby lost in slumber.

Andy met your gaze and blinked at you with a smile and it conveyed so much than you think.

We got this baby. We all gonna get through this.

–

The decision to take Nikolai along with you and Andy was refuted by the latter saying that a young boy like him shouldn’t be visiting such desolate place.

“Children are the embodiment of new birth, new life. And graveyards, quite opposite.”

But you knew secretly he also didn’t was your son to see him in such a vulnerable position. You were grateful for the fact that the rough patch between you and Andy was solved; for the little boy saw Andy as his new father figure with Chad gone away with a new girlfriend.

Talking about Chad, he did not make efforts to meet his son; and you didn’t bother contacting him. Better off without him you wondered.

The drive to Jacob’s grave was a couple of hours away and ride in itself was a quiet one. Andy and you were informally dressed in dull colours, hearts dull too. You knew it was a big step for Andy and you were going to support him till he thinks he is over it. Car windows were rolled down, the fresh air making efforts to refresh you both.

You could also see Andy’s urge to interlink his hands with you while your drove and you did; Gripping onto his palm or occasionally rubbing his shoulders or thighs throughout the ride would help him calm down and relax his creased forehead.

When you both got down from the car it was so hard to read Andy’s thoughts. He came over to you and interlinked your palms and made way to the place where his son was buried.

Jacob’s grave was flowerless when arrived. Andy soon fixed that after leaving a wreath of Jacob’s most favourite flowers, daisies.

A graveyard, a place of death, sprouting trees filled with life here and there. The irony of life.

You didn’t know the boy but the aura of the graveyard, the impersonal feeling towards the dead even though you have no idea who they were beneath the stones made you heart sink. It then came to your senses.

The boy was just fourteen.

Both of you sat down near his grave, not caring about the grass and mud staining your clothes. He finally took away his palms from yours.

Andy spoke some kind words, rekindling memories of his son’s favourite pastime, his favourite stories and one of his embarrassing yet kind-hearted moments. He sought an apology on behalf of his mother, trying to make Jacob understand that his mother loved him so much, that it unfortunately ended tragically.

Another thought popped into your head, how couples these days separate over trivial matters, over materialistic matters, and infidelity. But Andy? He separated because his wife- No no. You didn’t want to complete that thought.

But after a while passed and you decided give Andy some needed space. He was probably going to be anxious, but it was for the best.

“Andy, you feel a bit better?” you whispered.

“You can say probably.”

Here we go. “I’m going to leave you two alone okay?”

“What? Honey. If I can’t-”

“You can Andy. He is your son, remember that. So, don’t hold back. I know you wanted me to be here with you and I did and I’m so proud of you, bubba,” you stroked his hair. “But unintentionally you may be holding back on expressing because I’m here and that’s normal.”

Why are you so good to me?

“I’m just going to be near the parking lot okay? I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him with a peck on his cheek and made your way back.

You shed your tears while you sat inside his car, thinking about the little boy. It was difficult thinking of losing a loved one that you gave birth to. He was too young. Too fucking young.

Oh, this cruel world, how you hated it so immensely right now.

Half hour passed by and you saw Andy making his way towards the car. It was so strange to think of this, but he didn’t look red eye rimmed like you; he looked the same with much more solemnity. He didn’t cry and that slightly bothered you. Maybe you had to accept the fact that different people process emotions differently.

He got into the car and took in your red eyes. He knew you had cried. Seeing you like that made his pull your lips onto his for just a chaste kiss, the first time you two felt each other’s lips after an eon. All he breathed into your lips was that we are going to be okay and drove back home with no word exchanged. For the upcoming hours, the fresh air offered you comfort, drying out those spilt tears along with the lingering touch of his palms; interlinked like their souls.

After coming back, you took advantage of Andy’s silence and maneuvered him to your home. He seated himself on the couch pulling out his phone and wallet from his pants and placed it on the coffee table.; trying to steal a quick nap while you picked up Nikolai from your neighbour Mr. Arthur.

Andy sleeping gave you an immense sense of peace, but for the little boy in your hands; not so much.

“WANDI!!!!”

He groggily woke up thanks to Nikolai running towards him, lying on his chest like he does with you. “Hey buddy.”

“You home yaay!” Probably meant that he was excited to see the man in house like the usual dinner nights. Nikolai calling him and telling he was home pricked him and at the same time felt so right. As cliché as it sounds, he always has heard this quote where Home is never a place with four walls to cover your head; home is where the heart is.

His heart was with you and Nikolai.

After eating Andy, and you began to do your dish washing routine, this time he washing the dishes. He was slow, but that was alright, you had all the time in the world.

Niko on the other hand was singing all the rhymes he learnt from daycare in different pitches, earning a chuckle from the both of you here and there. He was also carelessly playing with Andy’s phone and wallet, both of you seeing that the little boy had dropped all the contents of the wallet on to the floor. Once they were done Andy picked up the falling things patiently without chiding the little one like any other adult would.

He picked up his Dollar bills, receipts and then a forgotten thin strip of a photo roll.

It was him and Jacob.

The roll had four pictures of him and his son posing for the silliest pictures, the first three with their tongues sticking out in the goofiest angle possible. The last one however was so pure; Andy giving a forehead kiss to Jacob because he was so proud of his son, remembering he had bagged the highest grade in English that term in school.

Minutes pass and he didn’t notice his waterworks brimming. A blink and they would fall down.

And they did, when he heard Nikolai nudging him by the thigh. “Why you cwyin Wandi?”

That startled you enough to stop whatever it was you were doing and went to see what was happening.

Oh bubba.

You sat near Andy, touching his thigh for comfort while your son got closer to the photo that was in Andy’s slightly quaking hands.

“Who that Wandi?”

“Th-thats my son buddy. His name was Jacob.”

“Can he play with me Wandi?”

Everything just pricked. The boy’s innocent questions and Andy’s realisation of his emotions. This was too much to bear.

“No buddy he can’t-“

A hand around his shoulder, it was you. When he looked up his eyes were blurry from the tears that were falling. He was so upset he didn’t even realise you were next to him. It was you. Only you.

It was then you realised it finally that it hit Andrew that his son was dead.

“You don’t have to answer that Andy. He’s just a kid. It’s okay.”

The little one feeling that he had said something wrong hugged his arms with his little arms. “I’m sowwy Wandi. Don’t cwy.”

“I’m not buddy, I-I’m not.” He reassured the kid, and falsely assuring himself too.

“Wandi, I’m feelin sleepy…” “Yeah, let’s get you to bed buddy,” he cooed with his quivering voice.

“Andy I’ll take him-” But he refused to and took the child. You took a few minutes to pull yourself together after witnessing Andy so vulnerable. Even in these moments, he took care of your son. When you reached the nursery, Andy was whispering a lullaby to a dozed off Niko for a good ten minutes. He even spoke to the little boy, telling him that the measly Audi car painting he did in the room was going to protect him and his nightmares; and the boy believed because Andy said so.

Few minutes later and Andy didn’t refuse to hold back.

“I held Jacob like Nikolai, put him to sleep like Nikolai. My sweet precious baby, my innocent child Jacob. He didn’t do anything and he is away from me Y/N. Far far away-”

Andy let out a loud whimpering cry, the sound swallowed when he buried his head into your neck and your tears began streaming, him sobbing uncontrollably the next minute.

Andy and your tears began streaming; you pulled yourself together soon but Andy? He was weeping uncontrollably. You only could take him in your arms and offer him comfort. No words could heal his wounds instantly. He buried his face into your neck, his safe place, which made you remember the initial days with Andy when he lent a shoulder when you cried. Now it was your turn.

You whispered in ears how it was best not to do this near Niko and maneuvered Andy to your room. He held onto your arms as you took him to your room. You urged Andy to talk to you if the visit to the grave was still bothering him. He sought recluse in your safe place again, lying down on the bed, head tucked in your neck.

“Andy you can tell me anything. I promise it won’t affect whatever is between us.”

It was too twisted, he was distraught. He ranted about Laurie and how she unravelled into killing her own son. He slipped some details of how Laurie always kept bringing up past incidents of his son to prove that Jacob was the possible killer. He kept blaming himself that he was too weary with Laurie and that he should’ve seen her actions. Your whole body pricked; he was crying as he said all this.

You couldn’t imagine Nikolai and yourself in that situation. It brought tears to you eyes but wiped them off before he could see it. You let him talk as much as he wanted to, calming and soothing Andy in the process, running your fingers through his hair gently. You comforted him as much as you could and kept reminding yourself that this was the first time he came to his senses and realised he was crying out for his dead son; and so you were patient.

“My own wife murdered him Y/N. My Jacob. If I had been more attentive”

“Shhhhh Andy,” you cooed into his ear “Your circumstances were horrible. Don’t blame yourself bubba, none of this was your fault okay? Jacob’s death was out of your hands, it was an unfortunate accident Andy.“

Andy could stay all day in your embrace, his head on your gentle shoulders while your soft hair caresses made him doze off to sleep.

But his head felt like it was going to explode and he couldn’t let you see that.

“I’m going back home honey. I think I need to be alone tonight. I- I am not abandoning you okay, I promise, I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“Andy are you sure? Stay with me, I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I- I think I need to be alone for sometime you know? Please don’t be upset.”

“I’m never ever upset okay? As long as you are sure bubba; whatever you think is best for you okay? This house is always open to you.”

Kisses on the cheek were exchanged before he left your home. But you stayed awake, in the hopes he’ll be back because deep down you knew, he needed you.

You would give him space, and why not?

He was your home.

–

Andy soon realised he couldn’t. Staying alone was the worst decision he made.

Yes he did get the desired space he absolutely needed for like an hour and he did try to cease his crying, but his heart, oh his heart was pounding like nobody’s business. Anxious. Alone. Not cared for.

The walls of his room closed around him, his breathing becoming rugged, the laughter of his dead son echoing in his head. But he remembered he was cared for. By you. He had only you now.

He wanted, needed your soothing embraces, your kind words, your optimism, your affection. Everything.

He just wanted you now.

He had to forget. It was a bit past midnight, but it was you. His reliable rock; soon to become the love of his life. He had to forget what he was going though and in a moment of desperation, he texted you. His thought was confirmed, you would always be there for him.

—

Last and Final Part 5 on its way :)

#Defending Jacob #Andy Barber #Andy Barber Imagine #Chris Evans Imagine #Chris Evans #Andy Barber x reader #Chris Evans x reader #Andy Barber Smut #Chris Evans Imagines

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purpleandgreen13 · 4 years ago

Text

Gus and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

The lovely and talented @runawayface and I have decided to swap writing prompts to keep us from getting stale with our long WiPs.

Runa has already posted her response to the title prompt, (go and read it on her villagers page, it's fun!)

And here's mine, of course, we both had to include some Harvey in there too!

Gus and the terrible, horrible, no good very bad day

The Queen of Sauce was holding her ‘Autumn Bonanza Big Time Giveaway’ this evening. The whole of Pelican town was expected to gather in the bar tonight to watch the results. It was a big event in Stardew Valley and almost everyone had a ticket.

Gus had bought a ticket to this annual lottery every year since moving to the valley. Not once had he won. It wasn’t surprising. Everyone who knew Gus was aware that he might just be the unluckiest person in all of Pelican Town, if not the entire valley.

If there was a banana peel, Gus’s foot would find it and slip on it, if a bet was made, Gus would lose it, if there was a mirror, Gus would break it.

At least twice a week Gus would drop a glass or an entire tray of drinks in his bar, sending up a loud cheer amongst the drinkers present. He did it with such alarming regularity that residents began to worry that *their* luck was on the downturn if he didn’t achieve at least one broken glass every seven days or so.

Today had started well enough, the skies were clear and the air was warm, unusual for this late in the autumn, but had soon turned sour, literally. Opening the bar’s refrigerator, he cursed the overly warm weather when he realised that it had shut down and everything stored in there was ruined. Food that had been prepared for customers today was room temperature and already starting to smell.

Gus cursed his usual luck, shut the door to the fridge, tried turning it off and on again. Nothing. The fridge was well and truly dead. He shouldn’t be surprised, he’d had the fridge since moving to the valley almost 2 decades ago. He’d deal with the off food later, but now he had to replace the food he’d lost and set about ordering a replacement fridge before he lost too much business.

Somehow he managed to trap his tie in the door as he shut it, almost strangling himself. As always he blamed his bad luck.

He trudged over the Pierre’s general store with a list in his head for replacement food, but alas! His luck was out again.

“I’m sorry Gus, I’m waiting for a shipment from Westerly Farm. We’ve got precious little in stock. Oh! We’re having a run on creamed corn – it’s half price. Does that help?”

Gus scowled. This was NOT helping, but he replied in a pleasant manner, no use in taking his mood out on Pierre.

“No, but thanks for trying Pierre. I’ll walk up to the farm.”

As he left the shop for the path to Westerly Farm, Gus almost bumped into Doctor Harvey, leaving his clinic to take his daily walk.

“Sorry doc!”

“No harm done.” Said Harvey mildly before noticing Gus’s downcast face, “Are you alright Gus? You look like you’ve lost a prismatic shard and found a spring onion!”

Gus forced a smile at Harvey’s quaint turn of phrase. “I’m fine thanks doc, the usual ‘Gus’s luck’ kicking in strong today.”

“How do you mean?” Harvey frowned.

“Oh, you know, my usual story of bad luck. Oh come on Doc!” Gus bridled at Harvey’s quizzical look. “You must know that I have the worst luck in the valley? It’s common knowledge.”

Harvey, often oblivious to the gossip, or small details about people’s lives in the valley, was still frowning, “IS that what you believe? That you are, and forgive me if I’m putting words in your mouth, cursed with bad luck?”

Even Gus knew how ridiculous that sounded now he’d verbalised it. Embarrassed, he laughed, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Hmm, sounds like a bad case of confirmation bias to me Gus. Try and focus on the good things rather than the bad.”

“I’ll try. Well, I’d best get on. Thanks for the advice.” He turned to leave and was immediately hit in the head by a stray gridball coming from the direction of the Mullner’s house. Gus stumbled forward, losing his footing and fell heavily, with an audible thud he landed on his wrist twisting it at an odd angle.

Harvey jumped into doctor mode immediately, helping Gus into the clinic and applying an ice pack to the wrist and cleaning up the grazes on his hand. He bandaged Gus’s wrist to support it through the busy evening ahead.

“What were you saying about confirmation bias doc?” Gus grumbled.

“Hmm, Alex needs to be more careful when he’s training. An accident. Nothing to do with luck.” Harvey observed.

As he watched Gus leave the clinic, Harvey worried about him. Harvey worried about everyone, but he worried that Gus had led himself into a way of thinking that was detrimental to his well-being. He wondered what he could do to help. After a few moments in deep contemplation, he messaged his farmer friend from Westerly Farm.

Gus by way of coincidence took his leave of the doctor and made his way west to that same farm. Again, he was out of luck. There was a note on the door which read:

“Gone to the Skull Caverns. Back later.”

“DAMN!” Gus was starting to feel cursed. He had no food for the bar for the communal watch of the Queen of Sauce giveaway, he’d sprained his wrist and at this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to go and lock himself in his room for the rest of the day.

In the end he swallowed his loathing of big corporations and bought ready-made snacks from Jojamart in preparation for the busy night ahead.

“You hear about the Giveaway tonight?” Morris wheedled. The Jojamart manager’s unctuous tones grated on Gus’s nerves.

“Apparently, it’s a state of the art, brand new commercial fridge.”

Gus groaned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He had the ticket to the giveaway in his pocket, the thought of winning a brand-new fridge when his had just given up the ghost, was too exciting, but he knew he couldn’t build his hopes up. Not with his luck. And certainly not today.

By the time of the giveaway, that evening, the bar was packed full of people. Every table was full and every stool at the bar was occupied. Gus was pleased, but he couldn’t take his mind off the main prize in tonight’s draw. If only, for once in his life, his luck would change.

Last to arrive was the new farmer from Westerly Farm. They’d finally arrived after a tough day in the desert, excavating and fighting creatures in the Skull Caverns.

“You got my message then?” Harvey muttered conspiratorially over his glass of red wine.

The farmer nodded, just as secretively. They pulled out a small package from their pocket.

“I hope it helps.” They said kindly.

“Even if it doesn’t actually *do* anything, it might help to change his mind set. Thank you for organising this. It’s worth a try. You give it to him, you’re the gift giver in town, not me.” Harvey turned back to the bar and the farmer sidled up beside Gus at the bar. Harvey watched as the farmer, blushing a little, handed Gus the parcel.

Inside was a lucky rabbits foot. An item believed to bring luck to the carrier and something that Harvey hoped would make Gus think differently about his fortunes.

“A gift? You’re giving this to me? I- I’m speechless!” Gus was genuinely touched. He pulled the farmer into an enormous bear hug.

He slipped the rabbit’s foot into his pocket, where it would stay for many years.

And the prize giveaway?

The fridge went to a lucky family in Grampleton, but by that time everyone in Pelican Town had learned of Gus’s misfortunes and had a whip-round to help Gus buy a new fridge.

After all, he was always there for the town. Always there to lend a sympathetic ear or provide food and comfort to those who needed it. It was only right that sometimes the town was there for him.

As Lewis handed over the envelope stuffed with donated cash, Gus felt for the rabbit’s foot in his pocket.

Maybe his luck was changing after all?

#stardew valley #stardew valley gus #stardew valley fanfic #sdv #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley farmer

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official-archivist-keith · 5 years ago

Text

Eventually they reach the first town, Lance going off for a walk while Keith sits to watch as he pulls out the tape recorder.

"There is a sickness in this village. Perhaps you would not see it from a distance, and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss. But as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake.

The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants’ masks are hoarse and wet.

They move with exaggerated casualness, a parody of idyllic village life. And when they have a break from weeping, they reassure each other how wonderful it is in their village, or at least how wonderful it used to be.

Each is covered from head to toe in thick black fabric, and they never, ever touch.

Take a deep breath.

The air feels thick and soupy in your lungs, swarming with a thousand contagions digging into you, begging for you to join the village:

It’s so quiet there, and everyone cares for each other, far from the din and compacted flesh of the city.

In the center, a maypole stands, mildewed strips of colored cloth hanging limply from it like shreds of ragged skin. The base of the pole is ashen and charred.

The disease itself is nothing special. It begins as a small patch of discolored skin, the tiniest blemish. Scrub it off, and it is gone! For a few hours, at least. But it returns again and again, and begins to spread, a mold with tendrils that burrow deep.

It ranges in color from rancid yellow and corpse-fat white to the dull, angry purple of a fresh bruise. It itches, and burns, and you can feel it growing and spreading inside you, looking for the core of you. At least until it worms its way into your bones.

Beneath the coat of each terrified citizen of this sick village lies a lurking possibility, a nightmarish suspicion of infectious constellations of hungry mildew, a mutating technical atlas of rotten and pockmarked flesh.

But who can know for sure? Their coats are oh, so thick.

There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where no one could stomach to check. Where good neighbors wouldn’t dream to speculate.

But those who live here will tell you different. From behind their masks those friendly voices will tell you how it used to be: clean, and hygenic, and always bathed in sepia sunshine. They know in the guts of them this sickness has come from outside, that it is those from beyond the village that have done this to them.

They brought it here, they whisper to each other in the unnamed pub, hunched and bloated over their pale and stinking beers, lifting their masks to take a mouthful, puce faces and frightened sneers exposed for just a moment.

They couldn’t leave us well enough alone. They wanted what we have, our perfect peaceful life, and so they dragged their sickness here and damned us all.

The patrons speak quietly, ‘cause who can say for sure if the face behind a mask is a good, honest village face - or a sickness-bearing harbinger from beyond?

And people do still come to the village, for however thick the paranoia, however terrible the disease, there are worse things beyond.

They are stopped, of course. Beaten and stripped and checked head to toe for any sign of infection. The village council sees to that. Most are uncontaminated, though that does little to save them, while others are already laced right through with fungus of their own.

A few are spared brutality, and treated with such cordial politeness you must have thought their inquisitors old friends. Though there seems on the surface no rhyme to such decisions, were you to look below their coats, you might see the patterns of their mold were matched.

It is, alas, those who are unblemished who suffer worst. So incomprehensible is it that any from outside could be clean, that there might be another source or vector, the inspectors devise another theory: An invisible infection. A hundred Typhoid Marys spreading mildew and decay.

They keep them in the post office, wrapped in chicken wire, prodded and jeered and watched. Should they begin to show signs of the rot, then maybe, just maybe, they can stay for now, though nobody will doubt that it was they brought the illness.

But if they stay clean, if they continue to act like they are better, like they are above the sickness that it is certain that they must have brought to the village, then that cannot be endured. So they are taken to the village green, and the scorch marks at the base of the maypole get darker.

The villagers stand on the green to watch, ignoring the bending of the grass as it tries to worm its way through their boots. They watch the screaming outsider as the fire purifies them, and inside feel the gnawing panic of their own secrets.

For how long ago did they really come to the village? How deep did their roots go? Do any of them truly remember? What if they are an outsider? What if they’re found out?

No. Such fears are to be quashed and swallowed; they must stand strong; they must stand together as one body against the mass of those beyond the village who would see them degraded and destroyed. They cannot allow such secret terrors to break their unity.

And the maypole watches over all.

There is no house in town that has not found itself marked with the red cross of plague, but paint is fleeting and the villagers are so desperate to hide their state. Night still falls here, if only to give those that wish it a chance to try and hide their frantic denials.

As the weak dawn breaks, you may count the doors now painted white, and see who is more conscientious in covering their spongy skin.

The deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mold has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame.

Foremost in their denials are the village council, those loud and hardy souls who have taken it upon themselves to police this place, to safeguard their traditions and denounce the infection that is the right and proper punishment of those who would allow the village borders to be breached, and their ancient way of life to be compromised.

Their masks are blue and red and white, and their coats are the color of fresh ivory, stained sometimes with streaks of crimson from their dutiful ministrations. None would dare accuse them of infection, and to cross them or draw their eye is to invite the strongest diagnosis.

Head of the council is Jillian Smith. Her father’s father’s father’s father’s father built the maypole, carved from a jackalberry tree and painted in the colors of the village. This place is her home and her right and her duty, and woe to any fungus-riddled outsider who might believe it otherwise.

For no one would speak up if Jillian Smith were to mark you infected or declare you foreign. No one would lift a finger as they dragged you to the green.

Her gloves are purest white and never sullied, and they hide a cerulean mold that covers every inch of her, through skin, muscle, and organ, though she has no idea it runs so deep.

By night, she sits in the quiet darkness of her perfect cottage, peeling herself with a straight razor, layer by layer, desperate to reach the pure flesh she is so sure must still be in there, somewhere.

Her living room is the same suffocation blue as the rest of her, every surface piled high with her own discarded bloody skin, and she has no terror deeper than the thought she might be discovered. As she pulls spongy strips free one agonizing fiber at a time, she stares from the window at the house of her neighbor, Mrs Kim.

Mrs Kim is not on the village council. Mrs Kim keeps to herself. And Jillian Smith is certain Mrs Kim is not infected, and hates her for it.

What Mrs Kim is, is scared. Scared of her neighbors, scared of her friends, scared of the moment when someone will smell the spreading patch of darkness on her back, and decide she is infected, or remember she has only been in the village since her grandfather’s day, and judge her to be an outsider.

Should she accuse someone else? Send them to the village green? Perhaps she might petition to join the village council, though that would invite their attention as much as anything might.

Even through the masks, Mrs Kim knows the looks she gets in the pub. But what can she do?

When she hears the shouts outside and sees the smoke pouring from the thatch roof, she knows it is too late.

They drag her to the maypole, their masks hiding the tears of terror and angry shame, and lash her there with those strips of cloth that never seem to burn.

Mrs Kim does not fight, though she screams and screams and screams as all her fears are realized. Jillian Smith tries to smile as she watches her neighbor burn, but the fungus is too thick around her lips, and her face no longer moves.

As the flames consume the last of Mrs Kim in thick and acrid smoke, the mold reaches the bones of Jillian Smith, and she blooms.

In a moment she is swollen, bloated, bursting into a cloud of violet spores that envelop the green and those who dwell there, embracing them in a rot that long since seeped into the soil of this blighted land."

Keith sighs as he finishes, "End recording."

@scp-832

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

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Hi Connor, I hope you’re doing okay!!!!! 💖Thank you for letting me write this lil fic for your post about leaf pile shenanigans!!!!!! Everything you write, draw and headcanon for the Emmaverse is so perfect and I am so excited to write something within this beautiful AU. This got away from me a bit, but I hope it brings you some joy and you can vicariously enjoy the great outdoors through Jon, Tim, Martin and Emma’s mischief 🍁

From the front window of their new house, Martin has watched the tree turn from a bare-boned thing to blossom to vivid leaves firm even against summer storms. The tree has grounded him through sleepless nights with Emma since her arrival last year, through Tim and Sasha’s return to their lives, through Jon’s nightmares. A lighthouse against the Lonely. The house surveyor had told them to cut it down, unsure of how deeply its roots might reach, but Martin couldn’t bring himself to make the arrangements. He feels that he should give it something back, a repayment for its solidity, and so he has tended to it through the seasons with gentle dedication.

Alas, the leaves are a hazard now that they’ve turned orange and fallen. The rain turns them slippery, and Martin doesn’t want Emma to trip on them when she bundles him out of the door on the mornings he gets to take her to nursery, excited to have her Dad there after a long stint of nightshifts. Nor does he want them to disrupt Jon’s journey to the car on the days that his joints are stiff and he needs his cane. So he sees raking the leaves as part of his duty both to the tree and his family.

Martin falls into a happy and methodical reverie, until Tim interrupts: “You missed a spot.”

Tim is sitting with Jon on two rickety camping chairs they’d dragged out of the garage, ostensibly so they can watch Emma and an off-duty Iris play on the lawn. They’re both holding cups of tea, steaming in the cool, clear autumn air, and they have—until now—been catching up about work. It’s a busy time for them both: Jon is welcoming the new students, and the fire department are running their usual campaigns about safety with Halloween decorations and fireworks. Recently, Tim’s team even payed a visit to Emma’s nursery school to give a presentation, which she had gushed about for weeks afterwards.

Now, though, they seem to be up to something. As glad as Martin is to see them getting along, after so much and so long, he’s not sure he likes the matching mischievous looks on their face.

Martin pauses, leaning on the rake. He’ll humour them, just this once. (It will happen again, of course, but Martin always likes to pretend it’s a one-off.) “What do you mean, I’ve missed a spot?”

“He’s right,” Jon says, schooling his expression into one of seriousness, although the roguish glint lingers in his eyes, “By the drain.”

Martin doesn’t look, still playing along with his most petulant expression. “I started by the drain. It’s spotless.”

“We would never criticise your immaculate raking technique, Martin,” Tim promises, as if offended by the implication.

“We just wouldn’t want Mrs Jenkins complaining about her driveway flooding again,” Jon adds solemnly, placing down his tea, “Are you sure there are no leaves by the drain?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure,” Martin insists, trying not to smile and let on that he’s onto them.

“Because I can count at least seven from here,” Tim says, also balancing his tea on the concrete by his feet.

Jon tilts his head. “I would say eight.”

Tim nods exaggeratedly. “Jon says eight. And he remembered to wear his glasses today, so I trust his judgement.”

Only because Martin physically put the glasses on Jon’s face this morning, while Jon was going through the process of making cinnamon porridge half-asleep and on muscle memory alone. But Martin doesn’t mention this to Tim. Not that Tim isn’t well aware of Martin’s fussing, having—along with Jon—been bundled into a coat and scarf and gloves before being allowed to sit outside, justified by worried mentions of asthma flare-ups and ear infections and setting a good example for Emma.

Martin places a hand on his hip, still leaning on the rake. “Eight, you say?”

Tim and Jon nod in unison.

“That does sound like quite a lot of leaves,” Martin continues.

“You can never be too careful,” Jon says.

“Sometimes, the worst hazards start off small,” Tim tells them, “I would know.”

Martin quirks his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should check the drain, then.”

Jon nods, just once, managing to still look very serious. “Perhaps you should.”

“Well, then,” Martin sighs, taking his weight off the rake and beginning to turn towards the drain at the end of the driveway they share with their neighbours. He makes sure to speak loudly with his back turned. “Where on earth are these eight stray leaves?”

There’s the sound of a scuffle behind him, the camping chairs creaking and skittering on the concrete driveway, and a breathless laugh as Tim and Jon’s feet hit the ground in unison. There’s not much space between the camping chairs and the leaf pile, so Tim and Jon’s run-up is short but effective.

Martin turns just in time to see them launch themselves into the leaf pile, and he’s glad he constructed it on the grass rather than the concrete, because Tim and Jon don’t always think things through when they’re being competitive. Their landing is significantly cushioned, at least, and they end up on their backs, pillowed by red and orange leaves. Jon blows one out of his face and Tim laughs, loud and carefree, the sound echoing against the house.

“I won,” Tim declares.

“You did not,” Jon protests.

“Oh, I very much did.”

“Tim, if you are suggesting that—”

“If I’m suggesting what? That I was the county best at long jump between the ages of eight and eleven, and that gave me a natural advantage in this particular competition?”

Jon props himself up on his elbows on the leaf pile and looks imploringly at Martin, his glasses askew and a leaf stuck by its stem in the left hinge. “Martin.”

“I couldn’t possibly have seen who won,” Martin says, “I was busy inspecting the drain, which—like I said—is spotless.”

It’s at this moment that Iris lets out a slightly confused woof, as Emma abandons the mudpies they’ve been making together to copy her Baba and Uncle. She squeals, her little legs moving at full speed as she waddle-runs towards the leaf pile.

Martin’s too far away. He drops the rake, shouting, “Emma, no!”

But, of course, she doesn’t listen. She has a very specific mindset when it comes to times like this, an unshakable determination: Emma, yes. She runs to the leaf pile, stops clumsily in front of it, and then promptly jumps into its depths. Or, more accurately, she falls face-first into the pile, arms outstretched, her red wellies only just leaving the ground, and disappears through an Emma-shaped hole between where Tim and Jon are lying, looking somewhat dazed by the turn of events.

There’s a breathless moment, a frozen snapshot when the chilly late-afternoon turns momentarily sinister, all long shadows and suspended breezes. Martin doesn’t move, doesn’t hear the echoing clatter of the rake, until there’s a flurry within the leaf pile and then Emma emerges with a raucous giggle.

Everything rushes back into motion, the autumn colours warm and the moment welcoming again. Emma has popped up from the leaf pile like a meerkat from the ground, inspecting her surroundings, an image that is reinforced by her knitted hat with the attached bear-shaped ears. There’s a bright grin on her face, and a lyrical quality to her laugh that tells Martin she’s excited rather than hurt or afraid. Iris is circling and snuffling around the leaf pile, somewhat confused but not overtly concerned, and Jon smiles fondly as he picks leaves from the wool of Emma’s hat while Tim shakes with the force of his own laughter.

Martin’s breath whooshes out of him in relief and he finds himself laughing too, a little breathless. “God, Emma, you—please be careful, sweetheart.”

“I win, I win,” Emma says, clapping her hands together. Her mittens make her applause sound padded and soft.

Martin gives Jon a long-suffering look. Jon looks back, half-apologetic, half-look how happy she is, habibi. And it is true, Emma looks happy, rosy-cheeked and still laughing as Iris now makes her way into the leaf pile, too. It’s adorable. Martin’s losing sight of the possible dangers in favour of the cuteness, the fact that everyone is just fine. Better than fine. They’re happy, all of them.

“Alright, I concede defeat,” Tim announces, “Emma gets the title of Ultimate Leaf Leaper.”

Emma squeals in delight again. Jon pulls her further out of the leaves so she can sit on his lap, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he goes back to picking leaves out of her hat. Tim lifts his hand and Emma reaches across to give him an enthusiastic high five. Martin thinks he is going to melt into a puddle from the joy of it all.

“Stay right there,” Martin says to them, all thoughts of raking abandoned now, “I’m getting the camera.”

Later that night, they’re propped up in bed—Jon reading a battered library book about syntax in 19th century literature, and Martin clicking through the photos he’s uploaded from the camera to his laptop. Emma is fast asleep in her bedroom, after a bedtime story about a hedgehog making a home from leaves that Martin hopes will dissuade her from jumping into any random leaf piles she sees out and about, although he promised she can still play in the ones they make outside together.

“I’m definitely emailing this one to Sasha,” Martin says, angling the laptop towards Jon.

Jon folds the book carefully closed and looks at the photo. Tim and Jon are both half-engulfed by the leaf pile, with Emma sitting in Jon’s lap and Iris doing her best to likewise perch on Tim. They’re all grinning at the camera, bundled up in their coats and scarves and hats. It’s adorable.

“She’ll love it,” Jon agrees.

“It’s a shame she couldn’t come today.” Martin chews his bottom lip, shutting the laptop. “I don’t think we have any recent photos of her.”

“You’re not in it either,” Jon murmurs.

“Oh, well, I—someone had to take the photo.”

“Remind me, then,” Jon says, leaning over and kissing Martin’s hair, “To ask someone to take our picture when we go pumpkin picking.”

“Since when are we going pumpkin picking?”

“Since Emma told me she wanted to and I spent two hours Googling places nearby.”

“Not spooky—?”

Jon gives him a withering look. “Not spooky Google, no.”

“Good.” Martin smiles, a little shy. “We’ll get a family photo, then. At the pumpkin place. And we can frame it. And put it on the wall next to this one, and the one I’m going to take of Sasha and Tim next time they come over, and—oh, and that one of Emma on her first day at nursery I keep meaning to get printed!”

Jon smiles softly. “Our family.”

“Our family,” Martin agrees, “I’m really happy, Jon.”

He’s so happy he’s not sure what to do with it. He’s scared it will disappear, like fog through his fingers. He’s scared he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t tell Jon any of this, but Jon seems to understand, to feel it too.

“So am I, Martin,” Jon says, “So am I.”

Martin thinks of the tree, of its changing leaves, its vulnerability to the seasons, the way it antagonised the previous tenants of the house. And yet it’s still there. Martin thinks of his contentment in the same way, as he falls asleep next to Jon: a thing that might change, might grow, might retreat sometimes while blossoming at others, but it has deep roots, and he has no plans to cut it down any time soon, not anymore.

There we go!!!! I played Emmaverse bingo with myself with how many headcanons I could remember and get in here, but I’m sorry if I forgot anything or if the ages/order of events are a bit muddled!!!!! Thank you again for letting me write this, I had so much fun!!!!💖💖💖

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #emma #SKJDEJDJEKDJDJJ AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! THIS IS INCREDIBLE #your writing style is amazing my god it’s perfect #I love love love the detail about Martin not being in the picture #and the fear of happiness slipping through his fingers oh god #Jon and tim sitting outside together my HEART #oh my god and iris is the goodest girl I cry #emmaaaaaaa she’s so cuteeeeeeeeeee I can’t #so I’m gonna reread this 1000 times thank you so so so much #submission

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monomonomagines · 5 years ago

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DR2 Boys as Monsters with a Human S/o Part 2

Hello everyone, I’m sorry for my inactivity as of late. My bed broke recently so I’ve had to try to get a new one during Quarantine. However, I finally am able to get one and I come back bearing some good news! Mod Kokichi and I have been fleshing out our monster Au to the point that we have some extra content for the lore of the world and details with the characters and whatever we couldn’t fit into these imagines. Coincidentally, we do plan to also open an AO3 account in order to publish fully fleshed out content for the monsters and lore of the world we’ve made for them once we’re all set up. If anyone is interested in any art or lore that we have ready though, feel free to ask us and we’ll gladly share it with you. Speaking of, we have a place already to post art on our discord so you’re free to join us with this link if you’d like. https://discord.gg/M6TGwd

One more thing I’d like to add though is a warning for Nagito’s part in this. We couldn’t include much romance because of some lore we included with how his disease would work in this universe and with the limited space I couldn’t convey much development with him yet (where he isn’t quite as unhealthy or obsessive) so consider this just your first interaction with him. I promise though on AO3 or in further works he won’t be nearly as twisted as he might com across here. Besides that though, I hope that you all enjoy these. I had a lot of fun with them and will be getting back to other requests and matchups as soon as possible.

Part 2 (Part 1 here) (Part 3 here)

Gundham (Vampire)

By the time you got of work, it was late enough to see the last vestiges of the setting sun disappearing over the horizon, leaving behind nothing more than the chill of twilight.

However, there was nothing to do but to walk home as typical of you when it's still brighter.

As you passed by the familiar buildings, the park, and even a few side streets you began to only think of getting home and into your nice warm bed.

Perhaps it was those thoughts that caused you not to notice the man behind you but by the time he put a hand over your mouth and pulled you into an alley with him, you knew you had made a terrible mistake.

There were no words said as he pushed you up against a wall and buried his face into your neck, penetrating you with his fangs.

So that was it, he was a vampire. It'd be over soon you thought trying to reassure yourself as his inhuman strength overpowered you.

You tried with all your might to hold onto consciousness but alas it was too much. Maybe he was going to drink you dry after all, maybe this was the end for you?

When you awoke with a start those thoughts were still lingering in your mind. You felt so weak and this place, this definitely wasn't your room.

"Ah, you've awoken at last!" Announced that same vampire as he appeared by the side of the plush bed you were laid upon.

At least you assumed as you hadn't gotten to hear his voice. You didn't know what to say to him and at the very same time, plenty of accusations and questions flew from your mouth in his direction causing him to lose that gusto he seemed to have from a moment ago.

It appeared as though he hadn't considered for this to happen and unlike how he had last night he silenced you with his own statement.

"Silence, mortal! You should consider yourself lucky! It is not every day that you are a vampire as well known and feared as the legendary Gundham Tanaka's first victim!"

Proudly laughing he rambles on and on about his supposed grandeur before he finally settles down.

"Now what great power you are speaking to I shall inform you of what is to come as you had begged me earlier. You, mortals, tend to misconstrue what it is we full-blood vampires do with our first victim. We do not kill them, no rather we keep them by our side."

Oh brother. You knew for certain you did not want to stay with this guy and yet you still felt so weak. There was no way you could do much else than rely on him so you had to relent.

However, even though you started as an unwanted guess Gundham seemed to know how to take care of you, always making sure to be so careful.

He didn't seem like other vampires and as you began to talk to him you seemed to realize what had happened to you in actuality. Even if he hadn't realized it himself he slipped up by calling you his first victim.

He wasn't some long-lived legendary Vampire, he was a recently turned one that normally didn't drink from a human directly. You noticed with the way that he'd return with blood bags and never a scratch on him that he wasn't as evil as he seemed.

However, even when you questioned him he insisted on his obviously made up "Old Vampire Ritual" that you two were bound together and that he must take care of you as you two are now in a "symbiotic relationship".

A relationship in which he never actually drank from you instead mostly taking care of you because of that one time he could've killed you. Perhaps that's why you had fallen so hard for this creature of the night?

He was gentle and kind in his own right and every day that passed by ended up making you glad to be here. That's when you knew you had to tell him finally.

One night as he was bringing you dinner you had asked for him to stay and as usual, he listened to your desires sitting by you rather obediently as you two conversed.

"It is not like you to ask of my presence during your meals, mortal. Is there something you wished to say?"

What didn't you want to say? As soon as you could open your mouth all of it began to spill out again, like those questions you asked when you first arrived here.

You knew he wasn't a full-blood, you knew he just felt bad that he almost drained you, and you knew he didn't like drinking directly from someone if they were unwilling! You knew it all but most of all you liked him the way he was. You loved him even and before you could finish your ramble of a confession he had already pressed himself against your lips.

"Oh, how is it that a mortal like you can love a beast such as myself?"

Nagito (Zombie)

Though it was quite impulsive, you had felt implored to walk take a walk in the dead of night.

It was a humid summer night and with your clothes sticking to you and the hum of the ceiling fan relentlessly filling your ears you clearly needed to get a small break.

Grabbing a bag with a few small things such as a flashlight, keys, and whatever else you could possibly need during a night stroll you soon departed, forgetting just why it was so risky to leave your home.

As you continued on your stroll to the next block you happened upon the local graveyard which was always stirring with life, at least that's what you had heard.

Perhaps it was the humidity or the lack of sleep making you feel so careless but rather than heading back home you decided to approach the gates of the cemetery when a gloved hand came to press itself over your mouth.

"Don't scream, I just want to talk." A raspy voice whispers lowly into your ear causing panic to shoot through your body.

With your bag still in hand, you easily shake the offender off, swinging your bag at him as your eyes shut in fear. However, instead of any pained sound, all you hear is a sigh and multiple things hitting the ground.

Despite your head screaming at you to disregard that and run though you instead put on a brave face and open your eyes, noticing that he was now missing his arm and head.

"Ah man, this is so embarrassing," he starts only awkwardly scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "you wouldn't be able to uh, hand me my head would you?"

Wait, he's a zombie, isn't he!? He'll just try to bite you!

Even with your protests though he doesn't bat an eye only negotiating with you instead. "I know it sounds like I just want to bite you but I swear I won't. If it makes you feel better you can even grab me by my hair. There's no way I can bite you that way, right?"

Despite the position he was in, he still seemed fully capable of quipping at you so you relented. What harm will come from this guy if you can knock most of his limbs off with one swing?

Dropping your bag to the ground you tentatively grab his head by the hair watching as his expression doesn't change despite the tug on his scalp as you hand it over to his body.

To your surprise, he grabs himself the same way and somehow easily reattaches the head with his one arm intact. This must happen quite a lot for him to be so unfazed even with only one arm.

"Thanks again! You wouldn't mind tossing my hand over here too would you?"

He asks with a relaxed smile on his face. He didn't move towards you at all, seeming to wait for you to answer as you looked over and saw that gloved hand now laying by your bag.

He didn't seem dangerous but before you could find it in yourself to give him back all of his limbs you needed to know why he grabbed you earlier.

"Oh, that? Well, to be honest, I was trying to warn you about the graveyard. Tonights a full moon and it's when a lot of the more violent zombies and other monsters come out. That's why I didn't want you to scream either if you had well, you'd be found and eaten immediately."

But then why wasn't he attacking you or trying to eat you? You wanted to question him more but for the most part, his answer was vague.

"Well, I don't want to eat you. How about instead you toss me my hand and I'll walk you home? That's fair isn't it?"

You couldn't disagree, it did seem fair but you certainly hadn't expected this development in the slightest. It might not have been too uncommon for someone to escort you home but a zombie was surprising.

You braced yourself, grabbing ahold of the purely skeletal hand and glove as you tossed them over to him. Now with another question to ask. Was the glove to cover this?

"That actually has to do with how I got to be a zombie. It's a funny story since I'm pretty lucky but I was born with a disease that causes your brain to deteriorate. I wasn't supposed to live long and no matter what doctor I went to, none of them could do anything."

So why was his hand like this then? Did he already start decaying? Despite just meeting, he seemed intent on sharing his story with you as he gave you an awkward smile and continued.

"No one could cure me so I decided to take a risk. As a human still I sought out a Witch Doctor and ironically the only way to save me so that I could accomplish my goals was to kill me."

Popping his hand on with a satisfied look on his face he smiled at you.

"It's ironic but even with the ritual, I got lucky! She needed something as a sort of sacrifice I guess so she needed my hand or at least the flesh from it. I'll admit it was pretty painful since I was still alive but even then it seemed that it was destined to happen. A rare occurrence happened in which my hand was still intact and strong enough not to snap either! It was a miracle that the witch said must have been because the demons or dark gods had chosen me! Amazing isn't it?"

He puts his glove back on, looking at the hand fondly as you went silent. That was supposed to be amazing? Didn't he still die? What about his family and friends?

Despite your questions, his expression didn't falter as he calmly explained he had none. No friends and no family to come to his funeral. He died alone and seemed unfazed.

"That's enough about me though, we should be getting you home now."

Sure enough, he was right, however, something seemed off. How was it that he knew the way to your house? Even when you questioned him though he seemed so nonchalant.

"I know because you fill me with hope," he says expression growing dark, "I know from the way you walk to the way you talk, to the way you even eat your meals that you are what I need. It was such great luck for you to walk by tonight where I could talk to you where I can finally tell you how I feel."

Pinning you to a nearby wall he smiles as he asks you too frozen by fear to scream, "Did you think that any zombie would be so harmless? My goal is to bring hope to the world and in order to do so, I need you. You awaken the purest hope sleeping inside of me and for that, I can never let you go."

Before you can respond to his delusions he presses his lips to your own and that was the last of what you could remember when you woke up in your bed.

It was just a dream, it had to be you thought, but when you opened that bag and found a note in it you knew immediately that it was all true. You were being stalked by a Zombie of all things.

Kazuichi (Gorgon)

You were going on a jog through the nearby park in the evening when you chanced upon a figure in the distance.

Although you only saw their back, they were dressed in the brightest jumpsuit you'd ever seen. They definitely couldn't be up to anything shady in such an ostentatious outfit, you thought, so you called out to them as you drew closer.

As soon as your words pierced their ears they perked up immediately running over to grab onto you sobbing about how he got "left behind," when suddenly he froze.

"Wa-wait you're not a..." letting go and backing up from you like you had the plague you noticed why he was freaking out. You definitely weren't a monster and he definitely was.

The two of you ended up screaming from the shock as the monster clumsily ran in the opposite direction, tripping over the roots of an overgrown tree and falling with a sickening snap.

You couldn't leave him like this. Even as you approached he seemed scared out of his wits, wincing away as you tried to help lift him up.

"Please don't hurt me! Please don't kill me I...I beg of you! I'll do whatever you say!" He cries out between sobs, not realizing that you are just trying to help him out.

However, he was struggling far too much to help him either so you had no choice but to sit yourself down and reassure him.

"But how can I even know you're telling the truth!? What if you're just going to kill me later?" Despite his sobbing finally melting into mere shaky breathes he looks at you with nothing more than distrust as he tosses accusations around.

He might not believe you but at least he isn't thrashing about like a caged animal. This time promising, not to hurt him, you help him up allowing him to lean on you as he winces in pain.

"Shit, I think...I think I really hurt my ankle. It hurts just to stand!"

Though he had acted so high and mighty a moment ago, he instantly melts into your touch, letting you do most of the work as you walk to your house.

There was no way to transport him anywhere else without some basic medical attention at least. An idea that he wouldn't have taken kindly to if not from being so exhausted from your interactions in the forest.

Struggling to get your key out of your pocket with him leaning on you, you manage to open the door and lead him to your couch so that he could rest.

Turning so that you close the door behind you two, you hear him speak up once again.

"Hey uh...about before and all, I don't normally act so, so lame. I'm normally a lot cooler than that and-" You held back a sigh, cutting off his lame excuses by telling him that you understand.

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, thicker than the uneasy tension in the air as you began to tend to his ankle.

Occasionally shooting an uneasy glance in your direction, he once again opens his mouth trying to say something only to close it again.

You really hadn't expected to encounter such a cowardly and awkward monster and yet here you were with one sat on your couch as you ended to his ankle with an air of uncertainty around the two of you.

This time, you spoke up, trying to get anything to rid you of the heavy feeling in the air as you spoke. Besides, you did have your own questions that you wanted to be answered.

For example, what exactly is he? You knew he wasn't human but with his beanie on all you could tell was that he had greenish skin and snakelike eyes.

"Oh, that? I'm...a Gorgon," he responds, rather awkwardly as he reluctantly pulls off his beanie to reveal bright pink snakes that contrast his green skin.

Cringing as you let out a gasp he prepares for you to laugh but instead is met with the exact opposite. Did you call him cool looking? He, he was cool to you?

Feeling pride swell within him he smiles at you, the awkward air finally for a moment. A moment that certainly did not last long as one of his own snakes bit him.

"Shit! The hat where's my hat!?" He exclaims, patting the arm of the couch for it when you notice how it fell out of his reach as more snakes readied to sink their teeth into his face.

Running over to grab the beanie you hand it to him as he quickly contains his snakes that let out an audible hiss of disapproval. "Argh, they always do this but uh thanks. I must seem pretty lame right now though huh?"

Seeming down already from the altercation with his snakes you assure him that he's not lame although you do wonder why they dislike him so much.

"Well, they've never got along with me since animals don't really like me at all but they started getting really violent after I learned magic to dye them pink."

He learned magic to make them pink? That was incredible, you mentioned, praising him and causing a small blush to coat his cheeks.

"Yeah, I learned from a friend of mine. She's a lich actually so it isn't really an impressive spell for her but I guess it is kinda cool that I could learn it, huh?"

Agreeing with him that it is indeed pretty cool that he could learn magic, you soon finished with his ankle.

However, even as you finished you both continued to talk throughout the night. Talking about his weird Turned Vampire Rival, and his Alien soul bro, and other fun topics.

You didn't realize it but it must have been so much fun that you eventually fell asleep beside him because you woke up still situated on the couch. However, when you looked over Kazuichi was gone.

It was if it all was a dream or so you thought until that same awkward Gorgon appeared on your doorstep in the middle of the night days later.

Seeming nervous as usual he gave you a small smile. "Hey, S/o, yah mind if I come in?"

Despite your sleepy daze, you nodded as you led him to the same couch that you had fallen asleep on after talking to him for the whole night and took your own place next to him.

Per usual he was fidgety and nervous but you did notice one thing different about him. Unlike the last time, you saw him he had a one snake peeking out from his hat that was happily swaying as you sat next to him.

Following your gaze on the little guy, he began to blush again as he stammered an apology. "Sorry, I guess Lugnut is just really happy to see you again. I don't always tuck him in because he's the only one that can stand me, at least most days. When we met last time he hissed at me in the morning so I kinda just tucked him with the rest."

Scratching his head he waits for a response as you just stare at him in disbelief. Did he just call his snake Lugnut? Did he really name them all like that?

"D-don't look at me like that! I have to call them something to tell the difference between them!" He whines as you let out a laugh now that your initial shock wore off.

"It's not funny! I told ya I needed to be able to tell the difference!" He protests again, only forgiving you once you apologize for all the laughter.

"Great, now that you're done laughing and all I did actually have something I wanted to say." He states as his hat begins to visibly move.

"I...I wanted to thank you for last time. I know I acted like I didn't trust you the whole time and that I disappeared even though I was hurt but I really like you."

He stops to take a deep breath as Lugnut begins to move around excitedly. "I know this is really fast but it's just that no one has ever called me cool the way you do, or listen to me really, or let me go on about what I like and, and I want to keep being able to!" he announces, never faltering as he looked you in the eyes.

"Even if you say no, I want to keep coming over and talking to you like we did the other night so will you let me come over again?"

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #dr2 #danganronpa goodbye despair #danganronpa x reader #x reader #gundham tanaka #nagito komeada #kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda #mod toko #monster au

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youngmasterwisdomperson · 4 years ago

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Okay so @cosmermaid made this post where she made a cosmere-sona based on certain circumstances of her life and my brain won’t let me focus on anything else until I do so as well so here we go. This is probably gonna get really self-indulgent so be warned. It started off as “Let’s make a Cosmere world hopper based on my irl personality and backstory” and soon morphed into “how my obsession with the mechanics of investiture would inevitably drive my Cosmere self to seek mastery over every form of magic they could get their hands on and basically become an immortal world-hopping storytelling demigod like Hoid but way less cool or interesting.”

So that’s what you’re in for if you keep reading. Cool? Cool.

Okay then. Without further ado,

My Cosmere-sona, I guess.

Descended from Era 2 Scadrians. Twinborn Soother (Brass Misting) and Pinnacle (Electrum Ferring), educated, raised Survivorist but converted to Pathian after deciding I liked its philosophy and means of worship a lot better. I use my Feruchemical ability to combat my ADHD, essentially magically medicating myself by regulating my determination. I didn't snap until around age 11, at which point my access to feruchemical determination made my grades skyrocket. I later world-hopped to Roshar, tried studying to be an artifabrian for about a year but decided it wasn't for me after bonding and befriending a Mistspren, becoming a Truthwatcher, after which I went and began studying to be a worldsinger, using the lightweaving aspect of my surgebinding to create realistic scenes as I tell stories and travel the cosmere seeking to constantly learn and seek truth, as my radiant oaths require. I can use the Healing part of my surgebinding and my Allomantic soothing to help nullify pain and suffering where I can, but the break in my spirit web allowing me to bond my spren in the first place that comes from *ahem* certain mental health issues never lets me believe what I do is enough. I also have a Seon with whom I communicate with my various friends throughout the cosmere and keep up to date with news.

I mostly operate from Scadriel, using the Mists to fuel my surgebinding because it's a lot safer and more convenient than whatever Roshar has going on. I frequently talk for hours and hours with either my spren, my Seon, or someone on the other side of said Seon at absurdly late hours of night, and I'm still waiting on Harmony's response on why I couldn't have been born a bronze compounder so I wouldn't have to sleep, or with electrum Allomancy instead of brass so I could have infinite determination and become a productivity GOD.

I would buy breaths from Nalthis if I had the money to do it, but alas, being a world-hopping worldsinger, though spiritually fulfilling, isn't the most lucrative of occupations. Such is life. I'm currently working on figuring out how to use the investiture I get from surgebinding the Scadrian Mists to fuel my allomancy and feruchemy as well, possibly increasing my investment and making me potentially a full mistborn and feruchemist, but that's a work in progress. And it's not like Harmony is being very helpful by giving me any answers. What's wrong God? Afraid of what I'll do with bronze and electrum compounding? Huh? Coward. Anyway I think I'll be much more easily able to seek truth if I can allomantically track active investiture, increase my sensory sharpness, have infinite memory, determination, bodily energy, and mental speed, and all that other stuff Feruchemy adds for dealing with various environments. And if my current method works I should be able to learn to fuel said abilities entirely off of the Mists or Stormlight, which is really exciting. And maybe if I do that I can go to Nalthis, buy one (1) breath to get an investiture sample, and use Nicrosil compounding to get as much Nathian investiture as I want! That'd be cool. But for now I guess I'll just use my magic the same as everyone else.

This has been me making a Cosmere-sona, I guess. Thanks for bearing with me. I swear it wasn’t my intent to make an absurdly powerful character. I did twinborn because that seemed to suit the setting I’d chosen to represent my place of birth, era 2 Scadriel, and I wasn’t about to make a completely uninvested character. That’d be boring. Then I figured the best Cosmere equivalents of the professions Engineer and Teacher were Artifabrian and Worldsinger, and I figured if I was gonna spend an extended amount of time on Roshar I may as well bond a spren. Got mental health issues so I qualify for a Nahel bond and in that case why not? Took the official quiz and it was between Truthwatcher and Edgedancer and I decided the prior suited me better so I went with that. Then I got into my own head in such a scenario, and decided if I was gonna fulfill my Truthwatcher oaths I’d have to seek further knowledge, and that led me toward learning about investiture by observing the intersections between surgebinding and Allomancy and Feruchemy as I inevitably played with my powers. And I’ve contemplated such topics more than once on this blog so that led me to using Mistlight to fuel all my investitures and enhance my existing investments, which I figure would inevitably lead my Cosmere self to figuring out how to use surgebinding-based access to large amounts of Scadrian investiture to increase my investment in both my metallic arts and gain access to the rest of the metals as a result, at which point I figured I may as well get Investiture bingo and use Mistlight-fueled Nicrosil compounding to make more breaths after getting a sample of Nalthian investiture and reach at least the fifth heightening so I could become immortal. And that’s why twinborn world hoppers are op if they’re dedicated enough to learning about how magic works. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#cosmere #mistborn #the stormlight archive #investiture #Cosmere-sona I guess #self indulgent

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captain-aralias · 5 years ago

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“This is why he’s never had a girlfriend”- Carry On chapter 60, timeline and map

One final week to order @goldendayszine !

We got an email today that said: Please help us continue to spread the word about the zine. We have created a preview post for every contributor on all three of our social channels. Feel free to share these posts and/or repost them. You could post something completely different, too!

So I thought I’d post some bonus material I’d been thinking about.

My zine fic, The sweet fruit of a palm tree, is set in chapter 60 of ‘Carry On’. Specifically, it’s an explanation of these lines:

“We have time to kill after we leave his aunt’s, so we go to a library - the big one - and then to the reading room and the British Museum where Baz steals at least a half dozen books ... When the museums all close, we walk around a park, then find a place where I can eat a curry while he looks through his stolen books.”

I live in London. I’ve read this chapter many times and never thought anything odd about what Simon says happened. When I started to try and write a fic, though, it started to unravel.

Incidentally, none of what I’m about to say matters, because none of it changes the fact that Chapter 60 rocks.

Nonetheless, here is an approximate timeline based on the facts, as well as some notes from me ...

3-4pm-ish: Baz drives to Fiona’s from Hampshire. Fiona tells us there’s still enough light to bother Baz, but this implies that the light is fading. In December, sunset in London is generally around 4.30pm, so I put this scene at around 3pm. I don’t think it makes any sense to move it earlier because then they have longer in London together and not enough to do. It does feel like the early evening.

Fiona says she’ll take Baz back to Chelsea to get sozzled in ‘Carry On’, but Baz refers to a flat in Camberwell in ‘Wayward Son’, so I’ve assumed this is where the two of them live and Fiona says ‘back to Chelsea’ merely meaning that they will be leaving Watford and heading back to London.

Baz drives 30 minutes into London, incurring the congestion charge. He parks in car park near the British Library, and walks 13 minutes back to the Library.

4pm: British Library, but they don’t stay long because there’s nothing to see at the British Library.

4.30pm: Baz does not pick up his car because it would take them another 13 minutes to get the car, and then he’d need to find somewhere else to park it near the Museum. He and Simon walk to the British Museum, which is still open, but only until 5.30pm. It’s open late on Fridays (until 8.30) - if Carry On is set in 2015 (Simon is 18, born in 1997) then the 23rd December is a Wednesday. In my fic I claim that it’s open late over Christmas to give our heroes more time in the museum, but this, alas, is ‘dramatic licence’ and not based on reality, as far as I know.

The British Library incidentally is the opposite - open late Monday-Thursday, closes early on Friday.

5.30pm: The Museum is closed.

N.B. As I say, in my fic all of this happens several hours later, assuming the Museum is open late. The action in the fic takes place at 7pm.

They walk back to the car park, pick up Baz’s car and drive to a park. I’ve assumed Hyde Park. They walk around for a while, then go to one of the many many curry houses that surround this area.

11.30pm: Curry house closes. “We wait until after midnight to go looking for the vampires.” Baz tells Simon to get in the car (so they must have brought it with them) and they drive 10 minutes back to Covent Garden/Soho.

2am: Meet vampires after two hours of walking around.

Some notes on the real London:

Cars:

It’s not that you can’t drive in London, it’s just not a very good idea. Baz must really really like driving - and expensive parking, because after Camberwell to central London (reasonable if you assume he couldn’t bear to take the 176 bus which would take him directly into Covent Garden), everywhere they go is about a 5 minute drive or a 10 minute walk ... and if Baz doesn’t want to waste time, he won’t drive because all the parking is about 10-15 minutes away from their destination.

This is because there aren’t really areas that you can park on the street in Central London, although there are car parks. (N.B. You may have noticed that in Hang the Moon, Daphne makes him take the train - this is because it makes much more sense from Hampshire.)

If I was Baz and I’d brought a car to London, I’d park up in Covent Garden, which I know I have to come back to later, and then spend the rest of the evening walking around with Simon. Yet we know Baz takes the car with him to the park - and then drives back to Covent Garden, where he must leave the car somewhere on the street, which probably is plausible at this time of night.

What’s less plausible, actually, is that the road is so busy that he needs to spell it clear. London is a busy city during the day, but thinking about it the streets are empty after midnight.

British Museum/British Library:

We’ve already talked about opening hours and how these work. Let’s talk about the setting.

This is the reading room at the British Museum -

The one thing that became very obvious to me once I started writing a fic set in this chapter is that the British Museum’s reading room stopped being used to house books in 2007 - they were all shipped to the British Library. As discussed, ‘Carry On’ probably takes place in 2015ish.

By this time the reading room was completely closed.

It was used until 2014 as an exhibition space, though, so this is what I went with. Given that I already knew it was closed, you’d think it wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t being used as a library, but I figured 2014 was much closer than 2007.

The Shakespeare exhibition they visit in my fic was actually staged in 2012. You can read more about it in The Guardian. I can’t work out whether I went to it (I remember the Brutus coin they mention in the article, but possibly it was re-used in another exhibition). Again - the reality seems to be that there weren’t many books in this exhibition, either, but there are enough, and I tell you what, Baz steals them all.

It would have been much easier if he’d stolen books from the British Library.

Why Hyde Park?

The vampires have a bar in what Simon euphemistically refers to as ‘Covent Garden’. I expect the bar is actually in Soho - which is a famously gay area.

Hyde Park is a famous gay-cruise area. Baz could also have taken Simon to Hampstead Heath, which would have justified the drive, to the same effect.

Although - as I say - none of this actually matters. But it’s stuff that was going on in my head while I was writing.

Enjoy the fic.

And please buy @goldendayszine

Incidentally, I realised after this preview went up, that my fic was set on the 23rd of December, rather than the 24th ... That’s how qualified I am to lay down the law about this stuff i.e. not at all.

Apparently it’s not likely there are bells over the doors of shops in Las Vegas - I don’t care. I’m leaving them in ‘Greener Grass’. It’s worth it for the gag.

#my meta #carry on #my content

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fizzyxcustard · 5 years ago

Text

I Will Be Beside You.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Summary: From the recently posted imagine “Imagine you think Thorin detests you. In fact, he’s madly in love with you but has personal reasons for keeping away”. One night in Lake-town, you decide to confront Thorin about his behaviour towards you, but his response is FAR from what you imagined.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader, Thorin Oakenshield x Human!Reader

Warnings: Angst (LOTS OF ANGST!), tooth-decaying fluff

Word count: 1121

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be added to my tag lists for a particular fandom, character, or even everything, please send me an ask or a private message and I will add you. As always, all imagines I post can be requested as fics. This one wasn’t requested, but I just had the urge to write it. I’m now also going to put in my descriptions the music I listened to whilst writing this.

Music inspiration/listened to for this piece: ‘Compass’ by Two Steps From Hell (from the album ‘Miracles’)

Masterlist of fan fiction here

After the celebrations in the town square with the Master of Lake-town, all of you retired to Bard’s house, clambering under blankets to keep yourselves warm. There was chatter in the air, excitement and apprehension about leaving Lake-town and getting to Erebor on time, before the last light of Durin’s Day.

You helped Tilda and Sigrid make warm drinks for yourselves, Bard and Bain. The Dwarves were enjoying more intoxicating beverages which would no doubt put them straight to sleep for the night. Thorin had ordered you be the one to wake everyone to make sure no one was late for the boat journey towards the Lonely Mountain.

All the time that the drinking went on and the laughter rose, you couldn’t help but remain distant, cut loose from the rest of the Company. Even Bilbo was enjoying himself, the first in quite some time since the beginning of the quest. Thorin, you noticed, as usual, had his arms crossed, inspecting everyone else. Then his eyes met yours; his expression remained stern, almost angry. Why was he like this? Why did he hate you? You felt the pain of hot tears and a lump rose in your throat.

Angrily, you stormed outside into the cold air. Flurries of snow were falling around you, and high above, stars were beginning to peep out from behind thick cloud.

No one came to look for you. No one had noticed you disappear. They had all been too caught up in their own merry-making to notice your sudden exit from the house.

You couldn’t understand why Thorin detested you the way he did. His answers were always short, snappy and whenever you stood in front of him, he scowled. Was it because you were a woman? A human? The rest of the Company treated you well enough and called you one of their own, but Thorin made you feel like an outcast and something that needed to be watched at all times and not trusted.

Time slipped by and you lost track of how long you sat on the bottom step leading out of Bard’s house and down to the walkways which made up the town built upon a lake. The cold was becoming painful now and you shivered, your arms clasped so tight to keep in any last ounce of warmth that you had somewhere inside you. But you knew you couldn’t stomach going back inside.

Footsteps came, banging hard down the steps and then a voice spoke. “What are you doing out here?”

Anger within you hit full tilt and you shot around, your entire upper body facing Thorin as he descended the steps. “Why do you talk to me like I’m nothing but excrement on your boot? Why do you hate me somuch?” Your shoulders shuddered in grief and frustration. “What have I done to deserve you detesting me?”

Thorin stopped in his tracks and felt nothing but shame, pain, guilt….and love. That was all he had ever felt for you: love. Nothing else could ever come close to what he felt for you. Even the red hot hatred that burned in his gut for Azog the Defiler was nothing in comparison for his love for you. The love was consuming him piece by piece and watching you cry made him clench his fists in disgust at himself.

You turned away from Thorin and continued to weep. “I’ve done nothing but support all of you, and even put my own life at risk…”

“Shhhh,” Thorin’s hushed tone came, and he picked up your hand.

Your head rose from its position against your chest and through teary eyes, you looked upon Thorin. His face was full of concern and sadness, grave sadness.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and kissed the back of your hand. “Hate is something I could neverfeel for you. Of everyone in my life, you are the last person I could hate.”

Your chest lurched and butterflies began to flutter in your gut. “Why? Why have you…”

His words cut you off. “I carry burdens on my shoulders and no one else should ever have to bear them, least of all the one who has my heart.”

You gripped Thorin’s hand tighter, your fingers lacing in his, and you turned in towards him. “Your burden is carried by all of us, Thorin, and you don’t see that. Every one of us: me, Bilbo, all of the Dwarves who heard your call to them; we carry that with you.”

For the first time since meeting him, you saw Thorin smile. His eyes sparkled with hope, love and absolute joy.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on Thorin’s brow, lingering there for a few seconds. “You are so loved,” you whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

“Do you forgive me for acting in the way I have?” Thorin asked, his voice a whisper as you rested your head against his.

“There is nothing at all to forgive. I just want to ease your burdens and be beside you.”

Thorin lifted his head and looked upon you for a few seconds and then he swept you both into a kiss. It was so quick that you lost your breath, being completely caught off guard. Thorin’s calloused, yet gentle palms cupped your cheeks, and his fingers dried your tears. Both of you held each other tight and deepened the kiss, feeling warmth rise.

As your kiss ended, Thorin was still smiling. He took your hand again in his and looked upon both of them, joined. He chuckled, finally feeling his heart soar, rising from the pit of anguish and despair.

“I want to come with you tomorrow,” you told him, speaking against his previous demand that you stay in Lake-town.

“It is far too dangerous for you, my love,” Thorin told you, the smile slipping from his face. “We may all find ourselves cast into dragon fire come this time tomorrow, and that is not a fate I wish for you to endure. If I am to die, I want to die knowing that you are still able to live a life of happiness.”

“I’d rather die next to you than have to live the rest of my life without you,” you replied, feeling tears fall down your cheeks again.

“There is not only Smaug to consider, but my grandfather succumb….”

“I know what happened to your grandfather, and I’ll be there with you. I will be beside you.”

Thorin’s gaze left yours and he looked down at the wooden slats beneath his boots and then lifted his head back up, looking at you. “If we are to find ourselves victorious, would you do me the honour of being my Queen?”

Follow Forever tag list:

@himoverflowers @shikin83 @theincaprincess @deepestfirefun @nowiloveandwilllove @houseofrahl @mynameisnoneya1991 @blankdblank @captainrainbowpanda @cd1242 @c-s-stars @thorins-magnificent-ass @patanghill17 @trees-and-ink @inumorph @leah-halliwell92 @msjava1972 @bespectacled-bunny @ghostlyandee @raindancer2004 @dottiechan @captain-almighty @hobbitlover23 @catthefearless @epicallychrissy @nelswp @adaliamalfoy @spn-obsession @armitageadoration @peneigh-dzredfohl @here2have-fun @greendragonette @littlebird54 @thophil2941btw @princessoferebor94 @banlaochranda @wilhelmyna @gabrieleaquaman@rachel1959 @serpensortia06 @rcrispina @kategorically-challenged @tigereyesf @jumpingmanatee @alae-megallen @tschrist1 @inlovewithamantwicemyage @aspiringtranslator @princessofthefandomrealm @letsbeinspiredby @lilith15000 @lealina-scarsdale @scarsfanfictiontrash @mechromancing-cinnamon-roll @ra-of-light @jassy2101 @durinsqueen @hariclea @sherala007 @onewithleaf @legolaslovely @michelem703 @bthtallmadge2 @marieannetora @ladybugg1235 @valuedabovehoardedgold @tiredwritersworld @xxbyimm @miabee0706

Thorin Oakenshield tag list: @exhausted-human-being @samara-marty-art @theelvenvalkyrie

The Hobbit tag list: @fentah @hails270105 @online-imagines-reader @emrfangirl @fountainsofsilver

Richard Armitage tag list: @inkededucatednnerdy @crazytxgradstudent

#thorin Oakenshield #The Hobbit #Fanfiction #Imagine #Thorin Imagine #Thorin Oakenshield Imagine #The Hobbit Imagine #Thorin x You #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin x Chubby!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Fluff #Smut #Angst #Insecurity #Love #Requited Love

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watchtheblog · 4 years ago

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petty cache

thank you for coming to read my diary which masquerades as a blog but is actually just a vessel for disseminating my birthday wishlists. it’s like an event you show up to where the host tries to sell you a timeshare 25 minutes after some requisite, mindless song and dance.

welcome! if you’d like purchase a timeshare, scroll to the bottom. for the song and dance, look no further:

the other day i zoned out on zoom therapy and when my therapist asked where i “went” i had to lie because i had gone to the part of my brain that holds all the things i need to think about forever for no reason (i call it the petty cache — this is an umbrella term for the space that also houses my attitude cabinet) and dusted off a memory of a comment i saw on a stranger’s facebook three weeks ago that said “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”.

i don’t know either person, and that’s what i was thinking about. i spend $[redacted] a month on therapy and instead of focusing on one of my numerous unsolved mysteries, i was thinking about the nuances of this comment - like why they wouldn’t just share the news or message the person directly? or what losing their password had to do with anything? or why they would comment on facebook instead of texting or calling the person. did they not have their number? imagine not knowing someone well enough to have their phone number, but still wanting to share your good news with them!

all i want (for my birthday) is to know what the news is that this stranger has to share, and i’ll never know so i have to put that comment in my minutiae repository with all the other things that will plague me until i die from texting and driving, smoke inhalation as a result of purposely leaving a candle lit in my home overnight almost every night, consuming half a dozen hot dogs a week, or a now unnamed disease that will posthumously be attributed to my chronic inability to mind my own business.

i’m constantly concerning myself with things that are none of my concern - no matter how insignificant - because my brain is a commune of sentient pepperoni running instagram polls among themselves to discern if something is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about. and guess what? it turns out absolutely everything that has ever offended, confused, bothered, intrigued, slightly inconvenienced, or merely happened to me is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about.

because i devote so much energy to nonsense, i can often be found persecuting strangers for insulting me on the internet (and for other miscellaneous bad behavior). the information superhighway is my home so i have to protect myself (and my friends) here, and if that means spending 45 minutes to 48 hours trying to find every misstep you’ve made in your life until i have enough ammunition to spray a dozen simulated retaliatory bullets at your virtual head because you called me a “stupid bitch” on instagram, well… so be it!

i am relentless in my pursuit of wasting time, so if that doesn’t work, i will find the cold stone creamery you frequent, seek employment there, be hired on the spot, learn the craft, be promoted to manager, poison you on your birthday, gain access to your funeral, and tarnish your reputation by reading your shitty DM in front of the few family and friends whom i haven’t already made aware of the abhorrent way you conducted yourself online!

there are so many different ways strangers will try to hurt your feelings — an interesting genre of which come from men who (like me) have definitely never had sex before, and mistakenly think i care about the ways in which my body does not make them horny.

“no tits” one will say. and i’m like, how do you want me to respond to that? my boobs are indeed small, yes. did you come here to shoot facts back and forth all day? ok: you’re going to start balding way sooner than you’re prepared for, i bet your childhood dog is dead, your time on the internet should be supervised, your closet is full of vests, and you wait on line at nightclubs… good day?!

while i will obviously engage with anyone if they want to fight, i prefer when the unsolicited criticism is personalized, and not just thoughtless, lazily devised tripe.

a year and a half ago, a man who looked like he exhales smog DMed me to let me know - among other things in a paragraph long rant - he’d “lost brain cells” watching my story. knowing he had likely never had an adequate amount to begin with, it seemed like an emergency, so i started a group DM with his wife. because his message had come just three days after a “fuckkk [heart eye emoji]” response to a photo of my ass, i included a screenshot as evidence of his devolving mental state.

being - presumably - gainfully employed, neither of them responded.

luckily, the consolation prize for insulting me is that you gain residency in my brain and stay in my thoughts and prayers for all eternity, so i checked in on them a few days ago. they’d unfollowed and wiped their feeds clean of each other!!

because i’ve never “moved on” in my entire life, i fired up our long dormant group chat, and sent my condolences: “aw. sorry your trip to positano - where you were going to attempt to repair your ramshackle marriage - got cancelled because of covid and so you just got divorced instead :(” i wrote before being blocked by both of them.

then i headed right over to my therapist’s facebook and commented “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”

i spent an entire therapy session detailing this monomania before my therapist thoughtfully suggested i “pick [my] battles”.

to which i thoughtfully responded: yeah, babe. i pick every single one.

***

timeshare time! it’s the same list as this post, with a few additions (at top) (and edits based on availability).

places to donate food education fund pretty brown girl the okra project

some furniture stuff a side table a pointless, laughably tiny little thing this website is calling a “drink table” a lamp one of these benches i do not want this but it’s important to me that at least 2 other people know it exists

this plant that obviously does not need to cost $165 but idk how to shop economically

air pods

gifts from the previous post - all still v much in play!

a pair of shoes (size 8 or 38) one pair, another pair, yet another, these are on sale, these are not, and a final pair

a specific clutch with three color choices they allege this color is called sand but it looks white to me, pink, green for those who do not know what malachite means (it couldn’t be me. i learned it 3 hours ago when i began compiling this cursed list)

something everyone with money to waste needs this

dresses i’ll never be able to wear until there’s a vaccine because unlike someone tacky who knows me, i won’t be having a birthday party in the middle of a global pandemic (hi, you fool) white polka dot, not white polka dot, also not polka dot, a red dress, a skirt (aka half a dress), a black dress

this sweatsuit xs in this, small in this

is sephora cancelled? i want this hair dryer which i’m sure you can buy elsewhere if sephora is cancelled, which it v well may be

this item which you may think is cheap but actually it’s not soooo a hairpin

earrings one pair, another pair, and another

this dress which i’ll never wear anywhere even when there is a vaccine because… what?! but maybe. you never know. size 34. lol when i get this far into the list i’m always blown away by how insane it is that i do this every year to no audience. so i’m just laughing alone at that. :) i am v funny to myself. another dress i’ll never wear ;)

the nicest weighted blanket you know of i’m depressed!!!!! if you can’t tell!!!!!!!

every year i have asked for a weekend bag and every year i have not received one, so alas, we try again this is not a weekend bag actually but it will do. this is!

a peloton but just venmo me the cash (@merce212) because i have a hookup

an assortment of ridiculous things a $500 body scarf a $580 beach towel with an octopus on it for no reason besides “art” i cannot tell analog time but it’s never too late to start!! how mad would you be if someone bought you a roulette table for your wrist? be honest. (THIS WATCH IS FOUR YEARS RENT!!!!!!) they won’t say how much this costs :( i’m losing my mind and must be gifted a chanel watch or else i will perish. to put my salami on when i am eating salami in my bed “24k gold crocodile [?!!) teddy bear”. the website says there’s only one left, which begs the question “why did someone buy one of these rather than buying me a chanel watch?!!” *real ‘billionaires shouldn’t exist [unless they’re buying me a watch]’ energy* to put my new watch in this is ugly but it’s on sale :) idk wtf “secret box pendant” means but i wish this necklace was also a USB with every season and spinoff of 90 day fiancé on it hi yes i’m stupid but i draw the line at $1500 connect four…

#things i want #things I want for my birthday #lists of things #lists of things i want #my birthday #birthday lists #9/26; never forget #invidious consumption

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

Text

xxx. cups opened in thousands for their blood,

AO3 Link HERE.

also i’m slapping a big old content warning on this for torture

====

Nightfall was approaching and that meant it was time to set aside the day’s work.

Frieda Miller set aside her knitting needles and sighed, flexing her cramped hands before rubbing absently at the swell of her growing belly. She had hoped that the Hearer might countermand some of Aurelia’s orders, only to discover much to her chagrin that the old man’s advice was even more stringent. As tempted as she was to simply disregard it - she had four children, after all! - she wearied of lectures. If it put the conjurers at peace and left her the management of her home at least, she supposed she could play along until the babe was born.

But Frieda wasn’t one to simply sit about waiting for something to happen, and in the meantime, there were some things she could do even from early confinement.

The rickety whirr of the spinning-wheel made her smile. She pushed herself carefully upright, stretching her stiff back as best she was able.

“Bran,” she said, “you can stop for today, there’s a good lad.”

Her second-youngest looked at her with wide eyes. He was a solemn and softspoken boy, bless him, more like Rauffe than any of their other sons--more prone to thoughtfulness than his brothers by far and strangely conscientious for a child of but six summers. Hearer Ewain had once said that he had an old soul, and she believed it without any shadow of a doubt.

“Is it time for dinner, Mama? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, love. Your Da will be back soon enough to take the pies from the oven as he promised. Why don’t you go wash up and see if he’s coming down the lane?”

She smiled as she watched him go. Aye, she thought, a good dutiful lad.

The sounds of water splashing into the basin by the door filled Frieda’s ears while she busied herself with examining the cloth and yarn spools Bran had worked according to her instructions. His first few attempts had been as disastrous as she had expected, but he was patient and stubborn in equal measure and by all appearances, he seemed to be taking her lessons to heart. She was pleased to see that the spool of hempen yarn he’d completed looked fit for use. He’d make a good weaver, if that were of interest to him.

“Mama,” Bran called.

“Yes, my love?”

“Miss Aurelia is at the door.”

Frieda paused. “She’s come back? Did she bring that little girl with her?”

“No, Mama. There’s a man with her. Can I let them in?”

“Of course, darling.”

Frieda had expected to see Sergeant Epocan shadowing the novice conjurer’s heels -- despite her vehement denial that there was anything between them, she suspected that if Aurelia Laskaris gave the poor man half a reason to think he had a chance he’d take it in a heartbeat -- so she was very surprised to see instead a tall, dark Highlander ducking into her doorway. The man looked pale and exhausted and his right arm was immobilized in a sling.

“Well, come in, Aurelia! You know you’re always welcome here. Though I hope you didn’t come by to check on me before you did anything else. The sergeant says you’ve been out in the field on business for the Conjurers’ Guild.”

“Yes. Frieda, I’m so sorry to impose. I know it’s late-”

She grinned. “All you’ve interrupted is my boredom, love. Who’s your handsome friend?”

“This is Sewell, a patient. I’ve been treating him for the past sennight. He’s a refugee from Ala Mhigo and he’s got nowhere to go, not even any clothes.” Aurelia hesitated. “I need to confer with Sergeant Epocan, but in the meantime, I was wondering if you knew anyone with a spare bed that might be able to take him in? It would only be a temporary measure, of course- no more than a sennight at most.”

“...In the village? Probably no one. But since it's you doing the asking, I could find room.”

A mixture of surprise and distress flared her eyes wide. “What? Oh no, Frieda, I couldn’t possibly ask you to-”

“To what? Do a small favor for my favorite conjurer?” At Aurelia’s helpless stare, she smiled. “I see he’s only one good arm at the minute, but he’s got two good feet and I can use them. What do you say, Master Sewell? I’ll have my husband lay a pallet here in the common room and you can help me with my weaving until Conjurer Aurelia and her friend can figure out something a bit more permanent. If you’re willing to have a woman and a little boy as your taskmasters, that is.”

“Ma’am,” Sewell said, dipping his chin. “I’m not looking to impose. If it’s too much-”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m bound to my bed until this little one decides to arrive and there’s work still to be done, so extra help will be welcome in any way I can get it. Pull out those pies I’ve got in the oven before they burn and you can have one.” She squinted critically at what remained of his linen undershirt, tattered and stained with sweat. “And we’ll see about replacing that rag you’re wearing while we’re at it.”

“Ma’am,” he protested, “there’s no need for that-”

“Hells, not another one! Don’t you start with that bleedin’ nonsense,” Frieda scoffed. There was a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye as she added, “Mistress Laskaris always says she ‘can’t possibly accept’ this or that and I make her accept it anyroad. You might as well save your breath.”

Aurelia hid her smile behind one raised hand.

“Mama, do we get a guest for dinner?” Bran piped up.

Frieda beamed at her son, her mood as sunny as Aurelia had ever seen it. “We do, darling! Master Sewell will be helping us with the weaving for a few days. Could you put an extra chair at the table for him and go wake up your brother?”

She exhaled with relief as the little boy all but bounced away, smiling so painfully it almost hurt. In her near-sennight of navigating Rhaya Wolndara’s reserved civility (and later the woman’s icy fury), she’d half-forgotten the cheerfully loud and rambunctious chatter of the Miller household-- never mind that of its benevolent mistress. The village’s master weaver, for all that she had her faults, had proven a true friend.

“Thank you so much, Frieda,” she said. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s naught to repay. None of that.” The older woman’s wave was dismissive. “Now go find the Sergeant. He’s been moping all over the place with you gone, so I hear.”

Keveh’to almost thought he was seeing things.

Wailer Lieutenant Aubaints had been less than impressed when he had reported nearly two bells late back from the Druthers, and after dressing him down for making a drunken disgrace of himself he’d been posted to back to back wall duty shifts the last three nights. Thus it took him long moments to react at the sight of a familiar crown of kerchief-bound golden hair, even as the Garlean looked at him with a tired, rueful half-smile that didn’t meet her eyes. He bent nearly in half to look down from the lip of the stone and mortar scarp, blinked furiously, and squinted again.

“They’ve put you to the grindstone, I see,” Aurelia called, hands braced upon slim hips.

Keveh’to barked out a sharp laugh, his lips stretching in a grin. He vaulted his way off the top of the wall on his way down to meet her, heedless of the startled exclamations from the two villagers already on their way up to relieve him.

“You’ve come back!”

“Of course I did. It was so dreadfully boring without you that I couldn’t bear it.”

“Boring without me there for you to bully, you mean,” he said. Aurelia scoffed, but despite her smile he could see something worrisome lurking in her dark blue eyes. There was nothing of that sunny brightness in their depths, and his own grin faded to see it. “I’ve a lead on that scuffle near the village a fortnight ago. Seems there was a witness after all.”

“Oh?”

“You’re never going to believe who it is.” He hesitated. “Can we get somewhere quiet? Where we won’t be overheard?”

Aurelia eyed him.

“I’ve someone you need to meet, at that,” she said. “At the Millers’ place - but as it’s something I don’t know that I want the village to hear either, the creek will be as good a place as any.”

They made their way back towards Ewain’s cottage in an unhurried quiet. Most of the villagers had retired for the evening to their stew pots and their beds, but some few milled about the main thoroughfare yet, and a few even lifted their hands in a wave of recognition. It struck her then, how much friendlier everyone in Willowsbend had become - even towards Keveh’to - and how it had taken a sennight away from the town to see the change at all.

The creek burbled softly within its banks as he opened the low-slung gate for her and followed behind, and with a sigh, she dropped onto the cool grass.

“What a bloody week,” she muttered.

“That doesn’t half describe it. Do you want to go first or should I?”

“By all means.”

Keveh’to nodded and dropped to the grass at her side. The tip of his tail twitched next to her hand, but he was staring into the growing darkness of the forest on the far side of the creek.

“The witness is Noline,” he said suddenly.

Aurelia gaped at him, jaw slack. “What- wait. What? Noline Brassard? The laundress who’s engaged to Trevantioux and has moved their wedding date back three times? That Noline?”

“The very same.”

“Does that mean that Trevantioux-”

“No, I don’t think he’s a witness.” Keveh’to grimaced. “...I was in the Druthers, asking around to see if anyone might have seen imperials in the area. The Redbelly Wasps have a couple of henchmen with lovers in this village, as it turns out. But unless the Hearer’s assistant is leading a very colorful double life, I think it far more likely that his fiancee has been seeing a bandit behind his back.”

“Hells below.” She let out a long sigh. “I never thought I would ever say this about him of all people, but poor sod.”

“Now you see why I didn’t want to tell you. At any rate, I’m trying to think of a way to question her about that night in the-”

“I don’t know that it’ll be necessary. I said I have someone with me you need to meet, right?” Aurelia grinned at him, a hard and mirthless thing. “He told me what happened. The whole thing. That Ixal scout may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time-- it seems there was a unit of imperial soldiers that came through here chasing a deserter. One who somehow ended up in the care of two Miqo’te, one of whom was in the Amdapori ruins trying to gather healing herbs when she accidentally drew the ire of a forest guardian.”

“Thal’s balls, are you having me on?”

The corners of her lips remained drawn and tight. “Did I mention that I ran afoul of them myself? They came to the girl’s house looking for him.”

“They didn’t- I mean are you-”

“I’m fine! Obviously we drove them away, else I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now. As it happens, I found a novel use for one of the most disgusting leatherworking reagents you can imagine.” She tore a handful of grass from the dirt and sifted it between her fingers. “They’ll all have to withdraw to their castrum or else stink like an overfilled field privy for the next fortnight; ‘tis only what they deserve.”

“So that’s why you came back? Where is he now?”

“At the Millers’. Frieda took him in- you know how she is.”

“He can’t stay here. It’ll put the entire village in danger.”

“I know. We’ve got to get him moving again. If there were a larger settlement where he could claim sanctuary, they wouldn’t dare come after him. I thought about Gridania, but the elementals are too likely to refuse him a-”

“What about the Twin Adder?”

“What about it?”

“If he’s got fighting experience, he can join a Grand Company. We’re short on people in all the rebuilding efforts even with the prisoner labor. I can put in a good word for him and let my superiors know he may have current information about the Garleans’ movements. Did he tell you why he ran?”

“He was about to end up with classified information, I gather, but the whistleblower who meant to give it to him died before that happened and the evidence was destroyed. He fled into the wood and killed one of his pursuers while trying to get away.”

“...and that’s where the casings in that clearing came from.”

“I imagine so. My guess is that he’ll never be left alone. He killed an officer, so they’ll either shoot him on sight or make an example of him with a tight noose.”

“Well, he’ll be safe with the Adder,” Keveh’to said firmly. “Let me get in touch with my captain and have him go up the chain of command. These things have to be authorized- but I’ll wager it won’t take more than a day or two for that to happen. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime?”

His smile was as rueful as hers. “Speaking of Noline,” he said, “her gifting is at the end of the week and the entire village is invited. There’s a party we’ll be asked to help prepare- the Hearer will bless their upcoming union and request the well wishes of the forest, and then there’s a feast and gifts for the betrothed to start their new lives. As Ewain’s apprentice, it’s most likely you’ll be expected to attend.”

“Are you mad? We can’t just let them go ahead with this if she’s-”

“Yes, we can.” At her incredulous stare, he frowned. “...Don’t look at me like that. You know full well it’s not our place to say anything to Trevantioux about his personal life.”

“I would want to know if my future wife had lovers behind my back!”

“And he will find out, I’m sure, but until he does we keep our mouths shut,” Keveh’to snapped. “Seven hells, Aurelia, you’re not the saviour of the godsdamned realm! You can’t just walk in and turn everyone’s lives upside down. We are outsiders here. If Trevantioux asks I’ll be more than glad to tell him, but neither of us were supposed to have been involved enough to come by this information in the first damned place!”

“If he finds out--”

“Tell me: if you were still at home and you knew the Emperor was being unfaithful to his wife, would you let her know?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, but that’s not the same at all!”

“It is exactly the same.” Unexpectedly, he took her hand and squeezed. “Please, Aurelia. Let’s not stir any more pots than we must. We’ll get your deserter to safety and let the Grand Company deal with any imperial incursions, but this- I’m not in the business of sticking my nose in other people’s bedrooms.”

“I think it’s a mistake not to say anything,” she said. “But I don’t suppose there’s a good way to tell him.”

“Don’t worry yourself about Treventioux, all right? He’s a pompous fool, but he’s one just clever enough to know when it benefits him to be used.”

She sighed, feeling the rough warmth of his hand withdraw.

“I hope you’re right.”

~*~

It had been a near sennight since Miss Aurelia and Master Sewell had left, leaving Vahne and her aunt alone once again. And in that space of time, it had taken precisely a day and a half of relative solitude for Vahne Wolndara to decide she hated it.

She was dreadfully bored.

Not only was Vahne bored, which at the tender age of not-quite-fourteen summers was quite nearly the worst thing she felt one could possibly be, she was furious with her Aunt Rhaya for sending away the first real friend she had ever made on her own. Her chores were quiet, the cabin was quiet (save for the crackling of the wax paper at night when the wind blew in from the north), dinner was quiet, everything was quiet.

She hated being quiet. But she wasn’t going to give her aunt the satisfaction of breaking her silence saying thus, and so it went: a cold and stifling impasse that went on and on, and Vahne was determined that she would not be the one to blink first.

On the evening of the fourth day, over an uncomfortable and - of course - silent dinner, Rhaya finally set her fork on her plate.

“Vahne,” she said, “I am not going to ask you again. Eat your mashed popotoes.”

Vahne gave a noncommittal grunt but did not answer.

“If you want to keep throwing a tantrum over a matter that doesn’t concern you that’s your choice, but you should know that woman was not who she told us she was.” When Vahne still didn’t speak, Rhaya sighed. “That’s the way of life, you know. People will find ways to disappoint you when you blindly trust them. You’ll learn when you’re old enough--”

Vahne glared at her.

“You never wanted to trust her in the first place,” she accused, cheeks flushing as her brow knitted in a scowl. “You never trust anyone .”

Rhaya’s eyes narrowed. “Miss, you are walking a thin line.”

“Don’t ‘miss’ me! You know it’s true! You didn’t like her from the start. Just because she’s an outsider--”

“She’s not just an outsider!”

“You never trust me with anything!” Vahne exploded. Her eyes burned with angry tears and she hated herself for it, for wanting to cry like she would have when she was much younger. “I can’t even have any friends because you won’t let me. You always want to act like I’m a baby who doesn’t know any better. Well, I’m not!”

Rhaya slammed her folk on the table with a loud clatter that startled her ward into silence.

“I have sacrificed more than you will ever know,” she said, in a low, tight voice. “I don’t have friends either, Vahne! Do you know why? It's because I’ve spent the last eight summers raising you and keeping this roof over our heads!”

“Fine! If you hate having me here so much, then I’ll leave,” Vahne shouted. “That way you won’t have to worry about me ever again!”

“Go seek your bed,” her aunt hissed. “You are banished from the table for the rest of the night.”

Vahne shoved her chair back from the table so violently that it fell over when she stood and stormed down the short hallway. There was the sound of a slamming door, then silence reigned once more. Rhaya ran her fingers through her hair, then buried her face in her hands.

I made the right choice, she told herself again, angrily. I know I did.

Her only answer was the night wind, crackling the wax paper she’d put up in the emptied panes with each self-sustained gust.

Hells with it. She’d speak with the girl once the washing was done.

With a grunt she stood and began to clear dishes from the table to the scullery tub, knowing the sound would be audible throughout the cabin. The sounds of running water filled the space, and in due time she began to busy herself with the soothing repetition of washing and drying. Quite often, Vahne’s way of trying to make peace after one of their arguments was to venture back out - against Rhaya’s instructions - and help her with some chore or other. It didn’t always work, especially if her niece was upset enough to make a point of avoiding her, but it was reliable enough that she thought it worth the attempt.

The crackling rustle that came from outside some few minutes later brought her idle scrubbing to an abrupt halt. Rhaya went very still, her ears swiveling back and forth, flickering as she listened for the sound again, and felt a chill creep slowly down her spine. Her great-grandmother had built this cabin, had fought literally tooth and nail to keep the lands around it against repeated incursion by Gridanians, by poachers and bandits and birdmen, and Rhaya had kept the land as her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had, fought for it as they had-

-and she had never, until now, felt uneasiness at the knowledge that she was alone. Ever since those godsdamned imperials had arrived a sennight ago for the man who'd been lying abed in his sickbed, hidden in her root cellar-- and now she was going to have to see to the source of that noise just to give herself some peace of mind.

She exhaled loudly, feeling angry all over again.

Her bow and quiver were not close enough to reach but that didn’t mean she was entirely unarmed. Rhaya hung the dishrag with great care over the lip of her scullery, reached for one of the knives slotted neatly near her cutting boards, and slipped on quiet feet into the common room, tucking it as best she could in her right hand. Save a single light in the window, the room lay semi-dark and silent.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Nothing at all-

-save the creak of an errant floorboard.

She froze mid-step, tail lashing in agitation.

“...Vahne?” she ventured. It was possible the girl had decided to come in the room and sulk where she could be seen-- not likely, but possible. But there was no response.

Rhaya’s grip, clammy with cold sweat, shifted on the grip of the knife. She reached for the door, threw the bolt, and opened it the barest crack.

The loud and familiar yowl she heard from the field made her sigh, her shoulders sagging as the tension flowed out of them and her incipient fear turned to a flood of relief and disgust. Twelve’s sake, she thought, it was just one of Vahne’s barn cats. Hunting mice in the wheat sheaves, no doubt.

“Go find your dinner, Shadow,” she muttered, moving to shut the door---

---and a large hand clad in a scarlet-trimmed black gauntlet thrust into the space between the door and its frame.

A gasp rattled from her throat as fingers curled about the edge of the door and slammed it open, then hoisted her into the air by the front of her dalmatica. Rhaya retaliated in the next instant, lashing out with the knife she still held securely in her grip. She heard a deep voice cry out, cursing as the blade slid through carbonweave and into flesh, but her assailant didn’t drop her so she sawed into the offending limb again. This time he made a sound much like the cat had: a high and piercing yowl. Hot, liquid crimson ran in rivulets from his sleeve and soaked into her shirt and down her bare forearm.

“One of you help me get this bleedin’ door down!” the man screamed. "Take her down!"

The Miqo’te’s foot shot out sideways, lodging herself in the door frame so that there was no possibility of entry, withdrew the blade, and prepared to slide it just beneath his armpit. One deep stab in the right place would pierce the lung--

A metal-clad foot connected with her knee in a heavy, brutal kick.

The pop and wet snap of the joint and bone as both collapsed beneath that force reached Rhaya’s ears even as she screamed, a combination of agony and rage. In her thrashing in the man’s grip, her fingers - already soaked in her first attacker’s blood - slipped from the wooden handle. Her only weapon hit the floor with a loud rattle.

As the big man fell back clutching at his arm and swearing, his accomplice dragged her out the front door. Her leg felt as though someone had dipped it in molten pig iron: nothing but white-hot burning from her hip to her toes. She scrabbled desperately against the man’s grip, trying in vain to free herself. The foot on her unhurt leg kicked wildly, aiming for where she thought his ankle might be, but the impact of a wooden patten had no effect on the armor that protected it.

Yet another voice shouted something that she didn’t catch - some order or other. Her stomach gave an unpleasant twist of dread as three, four more black-and-scarlet clad soldiers skittered into the house like shadow-clad insects. Twelve, how many did they bring with them...?

Alarm, tinged with horror,

(!!!!! oh gods no Vahne---)

flashed through her mind like the fin of a trout breaking water.

Someone waved, shouting in heavily accented Common: “No use, my lord. They’ve already cleared out. We even checked in the root cellar. It’s empty.”

She heard the frustrated growl moments before the imperial soldier clamped his arm about her throat.

“Where are they,” his guttural voice snarled in her ear. It sounded strange -- faraway, thin, and shallow, as though someone were speaking through a can.

Rhaya Wolndara let out a strangled sob and did not reply, renewing her struggle. Her blood-soaked fingers were too slick to give any purchase, and her nails began to warp and bend beneath the unyielding outline of the decorative brass gilt. It shone with a dull light from the waxing moon, the light blotted in places where blood had stained the chasing.

Her captor shook her so violently she could hear the chatter of her own teeth.

“Blackthorne and the Garlean woman,” he repeated, slow and icy and deliberate. Her cheek met cold steel and tempered glass. “I know you know where they’ve gone. Where are they?”

“Go to the seven hells,” she bit out, gagging and coughing. His free hand closed about her blood-soaked arm. Pinching metal and a heavy grip wound about her wrist.

“You should know that your deserter friend made a most excellent point,” he said blandly. “And if you won’t tell me what I want to hear--”

Rhaya yanked her hand towards the weakest part of his grip with all her might, but that resistance only made him bear down. Steel edges dug into the meat of her palm and she froze, heartbeat racing in the tips of her ears, flattened against her head and flickering with every burst of speech and static from that faceless helm.

“--I think you shall see that I find myself quite willing to take her advice until you do.”

All it took was one single, violent twist. The sound of breaking bone was consumed in her agonized shriek, flung into the night wind like a wolf’s howl.

“Reduced to the beast you are in truth, and so quickly. What a pity- yet I doubt that will be sufficient.” Unable to speak, the huntress writhed when the Garlean’s inexorable grip tightened, sobbing and still kicking in an attempt to free herself. Still squeezing, he twisted her hurt arm behind her back and up.

“Mm. Another, then?”

She felt her fourth digit pinched between the Garlean’s thumb and forefinger like a rabbit caught in a trapper’s wire.

“Perhaps I should have my subordinates flush out the child. Surely that would make you pliable.”

Rhaya near felt the blood curdle in her veins; so frightened was she by the prospect of this man getting his hands on Vahne that her struggles stilled for a brief moment.

“Tell me where they are.”

“Leave her alone! She’s only a--”

He bent and twisted and the bone snapped like a twig beneath his fingers. Rhaya’s answering scream came at a pitch and a volume so piercing it could have shattered crystal, her one good foot kicking wildly.

“Madam, these people are criminals. Why are you protecting them?”

“I told you I don’t know where they went! They left nigh on a sennight past. That’s all the information I have, now leave the girl be!”

The Garlean had moved to her ring finger, grasping it by the joint. Her eyes had gone the size of saucers, watching him do it. She knew what was coming, and she had already begun to tremble violently in the vise of his arm. Her pattens rattled against the steel plate of his armor.

“You are bringing all of this pain on yourself, savage,” he hissed in her ear. ”Now tell me. Where. They have gone. Otherwise, I promise this will go very, very badly. For both of you.”

“No no no no please by the Twelve I swear I don’t know, I don’t know,” the pain had reduced her to a shrieking mantra, she could feel him twisting, pulling, the joint grinding and displacing and she no longer cared for her pride, sobbing under the weight of the pain and in horrible anticipation, “I don’t know I don’t know I don’t bloody know oh gods please don’t--”

“Lord Cinna!” someone shouted. “Over there! Ten o’clock!”

Her eyes tracked the sharp snap of her captor’s chin and caught the flash of a white linen shirt: A small and spindly figure on swift feet, sprinting away from the house. Streaking into the fields and toward the deep forest beyond, with the single-minded determination of a barn cat in sight of its prey. Her tormentor released her, his attention successfully diverted.

Rhaya Wolndara fell to the hard-packed earth, curled about her hurts and coughing from a bruised throat as she took small sips of air. Her chin swiveled in the direction she’d last seen her young niece. Shadowed and helmed figures in black and scarlet reared upwards from their hiding places in the fields, like fell and ancient ghosts baying upon the heels of a soul marked for their ferry-boats.

Voice hoarse from her own screams, she cried out, the sound of it thin and cracked:

“Vahne, run!!!”

~*~

The moment she heard running water, Vahne had known her aunt was clearing the dishes.

Aunt Rhaya hadn’t wanted children, but she’d got one, and she’d tried to raise her sister’s only child as she’d been raised. One of Vahne’s first memories was trying to show off to her aunt how fast she could run from the front of the cabin to the end of the fields. She had instead tripped and fallen in the dirt and skinned her knees and cried. Instead of noticing her swiftness, her aunt had yelled at her for ruining her pinafore.

That was the first time she had shut herself in her room and refused to come out. Until she heard the sound of water in her aunt’s scullery and the clink of dishes, and had felt guilty, and had crept out to join her with a washcloth. They hadn’t spoken, just washed, and by the time the chore was done together she had felt calm enough to forgive her aunt for yelling. Thus it had gone, in the years since.

Cleaning the dishes was always Aunt Rhaya’s roundabout way of asking Vahne for a truce. Or it had been, in the past. But this time Vahne’s anger kept her firmly attached to her bed. She sat stoic and still upon the mattress, fingers digging into the coverlet as she heard the clatter of dishes, willing herself not to go. Aunt Rhaya was wrong, and Vahne didn’t want to mend things with her. Not right now. Once, she thought angrily, just once, her aunt could come to her, instead.

That was when she realized the clatter had gone silent and the water stilled, far too soon. She frowned, ears flickering with curiosity even as she stubbornly kept her attention on her book of adventure stories. I’m not going in there, she thought. I’m not telling her I’m sorry because I’m not.

I’m not sorry for what I said. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.

The creak of the front door.

I’m not--

A man’s shout, the sounds of a scuffle, and a high-pitched scream of pain in what was unmistakably her aunt’s voice-- followed by the sound of footsteps clattering over the deck and spilling into the common room.

Her heart started to pound and fear clenched her stomach.

Someone was in the house. A lot of someones. And by the sound of things, it was unlikely that her aunt had even expected them, let alone invited them inside.

Rhaya had raised her alone, amidst the constant threat of someone or other attempting to take the land for themselves. Some were friendly enough, all things considered, though Vahne had suspected as she grew older and saw and understood more that her aunt was likely paying a portion of their goods to some of the stronger gangs for the promise that they would leave the homestead alone.

But her aunt wasn’t stupid. She knew better than to trust bandits and poachers, especially after what had happened to her younger sister. When Vahne was seven summers of age, Aunt Rhaya had taken her aside to give her strict instructions.

If anyone ever comes inside the house and I didn’t invite them, she remembered the long-ago lessons, you know what to do. You get in a hiding place and stay still and quiet until I come and get you myself---and if you think I can’t keep them from finding you, you get out through a window and go find help. Do you understand?

Yes, Aunt Rhaya.

Someone shouted from the front of the cabin. They’d found the root cellar--

--and someone was heading down the narrow hallway. Her heart took a terrifying leap into her mouth. There wasn’t anywhere to hide in her room, nowhere that would keep her from being found. Vahne jumped onto her mattress and her hand flew to the window latch.

She only had a few moments, she thought, fiddling frantically at the small mechanism.

“Hallway clear,” a voice called, in a funny accent she didn’t recognize. “Checking the back. Anything down in that root cellar you found?”

“Nothing,” someone else shouted back. “Once you’ve checked that room go report to Lord Cinna. He’ll get the woman to talk one way or another.”

“Understood.”

There was a creak as the doorknob began to turn.

The latch gave under her fingers and the window slid open, blessedly silent. Vahne planted her foot on the sill and wriggled through the small opening, her tail lashing to ensure that she kept her balance, and jumped down from the sill into the hard-packed dirt.

A small shock of pain lanced through her ankles at the landing, but no one was waiting outside to grab her. She didn’t waste any time in hiding, immediately darting behind the nearby midden and trying to ignore the smell of it. One tense moment passed, then two, but there was no shout to raise the alarum. Her escape had - thus far - gone unnoticed.

Screams and frantic pleas drifted into her ears and fear ran icy fingertips down her spine. Vahne had never heard her confident, self-sufficient aunt sound like that before. Ever.

She crouched all but paralyzed behind the pile, her mind racing as she tried to decide what to do. She couldn’t stay here all night, she knew. They’d find her eventually- and it sounded like they were about to do something really bad to her aunt. Even if Vahne was still mad at her, she couldn’t bear the thought of her hurt or… or worse.

Like Mum had… like what had happened to Mum. She had to do something.

Go find help, her memory echoed. Do you understand? Go find help.

“Miss Aurelia,” she whispered.

Aunt Rhaya! Look at me! Let me show you how fast I can run! Are you watching?

Soil kicked up from her heels as she darted across the yard from the compost pile and into the endless waves of wheat. She heard angry shouts from the strange people in their strange clothes, the sounds of the crickets and the birds, the distant rumble of thunder--

--and above it all, her aunt’s cry,

“Vahne, run!!”

She didn’t dare look back. She sprinted between the gaps in the rows and tore a path through the wheat as if the hounds of death themselves snapped at her heels, straight into the waiting and depthless black arms of the wood. Willowsbend. She had to get to Willowsbend, as fast as she could. She had to find Miss Aurelia.

She had to save her aunt.

Argas rem Canina exhaled as they watched the small figure flit past them into the forest, her simple white shirt fluttering like the wings of a water bird. The first leg of the plan had been successful. Time to open the link and relay orders.

He pressed the switch next to the helm speaker.

“Operation Gold Finch has commenced,” he said. “Bird-watchers: you are to track the target to her eventual destination and confirm the presence of one or both deserters. Follow at a safe distance and do not attempt to apprehend or engage. I repeat, do not apprehend or engage.”

“And the prisoner?” Phoebus pyr Cinna asked. There was an icy note in his voice, one that hadn't abated since they'd set out on this raid, and with a frown Argas made a silent note to document and discuss the man's attitude with Lord Fabian very frankly once all was said and done. It wouldn't do to allow insubordination, subtle or not.

“Bring her. Let’s keep all of our cards ready to play if need be - we may need her for leverage.”

Static crackled over his helm's internal speakers with the man's sigh. “If I may remind you, 'twas your request that we be granted the freedom to levy harsher penalties against these savages. Whatever else she was, the woman was harboring-”

“Did I say we wouldn’t make an example of her, Cinna? Burn the house,” he said flatly. “And the fields. Leave a cleanup detail to make sure the fire remains controlled and does not spread to the surrounding forest. For the moment, I think that will suffice.”

“Understood.”

"Understood what, pyr Cinna?"

"...My lord."

Satisfied that the reminder had been made, Argas told himself these measures were necessary even as another part of him recoiled at their cruelty. The woman had brought it on herself. She and her deserter associates had had their chance to cooperate, and instead had caused him injury and nearly killed one of his subordinates. Such defiance was unseemly and not to be countenanced- and she was quite fortunate he had been inclined towards mercy. He knew plenty of others who would simply have hanged her from the nearest tree they could find.

The imperial presence in these wild lands might be a sleeping tiger, but it was still a tiger. It still had its fangs and its claws, and it would bare them both when necessity required it to do so.

Phoebus pyr Cinna does work quite fast, he thought. I must grant him that much. Very efficient. A repugnant man, really, but very efficient.

Fabian rem Corbinus clearly liked him, a great deal more than Argas himself. Small wonder he now stood in jeopardy of losing his command of the mission.

Within moments he watched threads of flame and smoke commence their ascent towards the cloak of the night sky.

He toggled the switch on his helm and tugged on his medicus’ arm. Lavinia jen Salvitto stood, helping him to his feet, and the pair made their way towards the wide dirt path to wait on the optio and his prisoner as the fields, too, began to burn.

#reborn by fire #chapter 30 #cw imperialism consistent torture #this is why no one likes garleans #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #chrysalispen writes

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