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somevirtualnolife · 1 year ago

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All's Fair in Love and Basketball

Rating: G Series: Tokimeki Memorial: Forever With You Pairing: Yumi Saotome x Protagonist (OC) Summary: Takeru tries to comfort Yumi after a loss in a basketball match, but it's clear that's not the only thing she's upset about. Author’s Note: I just started playing Tokimeki Memorial: Forever With You and watched the OVA and guess what? I really enjoyed it. And unsurprisingly, I was inspired to write a fic about one of my favourite girls, Yumi! Like so many of the TM/TMGS love interests, she is super endearing despite being so silly. And as expected of a TM/TMGS protagonist, my boy is oblivious to girls liking him in any way that could be romantic.

I hope you guys enjoy! I've learned that there are even less TM fics than TMGS ones, so I'm just trying to do my part to feed the fandom (and if you don't like Yumi, well I guess you're getting fed anyway lol).

The gymnasium was buzzing with noise when Takeru Omura entered. It echoed with the sounds of shoes squeaking against the floor, basketballs bouncing, and shouting from both the girls’ basketball team and the attendees watching. It was a junior match between Kirameki and Habataki, one of the last of the season, so needless to say the place was packed. He spotted Yoshio up on the second-floor bleachers overlooking the court, with a big grin on his face as he spotted his friend.

“Heh-heh~ come here to scope out the juniors, eh?” the auburn-haired boy grinned before pulling out his small blue notebook. “They are pretty cute, and according to my intel, you’re pretty popular with them, Mister Basketball Ace of Kirameki.”

Takeru could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew Yoshio meant well, but that notebook caused more trouble than not. Looking at Rei, he always assumed that being popular with girls would be how he wanted to spend his high school life, so having intel on every girl cute seemed useful. In reality, it was a recipe for disaster that provided an onslaught of rumours, hurt feelings and miscommunication that he had to diffuse like it was some kind of explosive device.

Specifically, a bomb.

“It’s not like that,” he finally responded. “The girls usually come out and support us, so we should do the same.”

The ref blew a whistle for a small time-out and the girls relaxed a bit. Below, he spotted a familiar, auburn-haired kohai grabbing her water bottle. Eventually, she spotted Takeru above and grinned widely, waving her free hand enthusiastically. He smiled back and then cupped his hands over his mouth.

“You got this, Yumi-chan!” he yelled.

Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle at his words. It wasn’t before long that the whistle went on again and they were back on the court.

Yoshio looked between his friend and sister as they continued to exchange looks and waves every now as the game went on.

“Oh, not like that, but like that.”

“I- what?” his voice started. “Dude. No. No-no-no.”

“Like I said before, it’s fine if it’s you, but you know-”

The basketball ace lifted his hands in defence. “We just hang out a lot because of shared practice schedules. Plus, you told me to look out for her in case any weirdos came for her.”

Yes, they sometimes hung out on weekends when there was no practice, but it was strictly as friends. Yumi very clearly wanted to experience all that high school had to offer (minus the studying). She clearly wanted to experience club life, friends, and dating. So yeah, Takeru didn’t mind being her practice date now and then. It was safer for her that way.

Right?

“Okay, man. Whatever you say.” Yoshio let out a sigh, which Takeru couldn’t quite figure out the intention behind.

Eventually, the final buzzer went off, showing Habataki taking a lead over Kirameki by 10 points. An unfortunate loss, but it was sort of expected. Their basketball teams often ranked highly in the region. Takeru would chalk it up to it being a private school, but that’s like the pot calling the kettle black.

“Mannnn, that was so close!” Yoshio groaned.

“Yeah, but it is what it is.” Takeru’s green eyes followed Yumi as the girls dispersed after talking with their coach. Her pace was fast, and her shoulders seemed tense at this distance.

“Aw man, I know that walk,” Yoshio quickly got up from the bleachers. “I’ll catch up with you later. I do not need her to come home and suplex me out of frustration.”

Takeru laughed at first but then realized that was a very real possibility. That girl loved her pro wrestling.

“Best of luck, dude. I’ll let you know if I see her. Maybe.” It wasn’t like either of them had a cell phone to contact each other.

As he exited the gymnasium, he shivered slightly as he saw his breath in the cold winter air. With the sun long since set, the streetlights provided a soft orange close in the darkness. The walk home wasn’t too far, but he looked forward to a nice bowl of nabe when he got home. It wasn’t before long on his walk home that he heard someone grumbling and kicking something. Looking to the right he saw the familiar ponytail of a teen girl slamming her foot on the side of one of the plastic slides at the playground.

“Oh, there you are. Yoshio’s looking for you. Or maybe avoiding you,” he joked. It was actually a bit unclear if his friend planned on looking for his sister to calm her down, or to avoid her until the next day. He should’ve asked.

Yumi seemed to freeze at the sound of his voice, her stomping stopping, and her shoulder going up past her ears.

“Go away.”

“You guys can still easily clinch a win against Hibikino. Their team is so bad it’s basically non-existent.”

“I’m serious, I don’t feel like talking right now!”

“Yumi, it’s just one game. No need to have a tantrum over it.”

It was then that she finally turned around, her face fully red, fists clenched.

“Ugh, you’re such a JERK, Takeru!”

Before he knew it, Yumi threw her bag with almost the same speed and force that she would a basketball, which slammed straight into his gut. While it was a bit of surprise was grateful it didn’t go any lower.

“Hey, watch it! Why do you have to be so-” Just as he was about to tell her off, he noticed her eyes were visibly red, watering up to about the halfway point before they started to fall.

Oh.

Oh no. Those were tears. Not like the ones at the amusement park, or whenever she would get mad about her brother changing the channel on her.

“Yumi…”

With one last cry of frustration, Yumi finally sat down on the wooden bench, burying her face into her hands.

“It’s fine. It’s whatever. I… just wanted you to think I was cool,” she mumbled.

Ohhh boy. Takeru wasn’t always the best at saying stuff. He didn’t always think his words threw before saying them, regardless of how they could come across. Sometimes he just felt like he chose whatever was the easiest option. It was probably one of the big reasons so many of the girls were frustrated with him. But seeing Yumi being so sincere, it twisted something in his chest. She wanted him to think she was cool, huh? Sometimes he forgot he was her senior, as they very rarely addressed each other as such. He nervously scratched the back of his neck, before he sat down next to her, carefully patting the top of her head.

“I mean, you did look cool out there, regardless of the loss.”

Yumi stopped for a moment, looking up at him, a slightly confused look on her face.

“R-really?”

Takeru grinned. “Well, yeah! I mean, that 3-pointer you scored? Your form was perfect. Not to mention that you know how to get around the court fast. Besides, you guys really held your own. It was a great match to watch. When there’s no challenge, matches are boring to watch anyway. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

Almost instinctively, he reached over and placed his hand on her cheek, gently wiping away the remainder of her tears. Yumi flinched for a brief moment, but she didn’t pull back.

“You were awesome out there.”

“When you say it like that…”

“Hmm?”

She paused and turned her head for a moment, a bit dumbfounded.

“You, don’t know how you sound right now, do you?”

“Uhh… I hope like a wise and insightful sempai, looking out for his kohai?”

There was another pause before Yumi started to laugh. There were tears, but clearly not of frustration.

“Ahhh, you’re such an idiot.”

“Hey. I just gave you a heartfelt speech and that’s what I get?” Takeru chuckled. He was just happy he was not going to get another hit in the stomach.

Yumi quickly stood up, stretching out her arms before placing them on her hips. “Fiiiine. You’re right. I’m only just finishing up my first year after all. Plenty of time to work hard and show you what I’m really capable of.”

“Right? And come next year, Kirameki is going to squash those Habataki losers. The win will taste all the much sweeter.”

“Uh, yeah! In basketball...”

“Yumi, there you are!” Yoshio ran over to the pair panting. “Jeeze, I thought mom was gonna kill me if I didn’t find you.”

He then looked back and forth between Yumi and Takeru, wheels turning in his head before grinning.

“Oh. Apologies if I was butting in on something~”

“You simply existing is a butt-in on my life,” his little sister stuck her tongue out before turning over to Takeru one last time. “Anyway, thanks for the talk, sempai. I’ll see you Monday for practice.”

Takeru waved as the two siblings walked off, clearly bickering as they did so. He was glad that he managed to turn things around. He’d best get going as well, considering how cold it was outside, but for some reason, that tightness in his chest earlier turned into something warm and calming. Sure, Yumi could be a lot at times, but she was also funny, determined, cute, and sincere. He needed someone like that in his life when he lacked those qualities at times.

And he was glad that he still had one more year with her.

#tokimeki memorial #tokimeki memorial forever with you #yumi saotome #yumi saotome x protagonist #my fics #galge

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darkhymns-fic · 2 years ago

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A Transgressor’s Threads in the Making

It’s winter and it’s cold, but no matter what, Vicious wouldn’t be caught dead in a bad winter outfit. Not even Aegis and his bargain-bin coats could change that.

But when darkness falls, a hero of light will rise—and that hero has the fashion know-how and passion to make some of the best and trendiest winter outfits ever made. Once again, Kanata must save the day!

Fandom: Tales of Crestoria Characters/Pairing: Vicious, Kanata Hjuger, Misella, Aegis Alver Rating: G Word Count: 6389 Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: A fic I wrote for a Crestoria Secret Santa. Kanata gets to live his fashion designer dreams!

Vicious was already pestering Misella barely an hour into the day.

“You’re not gonna start a fire for us now?” He groaned, frustrated. “Where’s the crazy arsonist we all know and love?!”

“Um, hey, maybe don’t say that out loud in public, alright?” warned Orwin, furtively glancing around them at those who turned a few heads. His words came out slightly muffled with the puffy hood wrapped around the back of his head, and a little over his mouth. “He’s just, just kidding, folks! Heh, just a good old jokester.”

Vicious scoffed, arms folded behind his head. The Great Transgressor looking a bit worse for wear than usual today as they passed through the marketplace. His hair was a frizzy mess, his vest only half buttoned so that it threatened to fall off his shoulders. Also, he was shivering, barely brushing aside the snowflakes that got caught on his eyelashes.

Decorative lights of numerous colors stretched across the storefronts, with snowmen of varying quality lining the streets, some with the usual pair of eyes while others sported a dozen. Crowds were more or less packed for what must have been a winter festival currently underway. So, not really a place for one to start any fire mishaps in what would have certainly been a dangerous situation.

Vicious didn’t care.

“It’s snowing like hell out here!” he complained again. Louder this time, probably an octave up or more. Just the right exact pitch to even make Orwin flinch as he walked by his side. “Look, just make a little fireball for us or something. You do it every other week!”

Misella walked ahead, ignoring the ravings of the older, half-naked man behind her. She shifted deeper into her jacket until it seemed only the tip of her head poked through, her pink hair all but swallowed up by her jacket’s own hood. She walked mittened hand in mittened hand with Kanata, the other also wearing something very similar. “Then you should have gotten a coat like the rest of us if you’re cold. Kanata was smart to do so.”

“Y-yeah…” Kanata meekly added. He scratched at his cheek, taking a bit of effort to turn around in his big coat to look at Vicious. “It’s very warm in here! At least…”

Vicious paused, then said blankly, “I would literally rather die than look like that.”

“Vicious, you know you are being quite ridiculous right now.”

Aegis, who was not far behind, tried to catch up to Vicious through the fresh snowbanks on the streets. He was also wearing the same type of puffy coat – along with a few extra layers packed underneath so that he waddled right up to the Great Transgressor. They were a strange combo of one who showed too much skin and one who showed virtually nothing except for half of his face. “There were some reasonably priced coats at that last store that you could have gotten with us. Catching pneumonia would be a risk to the entire group! Do you understand that?”

Vicious rolled his eyes. “If I were any drunker, I seriously would have thought you were one of those weird Penguinist guys we ran into the other day and shoot you right now.”

“Drunker? Have you already been drinking?!” Aegis flailed his coat arms, the way a certain bird-like, yet flightless creature might do. “It’s only morning!”

“Who are you, my dead mom? Lay off!”

Further to his left, Yuna giggled, one of the few in their group who didn’t wear so much bulkiness, her own coat tied around the waist with a red sash, buttoned all the way up to a high collar. She even had on a fur cap, its outside polka-dotted by the falling snowflakes. “If you wanted, I could have gotten a designer coat for you so that we could match!”

Vicious grimaced. “I don’t need any of that expensive crap. Is it that bad I just want something to be set on fire?”

“Yuna, where did you get this?” Aegis waddled up to her furiously. “Please tell me you didn’t spend any of our funds on that! We all agreed to get the coats that were on clearance!”

“Oh Aegrouch, do not worry your pretty little head.” She smiled, then poked at his nose with a leather-gloved finger. “I merely chatted with ‘ze store owner, and he was very kind to ‘and it over to me. I zin’t pay a dime!”

“…Are… are you saying you stole it? That’s much worse! Don’t add shoplifting to our transgressions!”

Yuna hummed thoughtfully. “Hm, or is ‘zat just a lie I made just for you?”

“I am going to have a heart attack.”

Vicious then sneezed, quite violently. Enough that his guns appeared in his hands at the very force of it. “Agh, hell! That freaking hurts!”

“Vicious, put those away right now!!”

This town was one of the few places without a Vision Central (convenient!), so few people paid much attention to a man with his stomach showing. In fact, Aegis wondered if they had ever heard of the Great Transgressor…

“Achoo!”

Though, of course, the man certainly liked to announce his presence whenever possible.

The inn they chose to stay the night at was already crowded. Garlands, peppered with red bows, decorated the ceiling rafters, and a lavishly ornamented pine tree was in the corner of the room, lights perched on its needles. The bar counters also held small figurines of a red-dressed man, but even with Aegis’ scholarly interest in the fabled sorcerer, Christma Sparking, he was doing all he could to not cringe at another of Vicious’ violent sneezes.

…And how a row of heads would occasionally turn to them at the sound. Trying to be indiscreet was more and more becoming an impossibility.

“At the very least, use a tissue!”

The fact that they had managed to even secure an inn table was lucky, including some extra seats for their friends. Vicious was happily doing that part of the job himself, stretching out both feet to lay them against the chairs, effectively ‘occupying’ them. But the chairs would rattle from another sneeze attack.

“Hey, my clothes are good enough!” Vicious sniffled again, wiping his nose with his black sleeve. Aegis grimaced.

“Ugh, now look at yourself, you’re already getting a cold. What did I tell you about actually dressing up for the weather?”

“Blah blah blah. The Great Transgressor doesn’t get a cold!”

“Oh, so you simply just sneeze and have a runny nose for fun?”

“Yeah?! Maybe I do! Don’t judge me!”

“Stop yelling!”

“No!”

Aegis rubbed his temples, which took him a few seconds to do due to his puffy sleeves. The layers of his jackets did their job of keeping him well-insulated, though his ease of movement, he admitted, left a lot to be desired. “I cannot believe we are still having this argument. You are literally behaving like a child right now. There was a perfectly acceptable jacket at the store. It was even in your size! And yet, you refused to get it out of some idiotic fashion sense?”

“Hey,” Vicious started, slamming the table with his fist—and sniffing loudly once again. His cheeks were red, as was the tip of his nose. Whether that was because of his cold, or the three beers he had just chugged down, Aegis wasn’t sure. “Do you know how hard it was to get myself to look this good? This,” he gestured at his torso, exposed to the bright lights within the inn’s dining room. “I ain’t hiding it under some goofy-looking bed comforter like the rest of you! If there’s a sin of looking bad, it’s that!”

“What? This is perfectly in season right now!” Aegis tried to gesture as well, and nearly fell right out of the chair, threatened by the weight of all his jackets. “It may not be the most on-vogue but we certainly don’t have the funds for such frivolous finery!”

Vicious’ other fist met the table, shuddering it from the force. “I ain’t gonna look like some weak-ass loser!”

“Uh, everything okay?”

At the voice, both Vicious and Aegis turned, finding Kanata in his oversized jacket. He…more or less was trying to carry a tray in his hands, but struggled to hold it in balance. Multiple drinks, bottles, and bowls of stew were dangerously close to teetering right off the edge, due to all the extra baggage his very person was already encumbered in. His entire head was still bound tightly in his hood, a pair of bright eyes blinking from its depths.

At the sight, Vicious laid his head back and groaned. Loudly. “See?! Look what the hell you did to this idiot. Now he looks lame.”

Aegis huffed. “I think you mean smart. He was very astute in realizing we must favor effectiveness over appearances.”

Kanata blinked, then lowered his head slightly. “Yeah…”

Vicious tsked, lifting his legs from the other chairs. “You know what? I’m heading to bed early. Need to sleep off all this embarrassment.”

“Certainly not because you’re drunk yet again,” Aegis intoned.

“I’m too depressed to even drink another drop!” The Great Transgressor announced… then quickly swiped away two bottles from Kanata’s tray. “Later, nerds!”

“That wine was for the whole group!” Aegis shouted, effectively getting even more eyes on them. Well, like it mattered anyway! Might as well announce to the whole world they were Transgressors while they were at it!

Kanata cleared his throat. “Vicious seems a bit grumpier than usual.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Aegis sighed.

“Really? I would think it would be quite obvious to anyone that he’s much more-”

“I am being sarcastic. I am not that dense.”

“Oh!” With a nod, Kanata tried to reach for one of the glasses on the tray. “Well, this one’s your drink, I think. The lemonade one, was it?”

“Kanata, you’re going to drop it!”

It took more time than Aegis cared to admit for the two of them to finally, and safely, put their drinks on the table. There had been a lot of flailing, a lot of near spillages, and Kanata’s own puffy arm accidentally hitting Aegis in the face a couple of times.

Alright, maybe these coats were proving to be a tad problematic.

Kanata sat at the inn table, trying to squeeze into the seat with his outfit. How Aegis was able to sit down himself with his multiple layers before was anyone’s guess. “Hey, uh, why are we still wearing these anyway? It’s already plenty warm in here…”

“If you noticed our seats right now, we’re just by the door. When it opens, it will a bring a gust of wind on us, chilling us once again. It’s only good to be prepared.” Aegis nodded at his reasoning, all as he tried to grasp at his drink with a hand that was half-swallowed by his jacket(s) sleeves.

“Oh right. You always have an answer to these things…”

“Thank you. At least someone here appreciates the decision-making I do for this entire group…which I suppose has effectively abandoned us.”

“Well, Misella wanted to watch the chicken being roasted, so she insisted on being in the kitchen for it.” Kanata tried to turn his head but could barely manage more than an inch. “Orwin’s also chatting with some random old men at the bar…and I have no idea where Yuna went.”

“I probably don’t even want to know.” Aegis finally got his cup close to his mouth and attempted a sip. He got a few drops of lemonade! At least that was satisfactory. “We’ll need to leave first thing in the morning, so hopefully people will at least remember to rendezvous by then.”

“Already? But we barely spent any time in this town, and wouldn’t it still be really cold?”

“We must always keep moving, Kanata. And yes, it will be. That was why I got us these coats! The winters are especially egregious in this region. Of course, we’ll have to deal with that man who will mostly likely catch pneumonia on the way.”

“Wow, Aegis.” Kanata smiled, one that was half-hidden by the hood. “I had no idea you were so worried about him! Like a parent that is trying to care for their very reckless child. If you ever do have children, I’m sure they will be lucky to have such a protective father that won’t shy away from pointing out their mistakes.”

Aegis blinked. “…Where are you even…? Y-you know what, never mind. I don’t need to know how you picture my future skills as a parent, thank you.”

“But I just told you…”

As the crowd in the dining room continued to get lively, and Kanata struggled to even lift a spoon from his stew bowl before finally giving up, the boy spoke again.

“I think…I have a way,” he said to Aegis, moving his head free from the thick collar of his jacket. The hood was lowered, and a mess of golden, frizzy spikes framed his face. “To help Vicious not get sick, I mean!”

“If it’s to force feed him medicine,” Aegis said, munching on a breadstick—one of the few things he could reasonably eat while still wearing the coat. “Don’t bother. I tried and he bit me.”

“…Okay, I’m not gonna dig deeper into that then.” Kanata shook his head, making his hair frizzier in the process. “I mean, Vicious just doesn’t want to look like a fool, and I understand what he means! We need to have a makeover!”

This time, Aegis was truly lost. “Pardon?”

At that, Kanata finally unbuttoned his jacket, letting out a gasp of relief as he did so. His other clothes underneath was damp with sweat as he tried to catch his breath. “Because Vicious is right! We do look like… I’m sorry, Aegis. But we look like losers! And we’re not even wearing what’s in trend right now! I understand that we have to save money, but not at the expense of being left back in the times!”

“I don’t-”

“I mean, these coats were made nearly five years ago! Five!” Kanata held up the puffy coat that had more or less deflated now that it was Kanata-less. “That’s a death sentence in the fashion world. I know we’ve already been judged in town, and judged harshly I might add.” Kanata closed his eyes, reliving such stares that he would never fully forget, before he opened them once more. “Vicious knows that! But I think we can find a way to redeem ourselves and have people forgive our horrific sins.”

“Are we still talking about the coats?”

“I’m gonna need access to some tools!” Kanata barreled through, like a solider heading for the front lines of war. He had the same kind of fervor in his eyes that Aegis had to admire at least somewhat. “And if I get started tonight, I can have everything ready by the morning.”

“Tools?” The former knight tilted his head in confusion, or tried to. It was a bit difficult to move anything that was more than an eyeblink. “Do you mean you need new weaponry? Or like blacksmith tools? Or…” His eyes went distant. “The limited-edition tools for the latest Avalanche Silver Mechaknight edition?! I did see that on my way here, and they’re the latest models on the market. They also come with the most recent novel of the series, and only the first twenty copies have the author’s signature…”

“Um…” It was Kanata’s turn to be confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“…Never mind. I meant, tools for tailoring. You know, like for sewing and stitching? I’ll also need the right threads. Oh! A sewing machine would be perfect! I know a store that has exactly what we need. It would only cost a bit of our gald-”

“How much?” Aegis interrupted.

“…Well, okay, more than a bit, but fashion is no small price to pay.”

“Absolutely not. The jackets we got were a fraction of their original price. It’s better to shop for bargains then for superficial notions of trends!”

Typically, he expected Kanata to back down, to see sense as it were. But to his surprise, the boy only stared back at him with more fervor in those eyes. Those same eyes that had stated he would try to change this world of judgment and those sentenced unfairly to their crimes…

“No, Aegis. We must do this! I must do this! At least let us leave this town in dignity than in embarrassment.”

It took Aegis a while to process what was being said to him.

“You truly think these coats look that awful?”

“I do.” Kanata stood up, clenched his bandaged fist, and faced Aegis with fire and determination. “I believe that with all of my heart!”

It was now Aegis’ turn to bow his head, sinking further into his coat, so that he was more fabric and padding than man.

“I was only thinking what was best for everyone.” The defeated knight slowly reached out to the coat that Kanata had discarded. “I suppose I could always return this and recoup the losses-”

The coat then began to tremble.

Aegis may have given a small shriek, and he may have fallen off the chair and onto his back, wobbling as he did so like an overturned turtle. Kanata’s coat continued to shiver and shudder before a tiny furry head poked out. Brown fur shook itself before a little squeak erupted cheerfully. That same head then burrowed back into the coat.

“Ah, sorry. I was keeping Meakyu in there.” Kanata chuckled softly, looking towards the tiny animal. “He seems to really like it! But, I think he might have bit into the padding so I’m not sure if we could return it… Uh, Aegis?”

Kanata looked to the floor, seeing Aegis flail his thick arms and thick legs (he wore extra layers of pants as well) while inn customers quietly circled around him to get to their tables.

“Kanata, help! I have fallen and I can’t get up!!”

Just a few hours that passed into the night, but after much scrounging and searching, Kanata finally, finally had what he needed.

Now came the ultimate test.

“Kanata, where have you been? You missed dinner.”

Misella walked into Kanata’s rented inn room, the fireplace in it already stoked to a well-done heat as she munched on her well-done chicken leg. She no longer wore her puffy jacket, pink hair once again free from its confines. As she chewed, she looked on in wonder at the ‘tools’ that Kanata had so needed, spread out over a large table—a smorgasbord of thread spools that spanned a whole spectrum of colors, of scissors with varying sizes, of knitting needles, a few pincushions, and even what looked to be some sort of measuring tape…

Oh, and a strange mannequin that Kanata was using to measure a very green piece of fabric right now.

Misella narrowed her eyes. At the very least, it didn’t appear to be a feminine-shaped mannequin…maybe.

“Ah, Misella! Perfect timing! Aegis went to get Vicious. We’re going to be making him a whole new outfit for the weather.”

She chewed thoughtfully, careful to not get any food juices on her precious Kanata’s tools. But hearing Vicious’ name gave her pause. She bit off more meat from the dripping bone. “That man does not deserve your talents, Kanata. And I doubt any new clothes would cover up the fact that he is a vile monster that deserves to be buried underneath the rubble. Surely, you could have chosen someone else.”

“Oh, who?”

Misella smiled gently, tossing the chicken into the fireplace. The flames sparked and hissed, as if eagerly devouring the bone. “Someone who will wear your wonderful outfits with grace and poise. Someone who understands you and your passion.”

Kanata scrunched his forehead as continued to measure the fabric, picking up one of the scissors as he pulled at a corner. “Um…do you mean Aegis?”

But before the room could be set on fire then and there, the door flew open, with Aegis rushing through. He was faster now, having finally shed off the coats for his usual blue coat vest.

“I already told you, Vicious! I don’t have any money! Kanata spent it all!”

“Bullshit!” Vicious sauntered in, guns held in his hands, their reddish tint coating the floorboards. “I’m still only buzzed! I need more booze to actually get drunk!”

Misella stood next to Vicious, her hand held out, palm facing upwards. A spark ignited, slowly coalescing into the familiar flames she controlled. “Vicious, let me help you. This man has betrayed me.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

“Misella, why are you mad at me!?”

Somehow unmindful to the threat of oncoming violence, Kanata rushed out to the middle of the room, waving his arms. His smile was as bright—no, brighter than the sun itself. “Vicious! We got a surprise for you!”

There must surely be some magic that was held in the smile of a fourteen-year old boy (specifically, a fourteen-year old boy who still held the sin of patricide in his heart) as Vicious visibly calmed down then. He lowered his guns, and Misella’s fire was suddenly extinguished, her face a picture of contentment once again.

“I ain’t exactly a fan of surprises, kid,” Vicious said, his guns now vanished from his hands. “Unless it’s booze. You got me more booze?”

Kanata shook his head happily, then gestured to small sewing studio he had set up in his room. “We’re going to give you a makeover!”

Aegis blinked, staring at all the tools, the fabrics, and the assortment of accessories on the table. “You…you spent all of my money, didn’t you.”

Kanata didn’t answer him, his attention fully on the Great Transgressor, who was at least a little drunk. “Well, what do you think?”

Vicious took a breath—and then he turned around, heading for the door. “See ya. Don’t touch me.”

But not such a request from the most wanted man alive could ever dampen Kanata’s own excitement.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” He grabbed Vicious’ arm, pulling him to his little makeshift studio. “I already have an idea for you!”

“What did I say about touching?!”

It took some convincing, which included letting Vicious curse for as much as he wanted, and promising, and really promising you better not be lying!! that they would get him some more alcohol right after this. The good kind, too!

“But I don’t have any more money,” Aegis weakly protested to an attentive audience of zero.

“Now, I’ve been thinking of making you a new jacket. One that will let you breathe a little easier, but just warm enough so that you don’t get cold!” Kanata led Vicious near the mannequin that wore a few clothing accessories, including what looked to be a bright red cap, a white pom affixed to the top. “I was thinking green because…well, it fits the season right now!”

Vicious narrowed his eyes. Then tried narrowing them again, swaying a bit on his feet. Okay, maybe he was a bit more drunk than he thought he was earlier. "What's with all the bright crap?"

"Oh, do you mean this? That's the wool!" Kanata nodded vigorously as he unhooked one long piece of scarf from a clothes hanger, this one tinged a violet shade. "This is a shawl. It's a very vital accessory to one's outfit. With the right color and even how someone might wear it, it can really bring out one’s sense of style!"

Vicious scoffed. "I thought shawls were like, I dunno, some kind of girl thing."

"Not at all! It's actually very chic for men to wear shawls during the winter too! See?" Kanata draped the fabric over his shoulders, then pulled on one end to be further up his arm, before wrapping the other loose end just around his neck. The result was much like a bundled-up scarf, but one that brought out his smile even more.

“Oh, and the finishing touch!” He plucked one of the red caps, fitting it over his head. Somehow, red and purple mixed well when he wore it. “And there you have it!”

"Huh. Not bad, I guess.” Vicious nodded. “I was just saying what Yuna told me…"

"Well, no offense to Yuna, but unless she's a reporter for fashion shows, I would have to question her knowledge!"

“Also, she was probably lying,” Misella interjected. But for the most part, she remained quiet, happy to watch Kanata in his element, with only her gaze turning slightly bitter when they ran over Vicious.

The man scratched the back of his head. “You know, I guess it won’t be too bad. I have been wearing the same thing this whole time… Also it’s always too damn cold now!”

“So you really do want the makeover?” Kanata whooped, already going to the table with the needles, the scissors, and all other manners of sharp, pointy objects. “Okay, let’s get started! Aegis, please help me!”

“What? Why me?”

“You have very delicate fingers, so you’d be perfect for the job! Now let’s go ahead and measure Vicious.”

The Great Transgressor smirked at Aegis, before it turned into biting laughter. “Better make me look good, knighty boy!”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this…”

“It won’t be too difficult,” Kanata reassured as he pulled out a small roll of measuring tape. But his once gentle smile now became just a tiny bit more manic, maybe even a bit too gleeful. “I already have so many ideas that I think will fit Vicious perfectly! Can you get the needles, Aegis? Use this fabric, too.”

The look was enough to make Vicious halt in his laughter. “Uh, okay you seem way into this, so it’s creeping me out—Ow!” He snarled at the knight who had just stuck a pin in the Great Transgressor’s arm. “Watch where you’re sticking that!”

“S-Stop fidgeting then!” Aegis countered, then said softly. “Could we not just use the mannequin… We paid for it…”

“You need to hold the fabric in place better than that! Here, let me do this one.” Kanata took the pins from Aegis’ hands, while still holding the measuring tape. “Unless you want to make Vicious look like a porcupine!”

“Yeah! You want to make me look like a porcupine, huh? That what you into?”

“I’m not—what do you even mean by that?!”

And the next few resulting hours passed that way, curses flitting through the room—but joyfully. Fabrics left both table and mannequin. Needles and scissors were used to their utmost extent. And Aegis had pricked his fingers quite a few times that he had to wear some bandages.

But Kanata’s fervor for the work was infectious.

Only Misella had ever seen Kanata hard at work when it came to fashion design. Color coordination, stitching, sewing, and even looking over the right accessories to add to an outfit… Back in Dalchia, Kanata had always shown such passion for it. He’d promise to make her a new blouse, or a dress even, once his skills had finally improved.

But with everything that happened in-between, she had imagined such promises had passed from his mind. Yet instead, it had been sleeping dormant inside of him, waking up once he had to endure Aegis’ own terrible fashion choices. (Yes, she hadn’t liked the coats either.)

And so, just before the sun rose, they were finished.

“Well?” Kanata stood back from Vicious then, hands on his hips. He still wore the red cap on his head, though he had affixed a little star charm to hang off from the pom sometime in the middle of his mad designing phase. “What do you guys think?”

Now here was where she was in conflict. Anything that Kanata made was beautiful and perfect. And Vicious himself was awful, evil, and just a curse on all of humanity. She did not want to compliment Vicious, but to not do so would be to deny Kanata’s hard work and talent.

“Hey, so do I look good or what?!”

Among the mish-mash of sewing tools and kits, (alongside the now fallen-over mannequin, which also had some bullet holes on its front. No one remembers why) Vicious stood. The green that Kanata had been busy cutting and fitting had indeed become the man’s new jacket. Though, it was much looser than his usual one, the sleeves oversized, as well as how it draped off his shoulders overall. Yet the white fur trim at the collar was warm and soft (“And it’s faux-fur, too!” Kanata assured). Vicious also looked strangely proper now that he was wearing a shirt that covered his chest. It’s black dye, along with the white tie he wore, was very appealing.

Aegis placed a hand against his chin. “Huh. You look…very trendy, I must say. Even with you not wearing the jacket correctly, it seems to suit you…”

Vicious flicked back his hair, his new boots, fashioned from brown leather and laced along the front, stomping on the floor. “Well, it’s still weird feeling all covered up,” he admitted. He poked at the red suspenders hanging from his new pants. “But…you’re right. These digs ain’t half bad. Kanata’s got some taste! No lame puffy coats!”

A sigh came from the knight. “Can we stop talking about the coats already? Meakyu has already made a fort from all of ours and they’re so riddled with bite marks that I can’t ever return them, let alone even use them.”

“Yeah, whatever. But look at these ornament thingies!” Vicious held up the small, familiar-looking figures that were tied around his waist with a chain-link. “Heh, a mini-me! And even that little rat thing!”

Kanata scratched the back of his head. “Hehe. I’m glad you like it, Vicious. I wanted to try my hand at crafting a little bit too. And you have the pouch there to put them away if you wanted to.”

“Nah, they staying out. Next time, carve me some tiny guns. Or better yet! A booze bottle! Actually, make it a real one that I can drink out of.” Vicious grinned.

“The figurines are fine as they are,” Misella said firmly. But, she could not deny Kanata’s work, nor did she want to. Also, it was very good that Vicious appreciated it as well. “Kanata’s talent is truly the only thing that can make you look decent.’’ Then she narrowed her eyes. “But you should have worn the hat.”

“Hey, look, hats aren’t my thing. I can’t cover up these locks!” Vicious gestured to his hair. “Why don’t you wear it instead?”

“Oh, well, I already made her one,” Kanata said, a flush rising on his cheeks. “I, uh, kinda made new outfits for all of us! Misella, would you like to try-”

She rushed over to Kanata, grabbing at his shirt. “YES.”

Aegis looked at them expectantly. “So…me too?”

“Yeah, of course, Aegis! I had outfits for Yuna and Orwin, but they still haven’t come back…I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever see them again…”

Vicious was not really a fashion kind of guy.

Like, sure, he looked the part. He knew how freaking amazing his threads were, which had taken a little ingenuity from himself to get the exact look that he wanted. Threatening, dangerous, unhinged, and plenty sexy. If the Great Transgressor wasn’t all this, then what would be the point?

But what Kanata made for him… Well, he liked it. It wasn’t something he would think of himself. After all, this new outfit covered him up! And the little figures hanging from his pants were a bit too cutesy…

Still, he actually felt warm. And not like, the dying in the summer heat warm. Or the I-drank-way-too-much-beer-and-now-I’m-getting-flash-sweats kind of warm either. Like, the good warm. The nice warm that Yuna sometimes talked about when he pretended to listen.

Vicious wasn’t the only one that left the room decked out in a whole new outfit. Misella and Aegis followed close behind, the former wearing a red suspendered-skirt along with her green, fur-trimmed jacket, while the latter matched her in color, his kinda-tight pants a far cry from the multiple-layered monstrosity he had been trying to make happen.

…There were a lot of similarities in all of their outfits, Vicious noticed. Like as if they were a part of the same musical group. Eh. Still better than the coats.

“I will treasure this forever,” Misella whispered as she clutched a tiny Kanata ornament in her hands. “It’s beautiful.”

“How did Kanata have time to make all of this in one night?” Aegis questioned aloud. His own red cap was just a bit oversized, hanging tilted on the left side of his head. “It doesn’t seem humanly possible.”

“Some people have purer, more passionate souls than others,” Misella quickly reasoned. “It’s only natural.”

“That doesn’t really explain anything at all…”

Vicious was sneaking in a drink from a small wine bottle he had kept tucked away in his new jacket, until he saw Kanata approach. With the way the boy looked sheepishly to the side, Vicious had a feeling he knew what he wanted.

He nodded knowingly, and handed him the bottle. “Here, you earned it. Just one sip though, and no backwashing!”

Kanata stared, his mouth hanging half-open. What, did the kid want him to dump the bottle in there? “W-wait, that’s not it! I’m underage!”

“Right. Too young to drink, but not to kill people. I forgot that’s how it is.”

“No, that’s not…” Kanata waved away whatever weird conversation they were having to move onto something else. “I just wanted to check if…you really do like the new outfit? That you’re not just saying you do to make me feel better. I know I got carried away in there when I was making it…”

“Listen, if I actually hated this new outfit, you’d know. Extremely. And I’d chase you down the street guns blazing for making me look bad.”

Kanata gave a small blink before chuckling good-naturedly. “Haha, thanks, Vicious. I think I needed that joke.”

“I wasn’t kidding—”

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

A shout from Aegis usually wouldn’t startle most people. The guy would shriek at their cutlery not placed the right away, even when they were eating straight from the ground. But just near the inn’s open front doors, Aegis stood outside, his head raised toward the sky and his eyes frantically searching.

“Aegis, what is it?” Kanata asked as he rushed over. Vicious walked slightly faster, and Misella still remained inside so she could pet the Kanata ornament a little bit more. “Are…are there enforcers coming after us?”

Vicious groaned, already summoning a gun. “Typical of them to show up just when I finally got something good to wear!”

Aegis rounded on them both, fists clenched. “Do you two really not see it?!”

Kanata was careful, taking a good moment of consideration before he spoke. “If this is about your pants being too tight, I can still make some adjustments-”

“For the last time, this is not about the pants! Just look!” Aegis flailed, once again looking like he was trying to take flight.

Vicious and Kanata looked around at the calm city streets. The lamplights were still on, but the sun was just making its way over the horizon, draping over the wet cobblestones with a red-tinged light. It was both beautiful, yet so terribly lonely in its own way. The sight of such light, in an empty street that had been just filled with so many people only a few hours ago, was enough to even make Vicious feel a bit somber. Maybe, truly, the fragility of life could be just like this weak sunlight and barren roads—

“It’s the snow! There’s no snow! It’s all gone!”

Vicious shook out of whatever weird daze he had just been in. Man, maybe he was still half-drunk somehow. “Hey, I knew that! Don’t go saying I didn’t!”

“Did you? Because with all the snow already melted, winter is over! It doesn’t even feel cold anymore. We got these new outfits for nothing!” Aegis placed his head in his hands, looking bereft and forlorn. “And we barely have any gald left!”

Misella finally followed them outside. She was now holding the figure of a mini version of herself now, cradling it with her Kanata figure. “You’re so dramatic. Just eat the snow and you’ll be fine.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I just said there’s no snow!”

“Then eat the grass? You are so whiny.”

Huh, Vicious thought, looking at his surroundings. No more wacky-looking snowmen, and no more drizzly snowflakes to mess up his hair. No snow.

Freaking finally.

With a laugh, Vicious wrapped an arm around Kanata, who squeaked slightly at the contact. “Oh! Uh, are you okay? Are you too drunk to walk again?”

“Hah! Not yet!” Vicious clapped a hand on top of Kanata’s head—which still wore that funny hat of his. But even with that in the way, he was still able to ruffle the boy’s hair, light golden locks turning every which way. “Let’s head out and show these off. Maybe get some suckers to buy us free drinks.”

“Well, I still can’t drink… but if you mean for us to model these outfits to people, then I’m in!” Kanata grinned wide, while at the same time gently nudged Vicious’ hand from his head. “That kinda hurts though.”

“Where is Yuna and Orwin already? Did they leave us?!” Aegis was still shouting hysterically, then paused in horror. “I’m going to have to pay for Yuna’s stolen outfit too. I just know it. I am in hell.”

“Eh, loosen up. You look good for once!” Vicious slapped Aegis on his back, probably making him fall, but he was too high up in the clouds himself to notice. “Let’s just go and show off already!”

He didn’t even mind that he wasn’t blackout drunk by now. How funny that just a shiny new jacket and some clean pants could make him feel this way.

#tales of crestoria #vicious #aegis alver #kanata hjuger #misella #fanfiction #one shot #i keep forgetting to post this so here it is!!

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kodzukii · 2 years ago

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🗯 THE WIND KNOWS ME (BUT I WANNA KNOW YOU BETTER) ft. kise ryouta.

SUMMARY ! in which kise ryouta hears the wind — but not when it comes to you.

PAIRING ! kise ryouta x gn!reader

GENRES ! fluff, romance

WARNINGS ! none!

TAGLIST ! @n0vad (send an ask to be added <33)

WORD COUNT ! 670+

NOTE ! i’m a little amazed i actually wrote smth ngl 🤧🤧 anyways hi knb fandom this is my debut <33 ik y’all are dead rn but hopefully this gets a few people to rise from their graves a lil bit 💗 also if the tense is a bit weird ik sorry abt that i rarely write in present tense <//3

kise ryouta hears the wind.

the ceaseless chatter and shuffling of his classmates continues around him. “hey, wanna be my partner?” floats around the room, receiving varied yes or no responses. kise sincerely hopes he may be able to dodge the question just a little bit longer. his gaze stays trained onto the half opened glass barrier next to his seat, giving him a view of the vast, azure sky outside. he sighs discontentedly, mechanical pencil spinning between his fingers. his weary pout deepens the more his fist indents his cheek.

through his peripheral vision, kise sees a figure walk toward him. he inwardly groans, realising that the dreaded question is now floating towards him. what a shame. he may have jinxed himself this time. with the softest of sighs, he turns toward the figure and – oh crap, not her again. he plasters a smile onto his lips before his displeasure can show.

“oh, kise-kun! i couldn’t help but notice you don’t have a partner yet! you look so all alone.”

her voice is so grating that kise can almost taste how disgustingly saccharine it was. her bright, glossy lips form into a pout as she says this, and kise muses that the overly cakey makeup on her skin does nothing to hide the rotten personality (and zits) underneath.

“ah… i spaced out while everyone was picking their partners. so it seems i’m the odd one out,” he says with a laugh, voice like honey.

“well, well. i seem to be all alone as well.”

kise nearly gags at the seductive tone her voice had now taken. her lips seem more red now than ever as she leans in a bit, allowing kise to catch a whiff of her vanilla (artificial– and cheap, he notes) perfume.

“oh, is that so?”

the wind becomes louder.

“soooo, we’re perfect – i mean, it’s perfect! silly me.”

he wishes the wind would drown out her laughs – it was like a broken violin grating against his eardrums.

“i suppose. but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all.”

and this beholder sees nothing beautiful in front of him.

“you’re right! always so insightful, kise-kun!”

kise thinks his laughs are starting to become out of tune, too.

“heh, of cour--”

“kise-kun? you dropped this in p.e.”

the wind suddenly begins to quieten.

“hey, we were–!”

“(l/n)cchi! i was wondering where that went. thank you so much for returning it.”

to him, the way you glowed was akin to that of an angel. this beholder was proven wrong today. and though he’s never believed in abstract concepts such as fate, today he finds himself thanking the lucky stars midorima seems to oh-so-adore.

“it’s alright. be more attentive of your things next time, okay?”

wow, he really wishes he could hear you lecture him more often. however, before he could do more than nod and say “okay”, you have already left, only a whisper of (and very much natural) scent left in your wake.

he watches you take your seat, scribbling notes in your workbook, likely something to do with the assignment. he thinks he hears the girl’s noisy calls for his name next to him, but his intent gaze stays trained onto your figure. the thoughtful hum that slips from your lips is music to his ears, and he can’t help but find your focused expression rather attractive. and… you’re alone?

the wind is silent.

the chair scrapes from beneath him as he rises to his full height. with the girl forgotten behind him, he walks toward your desk in confident strides. he sees you look up when you sense his presence, and he sends you a smile as he closes the distance between you two. you smile back! wow, your smile is gorgeous. gemini must be on top of oha asa’s list today (maybe midorima is onto something with his belief in fate, kise thinks).

“hi again, kise-kun. do you need something?”

“yes, actually.”

kise ryouta hears the wind.

but never when it comes to you.

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dandywonderous · 2 years ago

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ROTTMNT Bad Things Happen Bingo #1: Crush Injury

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Characters: Donnie, Leo (Raph a lil bit)

Square: Crush Injury

Warnings: Serious Injury, Vomiting

Notes: HELLO I started a new thing... I’ve been wanting to do a BTHB forever and decided to crush (heh) my current brainrot up against it. I may break and do other fandoms if I get an idea but right now my main thing I wanna do is hurt the Disaster Twins a lot (I’m sorry) (they’re very punchable).

I really intended for this to be just a drabble thing where I wrote like 500-1000 words as a break from my long fic but uhhhhhh that ended up not happening LMAO THIS FIC IS 3K WORDS WHY...

I’m not taking requests for this challenge, sorry unless you’re a moot and then maybe if you really wanna see something specific let me know.

I’m posting these on tumblr first and then they’ll hit AO3 later that day/the next day/whenever I feel like it sometimes I forget okay

Crush Injury

Donnie is shoulder deep in one of his machines when the power goes out with a loud pop.

He grumbles to himself, pulling back a bit, as the emergency lights come on, casting everything in an eerie red. If he’s lucky, this is just a temporary blackout, and he can get back to work soon enough.

Several seconds pass, and the power doesn’t show any sign of coming back on. Donnie mutters a quiet, “Sigh,” into the room; he’ll have to stop for now. If this continues past a few minutes he’ll fire up the backup generator.

He starts to pull his arm back, pushing out of the stool he was sitting on to stand, except he isn’t paying enough attention in the dark - he accidentally shoves the stool into his jack, and it shakes and then falls back with a clatter.

The heavy metal it was holding up crashes down on his arm with a sickening crunch.

The air is punched out of Donnie, leaving him breathless and wheezing. There’s a ringing in his ears, a rising taste of bile in his mouth, and then the pain catches up to him - searing, throbbing waves of heat that wash over his whole body at a fast tempo.

His immediate instinct is to jerk away from the thing hurting him, but the violent wrenching on his shoulder reminds him that he can’t do that, because his arm, his arm is stuck, his arm is-

He vomits, bile and mostly digested bits of his lunch pooling at his feet. He would be more disgusted by it if conscious thoughts were registering, but his brain is quickly overwhelmed with panic.

He’s going to lose his arm. And he’ll be lucky if it’s just that, if he’s not trapped here forever, if he doesn’t die of blood loss before anyone finds him, if-

He sucks a breath through his teeth, desperately trying to think. He has to think, if he panics, he’ll die.

The power is still off, red light all that illuminates the grizzly scene. His phone is on a table just out of reach, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N powered down.

“H-help…” His voice trembles and barely carries through the empty room. He sucks in air again, desperately, wincing against the overwhelming pain, and tries again, harder. “Help…! Help!”

It doesn’t matter, because he soundproofed the lab. Even if he could yell louder than he is, they wouldn’t hear him.

Despairing, Donnie slumps against the machine. He knows he should be taking stock of the injury, trying to determine how much of his arm is actually still in there, how much is damaged, but he can’t bring himself to look at it. The fear clouding his mind is in some ways worse than the pain slogging against his body.

He has no idea how long he stays where he is; all he knows is that time drags on agonizingly slowly. The power still isn’t back, and the lab is uncharacteristically silent, absent the normal hums of machinery and cooling fans. The only thing he can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing. His vision tunnels in on a spot in front of him as his heart rate speeds up, his skin grows clammy - signs of shock, he vaguely registers.

He’s going to die here. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to-

Suddenly, in the midst of the red light, a flash of blue.

“So looks like the power’s out for us and the next five blocks. It’s probably not coming back anytime soon, but Mikey’s pitching a fit because he had dinner in the oven. Do you think you can- Donnie!”

Rapid footsteps approach him, but Donnie can’t see who it is, his vision is too dark and clouded with pain. On instinct he pulls himself back, hissing out a warning, teeth bared and muscles taut. He’s hurt, he’s trapped, he’s easy pickings, he has to startle, he has to intimidate, he’ll go down fighting-

“Whoa, whoa, hey! Easy, Donnie, easy!” The intruder puts up their hands and takes a small step back, halting their approach. “It’s just me, it’s just me.”

The voice penetrates through the primal parts of his brain, and his subconscious registers family, help, safety before his consciousness catches up.

Leo.

The will to fight leaves him in a rush, and Donnie sags forward, grateful when Leo moves to catch him. A whine leaves his throat, and he doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed about it.

“I know,” Leo says softly, his thumb moving in gentle circles on his shoulder. “That has to hurt… Aaand it looks like you’re going into shock.”

Donnie gives a clumsy nod, desperately wishing he could just check out and let Leo deal with it now that he’s here. But even as the shock moves him closer to unconsciousness, the pain keeps jerking him back.

Leo is still holding his shoulder, but now he looks around and spots the traitorous stool that started this whole mess. “Were you sitting on that stool?” he asks, and Donnie gives the faintest nod. Leo steps forward to grab for it, and Donnie gives another whine, in warning this time.

“Threw up,” he mumbles, and Leo looks down between their feet. Once he spots it he grimaces.

“Yeah, you sure did,” he says, but his voice is light, and not judgemental. He sidesteps it, still with his hand on Donnie’s shoulder, and reaches behind him to pull the stool back to where it had been before. “Alright, buddy, sit down - slowly now, okay?”

He holds on to Donnie’s arm and guides him down to the stool. Once he’s on it he sags bonelessly against the machine again, feeling exhausted down to his core.

“Okay… good.” Leo lets out a breath, straightening up and letting go of Donnie. Without thinking about it Donnie lifts his undamaged hand and grabs for Leo’s, clinging on tight. He should definitely be embarrassed by that, but he isn’t. He’s scared, and Leo is safe.

Leo gives his hand a squeeze back. He squats so he’s at Donnie’s height, speaking softly like he can tell that loud noises just add to the pounding in his head. “I’m going to go get Raph, alright?”

A spike of fear causes Donnie to grip Leo’s hand tighter, desperate. “No.” He tugs on him with what strength he has. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back,” Leo promises. “But I have to-”

“No, please, Leo, don’t leave me-”

“Donnie, I can’t get that off your arm by myself, I need Raph’s help.”

Logically, he knows the words Leo is saying make perfect sense. Logically, he knows that Leo isn’t lying when he says he’ll be right back.

None of it matters. What matters is that Donnie is terrified of being left alone.

He grips Leo’s hand tighter, and can feel tears in his eyes. Another whine escapes his throat.

Leo sighs, squeezing his hand again. “Okay, okay. I’m not going anywhere. But we need Raph. Do you have a way to get that fancy door open when the power’s out?”

“Emergency unlock,” he grits out. “Th-third panel… just pull the release.”

“Okay. No worries, Leon’s got it.”

He gives Donnie a wink, and somewhere in him Donnie finds the strength to be annoyed. He rolls his eyes, and Leo actually laughs.

Leo uses his free hand to unsheath a katana, then draw a small portal right in front of them. Dimly, Donnie can see another one open up near his lab door across the room. It’s just large enough for Leo’s arm.

He reaches through and knocks open the panel, biting his tongue in concentration. After a second of squinting and fumbling, he gets the release and yanks on it. There’s a soft pop, and then a creak as the door comes unlocked from the floor but doesn’t budge.

“Now what?” Leo asks.

“Raph can… push it up… from outside,” Donnie explains through wheezing breaths.

“Alright.” Leo pulls his hand back, the portals dissipating. “I’m going to call him.”

He doesn’t let go of Donnie’s hand as he does so. Donnie is grateful; he’s vaguely aware that he’s gripping tight, likely hard enough to hurt, but Leo doesn’t make any move to pull away from him.

“Donnie’s hurt,” he hears Leo say, cutting through whatever greeting Raph tries to give him. “I need your help- his lab, yeah. The door’s unlocked, he said to just push it up. …I don’t know yet, but hurry.”

Leo ends the call, putting his phone away. “Don’t worry, Donton, the calvary’s comin’.” He squats down so they’re at eye level again. “We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy.”

Donnie nods in acknowledgement. Talking is hard when his mouth feels full of cotton, but he tries. “‘M I gonna lose m’arm?”

He sees Leo’s eyes go a little wider. The hand holding his squeezes tight. “Not if I can help it.”

They don’t talk much after that. Leo says, “Keep breathing for me, Dee, that’s it.” Donnie shuts his eyes to help his growing headache, slumping forward. “You with me, Donnie?” Leo asks, and he gives a grunt of assent.

Then they hear a screech of metal as the door to Donnie’s lab is forced up, Raph rushing inside moments later.

“...Oh geez, Donnie,” he says when he sees what’s happened. “How did you manage this?”

“Save your lectures for later, Raph,” says Leo, standing up but not dropping Donnie’s hand. “He’s in shock right now.”

“Okay… okay.” Raph gets close to them, then reaches out and lays his big, cool hand on Donnie’s back. For once the touch is welcome, grounding, and Donnie leans back into it. “Don’t worry, big bro’s here to help.”

He would normally make some smart remark at that, but he’s so tired and, though he’d never admit it, so relieved that Raph is here now, so any words he had die unspoken on his tongue.

His eyes are still closed so he doesn’t know what they’re doing, but after a second Raph pulls his hand away, and he hears him say, “I think I can lift it enough.”

“Okay, you lift and I’ll pull his arm out. …Careful, he threw up there.”

“S’not like it’d be the first time I’ve ever had puke on me.”

“Fine, but if you slip in it I’ll laugh at you.”

He feels a slight jostle to his arm, and then Leo is pulling his hand away. He whines, uncharacteristically needy, and Leo gives his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Sorry, Donnie, but this will just take a second.”

“Count of three,” says Raph, sounding a little strained already. “One… two… three!”

There’s a screech, and the weight is miraculously off his arm. He feels hands grab at it and winces in pain as his arm is moved away from the machine and into his lap, followed immediately after by a heavy thunk as Raph lays the metal down again.

“You’re out,” Leo tells him, his hand coming back to hold Donnie’s and giving it a squeeze. “You’re free.”

Donnie drags his eyelids open and starts to look down at his arm. He sees blood and he sees odd angles but before he can see more a hand is cupping his chin and pulling his face up.

“Yeah, you just went five shades paler,” says Leo, meeting his eyes. “Let’s not look at that anymore, okay? I don’t need you losing more fluids.”

Donnie grumbles, but assents.

There’s a bit of jostling, and he realizes something is being tied around his neck, fabric. Then his arm is nestled in it, supported so it doesn’t hang limply off his side.

“Okay, that’s not the best, but it’ll do for the walk to the medbay,” says Leo. Donnie notes dimly that he’s not wearing his bandanna anymore.

“Should I carry him?” asks Raph.

“Maybe… Donnie, do you feel like you can walk, or do you need Raph to get you?”

“Can walk,” he mumbles. He isn’t sure, really, but his pride pushes him to agree.

“Okay, I don’t really trust that, but we’ll let you try. Raph, stay close.”

He gets to his feet; they feel shaky and unsteady, but he doesn’t collapse. Leo ducks under his good arm, pulling it over his shoulders so he has support without asking. Donnie goes ahead and huffs about it, but he knows if Leo hadn’t done that he would fall over.

They take their first step and Donnie groans when his arm bounces lightly off his plastron. Leo grips his good hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I know, bud, but focus on the big shot of painkillers you’re about to get. We just gotta get there.”

The walk to the medbay is torturously slow, made worse when they attract the attention of Splinter and Mikey, both of whom unleash a torrent of questions that doesn’t help the pounding in his head. “Hey, settle down,” says Raph, silencing them. “He’ll be okay, we just gotta patch up his arm.”

They get there, eventually. The lights are still out, the medbay bathed in the same red as everything else. Leo lowers him to the bed and helps him get laid out, a pillow under his feet propping them up for the shock.

He hears Leo and Raph talking in low voices above him about the backup generator, and he tries to give them instructions, though it comes out slurred and mumbled. He grimaces in frustration.

“We’ve got it, Donnie, we can figure it out,” Leo says when he leans over him.

“Don’t know… dumb dumbs.”

“Okay, good to see your sass wasn’t damaged.” Leo grins.

“Sigh,” he says, and Leo chuckles.

There’s a moment of silence as Leo goes to fetch whatever he’ll need to work; Donnie knows the basics, but all his medical knowledge slips through his fingers when he tries to access it. His brain is too foggy right now, and biology is Leo’s thing, anyway.

He does have a pressing question, though, once Leo comes back - he reaches up with his good hand, and immediately Leo puts down what he’s holding to grab it.

“Am I going to lose it?” he asks, voice trembling.

Leo’s thumb strokes on the back of his hand, and it calms him down. “I don’t think so. It’s not as bad as it feels like.”

Donnie sighs, leaning his head back. His hand goes limp in Leo’s grasp, and Leo gently lowers it back to the bed.

“Go ahead and check out. Things’ll be better when you’re awake.”

Donnie trusts him enough to listen.

~~~

He wakes up to light, the smell of antiseptic, and a dull throbbing in his arm. He groans at all of these sensations and closes his eyes again.

“Hey sleepyhead!” His brother’s voice is entirely too cheery, and Donnie hisses in response. “Okay, Grumpatello, you can go back to sleep if you want, but I thought you might like some pain meds.”

That gets his attention; he opens his eyes again, and finds that the lights have been dimmed - no red emergency light, but nothing blaring in his eyes either. Leo is next to him, holding a cup and the plastic lid from a pill bottle.

“Do you feel up to taking these orally, or do I need to start another IV?” he asks.

Donnie mumbles something that doesn’t feel like words, then holds out his hand. Leo propped the bed up at some point so he’s already sitting.

The water is handed to him first, then Leo takes the cup and dumps the pills in his hand. Donnie appreciates that he remembers his preferred way to take pills (even if he has told him it’s wrong on more than one occasion).

Once he’s swallowed them he holds out his hand for the cup again, downing all the water in three quick gulps.

“Okay, maybe try sips next time?” Leo takes the cup back.

“Unnecessary,” he says, pleased that talking feels a little less painful. “What happened?”

Leo sits down on a stool next to his bed. “Okay, so do you remember your arm getting crushed by that… whatever it was you were working on?”

Donnie shoves down his immediate desire to explain the machine in favor of nodding. “Yes, I remember. And I remember you and Raph bringing me here. What happened…”

He can’t finish the sentence. He knows, logically, that he could just look at his arm (he can feel it, it hurts, that means it’s still there, right?), but for some stupid reason he’s too scared to.

“It’s still there,” Leo answers anyway, because apparently he’s a mind reader now (Donnie refuses to think he’s that easy to read). “Two arms and all six fingers.” He wiggles his own in demonstration.

That, finally, gets Donnie to look down. His arm is indeed there, packed tight in a cast that already has multiple purple doodles on it, courtesy of Mikey. He tries to wiggle his own fingers, but it hurts so he stops.

Still, the sigh he gives as he sinks back against his pillows is one of relief.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve bashed it all to pieces,” Leo continues. “Don’t even think about trying to use it for at least eight weeks. We can decide then if you need longer.” Leo is giving him his best stern look, which in reality just makes Donnie want to laugh. “You got lucky thanks to our mutant durability, but I’m serious about giving it time to heal.”

“Yeah, sure, Dr. Dumb Dumb,” says Donnie dismissively, and Leo reaches up and gives him a light but still annoying flick on the forehead.

“Worst patient ever. I’d rather have Mikey with the flu, and he gives me shit about how I make soup.” Leo leans back, looking him over. “How are you feeling, though? Woozy at all? Any pain other than the arm?”

Donnie gives a shake of his head. “I feel as well as can be expected.”

“Okay, cool.” Leo lifts his own arms over his head, stretching them out with an audible pop. “Well, you can hang out here or go back to your room. You’re stable enough.”

Donnie nods and then doesn’t make a move to go anywhere. He’d rather go to his room than stay here, with all the sterile smells and medical equipment, but he still feels wobbly. Vulnerable.

Leo, perhaps still able to read him too well, doesn’t leave either.

“...I’m glad I didn’t lose it,” he says after a moment. He can see Leo opening his mouth to say something, so he continues quickly. “I mean, I have, of course, trained myself to be ambidextrous in case such a situation arose-”

“A totally normal thing to do.”

“-but it’s more… <i>efficient</i> to have both arms.”

“You’re allowed to be happy you didn’t lose an arm, weirdo,” Leo says, reaching over and giving Donnie’s unharmed hand a squeeze that sucks any bite out of his words. “You’re allowed to be frustrated that you’re stuck like this for eight weeks. And you’re definitely allowed to be grateful to the best brother in the world for saving your life.”

“Okay, well.” Donnie pulls his hand away, swiveling to get his legs off the bed and trying not to grin too obviously at Leo’s pout. “I’m going back to my room.”

“You sure you don’t need help from your most beloved and favorite brother to get there?”

“Sure; Mikey isn’t here, though, so I guess you’ll have to do.”

“Ouch! So cold, Dee, so cold.”

Leo loops an arm around him and pulls him into a hug, one Donnie lets him have, failing to fight his smile. He doesn’t really need the support, but he leans on Leo anyway.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #badthingshappenbingo #crush injury #rise donatello #rise leonardo #fanfiction

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geminidentitycrisis · 4 years ago

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Fatgum x F!reader "What a Hero SHOULD do"

Whew.

You guys.

I've been gone a long while, life has been a rollercoaster, but I don't really wanna get into all that noise. Just happy to be in a good place right now.

That said, this was painful to write because I had planned the ending very differently...

I'm not officially in the bnha/mha fandom but, I just got into it recently and wanted to show some love to my favorite Pro!

Hope you guys like it!

I haven't written anything in a while, so please go easy on me...

_____________

(WARNING! Mild angst)

"Hey, Fat...can I ask you something kinda personal...?"

Fatgum glanced down at his young intern with an eyebrow raised, tilting his head in curiosity. "Huh? Oh, sure. What's on yer mind?" he gave an encouraging grin to put Kirishima at ease. The red head craned his neck to look up at his boss, his own mouth twisted into a small frown.

"Have you asked _______ on a date yet...?"

He stumbled a bit but keeps walking, caught off guard by the question, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. "Woah, where did that come from?!" he asked in return with a nervous chuckle. "Well..." Kirishima continued "You guys seem really close. The way you look at her when you see her-"

"Hahaha!" the burst of anxious laughter interrupted and Red Riot looked up at Fatgum again in confusion. "You're reading too deep into it, man! We're just friends! Heh..." Toyomitsu tried to act casually, but it wasn't working at all.

Kirishima pouted a bit, deciding to push a little harder.

"...but, I think she has feelings for you, too-" the blonde stopped walking and stared down at him, his blush growing darker and spreading across the bridge of his nose, cutting him off again. "Okay, let's change the topic, huh? Maybe we should go somewhere else for lunch..."

Eyes widening a bit, Red Riot raised both hands defensively and shook his head. "No, no! I'm sorry...I won't mention it again..." his expression became one of defeat and disappointment, shoulders slumping as he continued to walk, staring down at the sidewalk.

With an inward wince, Toyomitsu followed close behind, his own gaze dropping to the ground as well. Silence passed between the Pro and his sidekick for several minutes before Fatgum spoke up again.

"Honestly, she deserves better..." he mumbled.

This was a surprise to Kiri, his mentor was always inspirationally self-confident, it was disheartening to hear such a comment from the man he so deeply admired. He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself when he remembered that he had already promised to drop the subject.

He felt bad for bringing it up now.

_______ was a sweet lady, she was funny and friendly, vivacious and beautiful, generous, tough and a fantastic cook. All Kirishima wanted was to see them both happy together. When they spotted each other through the window of the diner, their eyes lit up, a smile instantly formed on their lips, they would practically start glowing.

She always ran to jump into his arms, hugging around his neck, never failing to say how she missed him. He caught her every time, hiding his face in her hair as he hugged her back and would say he had missed her too, but especially her cooking!

If that isn't true love, Kiri thought, then what is...?

They finally made it to the diner and stopped outside. Fatgum looked through the window, and when he didn't see ______ anywhere, glanced at Red Riot again with a frown. "Listen, can I count on you to keep that little conversation between us? I don't want ______ to know how I feel..."

"You're not sick, are you??" a soft voice piped up from beside Toyomitsu.

It made both of them jump, startled. Fatgum whipped his head around to see ______ standing there, instead of her pretty smile, her face was flooded with worry at the thought of her Hero being ill or injured.

The Pro forced a crooked grin as the blush returned to his cheeks. "N-no, no, I'm fine! How's it goin'...?" he stuttered weakly.

She was clearly not convinced, the concern in her bright (e/c) eyes only deepened. "C'mon...all this time we've known each other, you think I can't tell when something's bothering you...?" he started to panic a bit but Red Riot swooped in to save the day like the rising star he was.

"Aw, he just had a big breakfast, that's all...he doesn't wanna hurt your feelings if he can't finish lunch." Kirishima answered casually with a lightly teasing undertone, arms crossing over his chest. She looked from him up at Fatgum who responded to her questioning expression with a sheepish grin and shrug.

At this, her smile bloomed in place, eyes twinkling mischievously as she playfully elbowed his broad, squishy belly. "Oh, c'mon! When have you ever left here without takeout, even after filling up?! As if it matters..." she giggled, hopping up into his arms as always, chin resting on his shoulder as she nuzzled against him sweetly.

"I'm just happy you're okay...I missed you!"

Bending at the waist with his arms extended, the blonde caught her effortlessly when she hopped up for the hug, sighing and closing his eyes as he rises to his full height, squeezing the small girl gently.

"Ahh, I'm fine, I'm fine...I missed you too..."

Kirishima gave a soft smile as he watched the exchange, dropping himself into the patio chair where he always sat when they came to the diner.

When he set her down, ________ smiled from him to his sidekick. "Your food should be done soon. It's a new recipe! I hope you guys like it!" then she waved over her shoulder as she walked back inside. Exhaling softly, Fatgum turned to sit as well. He glanced over at Red Riot, blushing a bit, only for it to get worse when he notices the toothy grin he's being flashed.

"...Oh, knock it off..." the pro grumbles, arms crossing and lowering his eyes to the tabletop.

"I didn't SAY anything...~!" Kirishima taunted childishly, arms folding behind his head as he leans back and closes his own eyes. "You didn't have to, punk." Tai shot back in typical big-bro style, reaching out across the table to muss the teens perfectly sculpted hair. "Aw, quit! It takes 40 minutes to set every morning!"

Fatgum chuckled, eyes rolling.

After some minutes passed, _______ returned with another server, both carrying trays of food which they placed on the table in front of the two heroes. "Wow! It looks so good!" they said simultaneously, earning a laugh from her.

"Well, I hope you like the taste even more. It's a cheeseburger-tater-tot-casserole. Dig in!" wasting no time, Kirishima and Toyomitsu start chowing down, both groaning happily around mouthfuls of the meal and nodding in approval. "Mmm...!" _______ laughed again, giving a thumbs up.

"Glad to hear it! I'll be right back with your drinks."

She left again but came back quickly with two pitchers and a cup, putting them between their plates. "Yer an angel, _____." Fatgum said with a grin, taking one of the pitchers and starting to drink from it. Red Riot snickered quietly before sipping his own drink.

"Oh, I just remembered! Check this out!" she said cheerfully, reaching behind her neck and starting to untie her apron. Upon glancing at her and noticing this, Fatgums eyes grew wide and a dark blush pooled in his cheeks, choking slightly on the ice water. "...?!"

Kiri froze, his eyes getting big as well and blushing slightly.

She dropped the top, revealing...

A tank top. With a picture of a sombrero. It said "If you don't like TACOS, I'm NACHO type"

Red Riot started laughing, covering his eyes with a hand as he tipped back his head. "Cute, right?!" she asked enthusiastically, looking from one to the other. Smiling weakly, Fatgum gave a slow nod. "It's great...really clever..." he wondered if steam would rise off him if he poured the rest of the water down his neck.

"Yeah, I knew I had to have it when I saw it. Anyway," she started to fix her apron again. "I'll let you guys finish eating. Let me know if you need boxes and your takeout oughtta be done before you get done with those. Enjoy!" with that, she walked off.

The blonde watched over his shoulder as she left before sliding his plate out of the way, folding his arms on the table and burying his face in them.

Grinning, Kiri nudged his foot under the table. "DON'T. SAY. A WORD." this reply only got him to laugh again, head shaking as he resumed eating. "Whatever you say, boss..." the red head hummed.

Between them, they were able to clear their dishes, waiting by the front door for the takeout, both content and full of tasty food. "Alright, guys. Here ya go! I'm glad you liked lunch, lemme know when you wanna try it again." Tai smiled down at her when she came out, taking the bags gratefully. "Yeah, definitely. Will do!"

______ hugged Kirishima tightly, pulling him down to place a kiss on his forehead, surprising him and making him blush faintly since she hadn't done it before. "Be safe, young man, you hear me?" she demanded. He answered with a broad smile and a nod. "Gotcha!"

"Ooh, do I get one of those?" Fatgum asked half jokingly, blushing too. Some color rose up on her cheeks as well, giving him a warm smile as she reached up for the BMI hero.

He put down the food to pick her up again for another hug, chuckling softly when she pressed a tender kiss against his cheek. "Aw, that was sweet!" Kirishima called up to them, earning a swift kick to the ass. "Ow! Hey!" the red head complained, rubbing the spot.

He set her down carefully with a deep sigh. She didn't let go of his arms and he looked at her in confusion. "Please be careful out there, Taishiro...I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you..." he grinned, placing a hand on her head. "I will. I'll be back before ya know it!"

She pressed herself into his tummy, coming nowhere close to being able to wrap her arms around him but she gives him her best hug anyway. The pro didn't have to look at his intern to know he was smirking smugly. He hugged her back before stepping away to grab his bags again. "Well...see ya, _____."

He waved, smiling, then turned so they could head back out. They only took a few steps before Fatgum stopped and glanced back at her over his shoulder.

She was still there, offering another small smile and wave of goodbye.

"C'mon, man! Just go for it! You TOTALLY got this!" Kiri urged desperately. But he was still hesitant. It wasn't an issue of his own self-confidence, but his career. He was so busy that he would hardly have time for you, and the way Toyomitsu saw it, you deserved to be waited on hand-and-foot.

He dreamed about being with you, which meant his worst nightmare would be a villain or criminal using you as leverage against him. It was best to leave things the way they are. It's what he SHOULD do.

A real Hero isn't so selfish as to put their own desires ahead of the safety of those they cherish, he reminded himself. With a heavy heart, he forced a smile to hide the pain and waved back before looking down at the ground and sighing, eyes closing slowly.

"...I just...can't...

#taishiro x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x you #fatgum x reader #fatgum x you #mha x y/n #bnha x you #self insert #reader insert #Fatgum #Taishiro Toyomitsu

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biancatronic · 2 years ago

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Unpopular opinions about Devil may Cry

I know I'm very focused on Madness Combat fandom but I'm thinking about going back to drawing DMC so this post will express my opinion on some things I like and dislike about devil may cry.

Which DMC is the underrated?

Honestly, and it's ok if you don't like it but the two most underrated and hated devil may cry are DmC: Devil may Cry and the famous hated DMC 2, first, I haven't played DmC yet but I've played both, and in my opinion he hasn't it's so 'worse' and 'horrible' but yes limited in some things, I don't know what happened in the development of it but I know they tried to give it something different, I played it on my Xbox 360 in HD Collection (yes I'm so inferior that current consoles are getting expensive and that made me cry because I know I'll never play the games I want, rip for me) and my experience was "ok, it's not that bad" and it has some nice things in it like the amulets, arsenal, pistols, Argosx, Lucia, playable Dante Trish outfit and to be honest the Diesils outfits are even pleats but funny the one I love the most is Lucia's outfit with a jacket that reminds me a lot of Leon in RE4 jacket, and even managed to collect all the amulets thanks to the good souls who made videos and walkthroughs of how to get weapons and amulets in DMC 2, for me it manages to be fun in some aspects but yes I see errors like the automatic aim is bad, the plot is not good but it doesn't get worse since it's usual of Dante beating idiots trying to dominate the world, another underestimated and I even understand why it was hated is DmC yes many say it is better than DMC 2 but the reason most hated the game is for the change of characters and having a different look , and that's ok with that but this game is from a parallel universe and with a different team that has a different proposal so why hate it being that the game is parallel, there are alternative versions of games like Metal Gear Rising and the strange alternative games of Bobeman that Konami made. Well, what I don't like about the game is that Dante is very immature at times and even people have even compared him to Nero in DMC4, but it's ok the game is good and cool as much as I wasn't mad about having a different Vergil among others things is parallel universe and i love them both with passion and i don't care about negative reviews i will protect them both until the end.

Shipps I like in DMC

I know many love patterns and 'treats' but the ones I love the most are Verlady (Lady x Vergil) and also Vlady (V x Lady), Trislady (Trish X Lady) Lucia X V, Lucia X Dante, Lucia x Trish, Gloria/ Trish x Credo is a bit of Lucia x Credo heh and also honorable mention to Credo X Dante and Nico X V supremacy, and the platonic relationship of Dante1 and Dante2 I like different and interesting dynamic interaction, many don't like by ship Lady x Vergil but I'm a person who loves shipps between the rival/villain with a girl on the side of good sweet and kind, many find it abusive and meaningless but a cool interaction and that the girl changes the rival's opinion is the rival starts having a platonic and romantic relationship with her and they both have a friendship that everyone didn't expect that's what love and short writes this kind of dynamic ship. While others I'm a person who likes unpopular things and a different dynamic you know, it's my opinion and my OTP's respect me 🌚🍷

Shipps I don't like/dislike

Many will hate me but the relationship and Shipp that I don't like is Dante x Lady, I like the fanart and everything but I don't like it because I don't see them as boyfriends, for me I see their relationship as a provoked brother to the younger sister and also the two didn't get along well at first but then both start to create a bond and be friends, however Lady had some falls with Dante in my opinion Dante treats her as a close friend without a love relationship and they also in other media in relation One of them Lady kept pestering Dante with her debt and they had little fights here and there, but they work out in the end and it's okay, I don't like a relationship like that it sounds almost like the negative relationship like Amy and Sonic when the writers turn sonamy into a relationship of a grumpy and jealous girl obsessed with the protagonist and that didn't sit well with me, but I don't get there, I hate who ships the two of them it's ok each one has a favorite OTP and doesn't like a ship it's normal for we don't like something.

Shipps I'm neutral

To be honest, I don't care if the people who ship Spadacest and Selfcest and other shipproblematics, I'm neutral and sometimes I like the arts for the painting work and the work that the person had to express, I don't care about that and I complain like a spoiled tantrum child, I already fell in love with my close relative in my case my cousin when I was little and that was until I was eight years old and when he dated I was jealous but after a few years I was not interested and supported his happiness, these cases of a person falling in love with a loved one is for fatherly love and sometimes this is fleeting until a guy YouTube BR (I won't say who he is for reasons he won't be crucified by people of bad character who want evil from others who think and like something that others hate) that I follow he dated his cousin but that was a long time in his adolescence and the two went on with their lives when they ended the relationship this is kind of unusual for others but they were young and people don't understand that sometimes these phases are puberty and their maturation process let's go to of problematizing everything and living ignoring the bad things and being really human without being hostile to everything.

I'm ok with Spadacest, Trish and Dante it's not incest because Trish is a clone of Eva and that's not to say that Selfcest and Incest are the same thing, it's common for people to date an individual who has personality and looks like their loved one, their relationship was cute and healthy (unlike Lady and Dante) there's even an official artwork of Trish kissing Dante's neck that Capcom did in the DMC 1 concepts. In short, Artist of Spadacest and Selfcest you are always welcome to exchange ideas and feel free to express yourself without this sealing that has a cult for wanting everything normal and their standard (this is turning back to the time when people burned women for suspicion they were witches), damn even the artists of problematic things (apart from the relationship abusive ped0) manages to be more human than those who threaten and fights with them.Yes if you didn't like my opinion on this topic, first block, don't complain and mind your own business. This I aborted this in another post which is this one.

I'm also fine with Kyrie X Nero, and Nero X Nico, as much as I liked the Kyrie X Nero relationship however the novel ruined Kyrie making her strength and kind of torture Nero to do things for her.

What I don't like so much about DMC in general

What I don't like is that most games have annoying bosses, damn me playing dmc 2 on hard both in Dante and Lucia's campaign I remembered that damn moth that gave those damn lizards that ate me when I didn't jump in time and I desperately pressed all the buttons when my life was going to the bag and not to mention that the Arkham boss fight is so annoying that this bastard doesn't even fight and uses his remaining sperm on me, another annoying part especially in DMC 3 is that when I'm going to do a run to get Rank S with Dante things start to get unfair depending on the difficulty, seriously I know the game is to be challenged but when a lesson demo takes a lot of damage on me when I'm not focused on it it's boring and not to mention I'm worried about boss that will take a lot of my HP and I need to redo the run to get a suitable Rank can be B and A, you will understand me if you are a beginner of these games.Another case I dislike in DMC most fans have a cult obsessed for wanting everything badass and sick whoow pizza man, man I hate it when they talk bad about DMC 2 and Nero and still talk a lot of bullshit that made me give it block these people so much that there are things that everyone admires but I don't agree 100% as Dante is better, in fact Dante he is not a 100% nice guy, yes in the novels and manga he shows his immature and questionable acts, I also don't like it when fans force the bar to leave everything badass and talking not only about Dante but also the horrible acts that Vergil has done in the past for his traumatic obsession with power and him being too cold and him and Dante's relationship being tense between hatred for both being opposite in dmc 3 and manga. In my opinion some things have to change as Nero has to take care and do his part in Devil May Cry and take the responsibilities fuck and Dante fans say that it's not yet time for Nero to be a protagonist and he needs to face bigger things to come in a future DMC game.

That's my popular opinion and I hope you understand my points.

#my opinion #BiancaTronic post #Devil may cry #Mention of Spardac*st #Shipps #my otp <3 #Sorry fans Dante x Lady #Unpopular opinions #vergil x lady #Capcom #DmC Devil may cry #Devil may cry 2 is my favorite #Haha im danger

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fluffyskies · 4 years ago

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Correct me if I'm wrong

Fandom: Sanders sides

Category: [Tickle fic]

Ship: LAMP

Roles: Lee Logan!, Ler Virgil!, Ler Patton!, Ler Roman!

Summary: {Logan is correctting all the sides and providing information on why it is incorrect, the others get kinda of annoyed so they form a plan}

All the sides were in the living room trying to decide on what movie to watch.

"No I don't wanna watch that one again me and Roman watched it already" Virgil groaned.

"Actually Virgil it's 'Roman and I' that is the correct way of saying it" he said with a smile. Virgil eyed him and groaned again this was like the seventh time today that he was corrected, a few times was ok but this was just silly.

"Do we have anymore options?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah, there in the drawers" Roman replied.

Logan cleared his throat. "Roman the correct term is 'they're' which translates to 'they are'" then he went back to reading his book.

"Thanks nerd" Roman playfully rolled his eyes. He didn't seem as annoyed as Virgil but was a bit, now Patton when he is corrected he just giggles and thanks Logan.

But as it seems Virgil was getting more annoyed by the second. And then he purposely made a grammar mistake to bait Logan to correct him.

"Virgil correct me if I'm wron-" Logan was just about to correct Virgil, everything was going according to plan.

"Heh, no correct me if I'm wrong Logan, but I heard that your ticklish" Virgil said crawling over to Logan on the couch where it dipped a bit. This caused the logical side to sputter words that didn't make much sense.

"I'm not hearing a correction, so I'm correct aren't I? the purple side said with a grin.

"F-falsehood..." Logan muttered tuning his head to the side obviously trying to hide his growing blush. Virgil then looked at the others, Roman and Patton nodding then they came over to them with grins of their own.

"Hehe! Logi correct me if I'm wrong but I think your bluuuushing~" Patton giggled.

"W-what n-no of course n-not" blush rising to his ears, very clear to see. The poor flustered Logan just sat there maybe starting to regret correcting the others all the time. But this next question would have Logan speechless and a blabbering mess.

"Hey specs" Roman asked.

"H-hm?" Logan stuttered.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but are you in a lee mood~?" he chuckled evilly. This made the blush even deeper now he couldn't deny at all that he wasn't blushing but it's not like the others would believe him anyway. But he didn't respond to the question just whined.

"Awe I think he just wanted some tickly tickles!" Patton said happily.

"Dohohon't tease!" tittered the stoic side who was currently squirming in place.

Virgil chuckled. "Correct me if I'm wrong but you love the teasy teases don't you?". Now that time Logan actually squeaked.

This is when they started Virgil straddling his waist and Roman and Patton at his feet. When Logan looked up he saw a devilish smirk on Virgil's face and he immediately put his hands on his face to hide his blush.

"Hey now don't do that, we want to see that adorable smile" gently grabbing his wrists and removing them.

"Logan, correct me if I'm wrong but I heard you love getting your toesies tickled am I correct?" Roman asked.

"Absolutely not!" he yelled. This caused Roman to lift a brow and smirk and then quickly scitter his fingers on his already sockless feet going up to toes.

"Ehehek!! that tickles!" Logan squealed.

"Yep I'm definitely correct" Roman smirked and continued to scribble his fingers on his feet keeping him in a loop of giggles.

"Hey Logan correct me if I'm wrong but we have 24 ribs right?" Vigirl asked.

"YEheheS!" Logan squeaked.

"Hmm I'm gonna check if you have all 24 k?" Vigirl said. This made Logan's eyes widen and spout some other nonsense that was unclear. So Vigirl wiggled his fingers at his lowest ribs making sure to get in between the ticklish nerves.

"Oooonnneee~, hey don't move or I'll lose count and have to start all over again. This already had Logan wiggling but he was trying to be careful not to make Vigirl lose count. But the sudden feeling of Patton's fast light fingers on his arches almost made him wiggle.

"AHahahaHaha!!" Logan was laughing and flailing his arms because he didn't know what to do with them and he didn't want to put them on his blushed face in fear of Vigirl punishing him. This went on for a bit until Logan's voice started to sound a bit wheezy and they got him a drink of water. After, Logan just sat there blush still visible, everyone was silent until...

"Hey correct me if I'm wrong but you have the cutest smile! Patton chirped. And Logan was already flustered covering his face again with his hands.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you have the most ticklish toes in the whole world" Virgil added smirking.

"And correct me if I'm wrong but I bet you loved every second of it" Roman gave a loving smile. And they all cuddled together falling asleep and totally forgetting about the movie.

Hey! You made it to the end sorry if a was a bit short but I'm currently taking drawing prompts so feel free to request one if you like, hope you enjoyed this and have a nice day :D

#Sanders Sides #Tickling #Fanfiction #Tickle #Lee Logan!#Ler Virgil!#Ler Roman!#Ler Patton!#Ticklish Logan!#Skye writes #Skye posts #Wow this is mega late...;-; oop

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when-a-humble-bard · 5 years ago

Text

what my heart just yearns to say

Word Count: 5575

summary: Jaskier’s a romantic at heart. So you would think he falls in love at first sight. But... when he falls in love with Geralt, he falls very, very slowly. Or, ten moments where Jaskier falls a little bit more in love with the Witcher, until he's really not sure when it started in the first place.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, injuries, vomiting, mentions of death, nonconsenual almost-groping by a patron, shipping lens on a canon scene, near-drowning, cursing (of course), first kisses, feelings confessions, Jaskier yearns so much oof

A/N: In which I continue to be amazed by the other creators in this fandom, inspired by them, and also wanted to further explore these two. I hope you enjoy it! A companion piece is in the planning stages already... Heh. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3

...

“They said it’s a water nymph?” Jaskier asks the Witcher one evening.

A fire crackles in front of them, sparks shooting up into the night sky. Stars peek between the breaks in the forest canopy above them. Geralt glances at the bard, then sighs and turns his attention back to the fire.

“That’s what they said.”

“But you don’t buy it,” Jaskier says. It’s not really a question. He can tell from Geralt’s tone.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line. “Rusalki and some bruxae share a number of similarities in terms of appearance. The rusalki they described has pale skin and dark hair.”

Jaskier’s fingers twitch with the sudden desire to grab his notebook. “And… rusalki don’t look like that?”

“They can,” Geralt replies, glancing at him, “but so can bruxae. They also have similar tastes in prey.”

Jaskier purses his lips as he remembers what the townspeople had told them. “Men.”

Geralt nods. “Which is why you’re going to stay here with Roach tomorrow.”

Jaskier glances over towards the horse grazing a few yards away, then looks back at the Witcher. “So what’s the difference?”

He doesn’t know if the question tumbles past his lips because he’s genuinely curious about the answer or because he just really likes hearing Geralt talk. The Witcher’s subdued cadence was stubbornly persistent. Often when Jaskier made a concerted effort to engage Geralt in conversation, his responses were brief, clipped, and straightforward. A staccato drum against Jaskier’s lilting melody.

But apparently, Geralt was a fountain of willing knowledge when it came to monsters. And Jaskier could listen to him for hours.

Geralt’s brow quirks in surprise at the question. “To start with, bruxae are of the vampire family. They lure men to their death so that they may feed on their blood. Rusalki are, usually, much more amenable. They lure men to them for procreation, and rarely intend death.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “Which is why you think it’s not rusalki. You think it’s a bruxa.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier feels something twinge in his chest. “How do you kill a bruxa?” He tears his gaze towards the fire as he feels Geralt glance at him.

“They’re susceptible to silver, like most monsters. Igni is also useful. Bruxa tend to hunt in packs, so its unusual that the villagers here have only seen one.”

“Have you fought them before?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nervous? About tomorrow?”

A pause. “No.”

Jaskier huffs and offers a faint, uncertain smile. “That makes one of us.”

“I told you you’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, but that’s quite beside the point, isn’t it?” Because Jaskier isn’t nervous about himself.

Geralt’s head snaps over to the bard in surprise. “Jaskier—”

Jaskier waves him off. “So tell me, dear Witcher,” he says, because he just wants to hear Geralt talk as much as he can tonight. “Why does silver work so well on monsters?”

II.

Jaskier watches him. The early spring air tugs gently at the loose strands of his white hair. Birds twitter happily in the canopy above them. The stream nearby is still. Mid-morning sunlight filters through the leaves and branches, leaving a mosaic of light around them.

Geralt breathes.

Kneeling in a patch of grass with his hands resting on his thighs, the Witcher has his eyes closed and just… breathes. Jaskier watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way it expands with each inhale, the way the ever-present tension in Geralt’s shoulders eases just the slightest bit with each exhale.

Jaskier knows he’s not asleep. Sleeping and meditating are different things. But he thinks that Geralt actually looks more peaceful like this. Jaskier had spent many nights in the bedroll near the Witcher and knew all too well that when Geralt slept, it was usually fitfully. But when he meditates like this…

Geralt is still.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like he’s getting a rare glimpse at who Geralt was—is—beneath the layers and layers of training and mutations. He knew Geralt didn’t regret what he went through to become a Witcher. At least… not exactly. Can you regret something that wasn’t your choice to begin with? Had been his rhetorical response when Jaskier had been brave enough to ask him one evening. But the bard knew that no amount of trials and training could erase the parts of Geralt that was still—sometimes painfully—human. Geralt held within himself a carefully balanced dichotomy that seemed, at least to Jaskier, to be a storm built on regret and guilt and (in his darker moments) self-loathing.

But watching Geralt meditate—the steady breath, the perfect stillness—makes the bard wonder if the storm metaphor isn’t quite accurate. Because really, when Jaskier thinks about it, Geralt’s humanity is perhaps more like the coastal waves. Relentlessly returning to the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

Jaskier watches Geralt meditate and feels something tighten in his chest. He’d follow that tide to the end of the earth, he realizes. He’d call the waves back to shore for as long as Geralt would let him.

Geralt’s eyes blink open and Jaskier unapologetically meets his gaze.

He arcs his eyebrow. “Composing, Bard?”

Jaskier offers a small, sincere smile. “Something like that.”

III.

“I’d rethink that move.”

If he’s being honest, Jaskier is almost as surprised as the patron when Geralt seems to materialize out of the crowd and grab the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip. The man’s other hand is still fisted possessively in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers, uncomfortably close to his crotch.

“What,” the patron spits with a sneer full of rotting teeth, “unwilling to share your whore, Butcher?”

Jaskier grimaces. Butcher made his skin crawl, and he knows that Geralt didn’t take kindly to that term either. The bard had learned that very early, and very quickly.

Geralt growls low in his throat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Call him that again and I’ll slit your throat.”

The threat makes Jaskier freeze instinctively. Call him that again… Him.

As in Jaskier.

The patron roughly lets go of the bard, who stumbles a step from the suddenness of the motion but still hasn’t taken his eyes off Geralt. In truth, Jaskier really hadn’t been particularly bothered by the term itself. He’d been called it before, and been called much worse than that several hundred times over. But Geralt took issue with it, evidently.

Geralt was defending him. He’d never had someone who’d done that before. Not even his own family.

“Not worth it,” the patron says gruffly. Geralt releases him with a shove to send him stumbling away from Jaskier. He staggers a few steps, muttering something under his breath. Jaskier doesn’t hear it clearly—something about his voice and screaming as pretty as he sings—but Geralt evidently does hear it, quite clearly. Something bright and furious ignites in his gold eyes.

“Geralt,” he says quickly but quietly. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

For a moment, the Witcher looks torn. Jaskier places a hand on his forearm, and Geralt levels a withering gaze on the other man. He rushes through the crowd and out the tavern. It’s not until the door closes behind him that Geralt turns his attention back to the bard. The hot anger in his eyes evaporates slowly into something that Jaskier almost wants to call… soft. His gaze flickers—quick and calculating—over Jaskier’s form. Looking for signs of injury.

Geralt’s gaze meets his again in a silent question. Jaskier offers a reassuring smile and slight nod in answer. I’m okay.

Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier doesn’t think he’s imagining the tinge of relief under the veil of exasperation. “You really ought to learn some self-defense, Jaskier.”

Jaskier offers an affronted scoff. “I can defend myself perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.”

“I can! I’ll have you know, he is hardly the first over-enthusiastic fan I’ve dealt with.” Jaskier tries not to wince at the way Geralt’s expression darkens, and rushes of add, “And I’ve fended off unwanted advances just fine. He just happened to be particularly, ah, insistent.”

“Hm. And what happens when you can no longer talk your way out of such situations?”

Jaskier’s flippant smile wavers, then stays in place. “Are you offering to teach me, Geralt?” He’s mostly joking.

“Yes.” Geralt’s answer is immediate and unflinching. Jaskier tries not to think too long about why that sends a flutter through his stomach.

IV.

The kitchen of the small house on the outskirts of the town has barely enough room for the three of them. Geralt, beside him, reeks of death and decay and monster guts. In front of them, the young boy—who couldn’t be older than 16 by Jaskier’s best guess—hoists his baby sister up further onto his hip.

“Truly, Witch—ah, Geralt?” At Geralt’s slight nod, the teen smiles. “Truly, Geralt. Thank you. I, um…” he trails off, turning to rifle through a drawer behind him. The middle sibling, a young boy of about six, runs around the corner and nearly barrels straights into the two of them in the entryway.

“Oi!” the teen snaps. “Slow down, will ya?”

“Sorry,” the younger boy mumbles, and then is off like a flash the moment Geralt takes a step to the left to let him through.

His brother watches him with a certain fond exasperation, even as embarrassment colors his cheeks. “Too much energy for his own good,” he says. Jaskier realizes then that he has a small pouch in the hand that isn’t supporting his baby sister’s weight. He extends it out to the Witcher. “It’s not much. Certainly not nearly enough for disposing of the monster that took our parents, but...”

Geralt shakes his head, making no move to take it. “No payment necessary.”

Jaskier glances at him and feels something unexpectedly soft warming in his chest.

“Please,” the teen says. “I insist.”

“Keep it.”

“My father taught me to never accept charity.”

Jaskier thinks of the empty cupboards around them in the kitchen and feels a small tug in his gut. He remembers all too well singing for literal scraps. Barely surviving. He knew desperate times. And he also knew that some people still ranked their pride higher. The bard figures he can’t really fault him for it, and besides, the poor kid had just lost the very father he’d spoken of. Grief did funny things to people.

Geralt stares at the boy for a long moment. Jaskier sees the tension work in his jaw before he holds a hand out and lets him deposit the coins into the outstretched palm. Twenty ducats fall from the piece of cloth.

“It’s all I have—” he begins apologetically.

“It’s plenty,” Geralt interrupts, folding his fingers over the paltry sum. It does not escape Jaskier’s attention that he doesn’t slip the coins into his own pouch.

The infant in the teen’s arms shifts and makes a distressed noise. “I… I should put her down for a nap, I think.”

Jaskier can hear the uncertainty in the boy’s voice and offers an encouraging smile. “We’ll see ourselves out. I’m sure a bit of rest is exactly what she needs. As a matter of fact, I could use a nap myself.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but Jaskier sees the relieved smile pull at the boy’s mouth. “Right. Well… Thank you. Again. I… thank you.”

He disappears up the rickety wood stairs. On their way out, Jaskier sees Geralt discretely drop the ducats into a partially-opened drawer by the entrance to the kitchen.

That soft, warm feeling in Jaskier gives an aching, happy tug.

Jaskier watches, fascinated, as Geralt’s eye twitches. The music that fills the tavern is not coming from Jaskier, and while the other bard is clearly less experienced, Jaskier seems less bothered by the amateur display than the Witcher. Which is odd—really odd—to Jaskier. Because he had been certain that Geralt really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about music.

Jaskier looks at the Witcher over the top of his wine glass as he takes another sip. “What’s troubling you, Geralt?”

Geralt settles an irritated golden gaze onto Jaskier as the bard (the other one) starts another song. It takes only a few seconds for Jaskier to realize it’s the same simple, mundane chord progression and structure as the last song played. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s gaze flickers lightning quick to the lute beside him.

Jaskier stifles a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re already missing my serenades.”

Geralt isn’t looking back at him, instead watching the other bard parade around the room with a look that is very nearly a glare. “At least your songs have some… complexity.”

That sends a very unexpected surge of warmth through Jaskier’s chest. He sits up a bit more, leaning forward. “Musically or lyrically?”

“Music,” Geralt replies, almost absently. “The… chords?” The Witcher’s gaze flickers uncertainly to Jaskier, who can’t help but feel like he’s clinging to every word. He gives Geralt a slight, encouraging nod. Geralt shifts. “They’re better than this shit.”

Jaskier stares at him. Sure, the Witcher didn’t have the same musically-inclined vocabulary, but even that couldn’t hide the fact that Geralt listens to his music. Really listens.

Geralt tears his gaze away from Jaskier’s after a moment, taking a long pull of ale from the tankard in front of him. “Your lyrics,” he continues, “are little more than inaccurate stories.”

“Ah, my dear Witcher, ordinarily I would balk at such a baseless accusation—”

“It’s not baseless.”

“—but you cannot hide the fact any longer.” Jaskier cannot contain the grin that pulls at his lips any more than he can contain the surge of a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. He points a finger at Geralt. “You listen to me.”

Geralt looks back at him and—though he knows Geralt would deny it—Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Impossible not to,” Geralt replies dryly, “what with you filling every damn second with song.” He takes another swallow.

The thinly veiled deflection does nothing to diminish Jaskier’s smile. “And you like it.”

This time, Geralt can’t quite contain the tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Jaskier knows it’s a hum of agreement.

VI.

Jaskier’s heart still hasn’t stopped pounding, even though they’d finished the treacherous part of the shortcut around an hour ago. The image of Borch, Téa, and Véa plummeting—their bodies disappearing into the mountain mist below—still leaves Jaskier with a slight roll to his stomach and an ache in his bones that had nothing to do with the long day of foot travel.

It’s close to dusk. The chill of evening mountain air begins to stiffen the bard’s fingers as he sets his lute down beside his bedroll. The dwarves busy themselves with setting up camp and starting to prepare a meal, but Jaskier can’t help the way he keeps watching Geralt.

Geralt, who hadn’t said a thing since Borch let go of the chain.

Jaskier kneels by his bedroll and pretends to adjust it, but he watches the Witcher sitting on a boulder a few yards away. He gazes out over the jagged terrain off the cliffside. He is still. But Jaskier feels his chest knot with concern.

Geralt was perhaps the single most selfless person that Jaskier had met in his 40 years of living. But that came with its pitfalls too—especially as it related to how Geralt tended to view himself. There had always been splintered shards in Geralt’s soul that Jaskier didn’t know how to begin to dig out. But he can still picture the way Geralt had stayed kneeling for a moment on those wooden planks, his head bowed like the weight of the world had—for just a moment—dropped on top of him.

Jaskier fears he knows that body language, and the weighted silence that had followed that moment. He fears that his 22 years of traveling with the Witcher means that he really does know Geralt. And that Geralt feels that he has let them down somehow, despite all he did to try to save them. Even at great risk to himself, Jaskier remembers with a bit of a wince, hearing the creak of those boards under Geralt’s feet.

The Witcher could never catch a break, it seemed.

With a sigh, Jaskier stands and crosses to him. Geralt makes no move to acknowledge his presence, not really, but his stillness is a sign of recognition in and of itself. The bard sets himself carefully, gingerly, on the boulder beside him.

“You did your best,” Jaskier tells him softly, the words managing to push through his slightly tight throat. “There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt as he says it. The Witcher had spent more years constructing a mask of passivity and stoicism than Jaskier had been alive, but the bard knows him. And when he sees Geralt’s gaze drop by a few degrees, he knows he’d been right about where Geralt’s thoughts had been.

Something in Jaskier’s chest pulses with an ache that he cannot name. Geralt has carried too much for too long and Jaskier desires fervently to ease that burden. To find a way to let Geralt breathe and be and exist without quite so much heaviness.

“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?” he offers, his fingers fidgeting in his lap against the sudden desire to take Geralt’s hand. “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion.”

It’s a weak, flimsy attempt for a smile. Geralt doesn’t, but there’s just the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth when he hums in response. Geralt glances at him briefly, and though Jaskier doesn’t meet his gaze, that aching in his chest gives a sharp lurch with hope.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while,” he adds softly. He’d never said the words aloud before, but they resonate with a certain familiarity. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? ‘Life’s too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.’”

Jaskier swallows, setting his hands on his thighs because they are only getting more fidgety with each pulse of that sharp warmth in his chest—more insistent now. Harder to ignore.

“Composing your next song?” Geralt rumbles quietly.

Jaskier looks down at his hands. “No, I’m just, ah—” I love you, he thinks without daring to look at him. “Just trying to work out what pleases me.”

VII.

They’re half a mile out of town when it starts to rain. The starting sprinkle lasts just long enough for Jaskier to think he’s glad he invested in a case for the lute before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. Then he’s also glad he bought some decent boots at the last town they were in.

“Fuck.” Jaskier knows that tone. Geralt is annoyed. The bard glances at the Witcher beside him, a faintly amused smile pulling at his lips and a teasing quip on his tongue, but… it dies on his tongue .

Because Geralt meets his gaze, and for a moment, Jaskier forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t know why, really. The rain soaks Geralt’s white hair, causing some of it to fall into the man’s face in damp, loose strings. His dark shirt is quickly becoming plastered to his broad shoulders from the downpour, having left his armor to be cleaned during their quick trip to the woods to collect some medicinal herbs. Jaskier thinks it’s something about the Witcher’s eyes. Maybe it’s something to do with the way water droplets cling to his lashes. Or the way his golden eyes seem so much brighter in the downpour. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Jaskier is a man of many words and many metaphors. But he finds words failing him entirely now, and he can’t explain why. Except that he’s left with the sudden, clear sense that looking at Geralt feels a lot like being called home.

Geralt tilts his head slightly, the way he usually did when he was about to ask a question, but Jaskier blinks and jumps in before he can.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt? We still have half a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” Jaskier shakes his head. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looks away from Jaskier then, squinting briefly up at the sky. Not squinting, Jaskier realizes after a beat. Glaring.

“Not a fan of the rain?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. Geralt rarely vocally complained—usually Jaskier did it enough for the both of them—but the slight crease between his brows is a familiar look of displeasure. Jaskier pulls the lute case off his shoulders and shrugs out of his doublet.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he slings the lute case back around his shoulder. “You left your cloak back at the inn, and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He hands the purple doublet out to him, looking very pointedly down the road where they can just barely make out the silhouette of the edge of the town.

“Jaskier…” A hesitation. A surprisingly heavy one.

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier looks back at the Witcher then to flash him a smile.

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, then takes the garment. As he does so, Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

The bard quickly spins around and rushes a few steps in front of him, arms outstretched to welcome the rainfall, feeling a little breathless again.

VIII.

Jaskier jolts to awareness with a desperate, strangled gasp. Bile surges up his throat and he barely has the wherewithal to roll away from the person beside him—whose presence is more sensed than seen. Jaskier groans and shuts his eyes against the rolling nausea and the oddly briny taste it leaves in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels a hand rest between his shoulder-blades, so gently it almost seems hesitant.

When Jaskier takes a breath, it trembles. More bile—salty and acrid—rushes up his throat. When the second round of nausea abates and the coughing that wracks his lungs eases, Jaskier feels something cool and smooth pushed against his lips. He instinctively jerks away.

“Damn it, Jaskier,” snaps a rumbling voice. It’s weirdly familiar, even if the strain in it sounds foreign to the bard’s ears. “There’s not—”

Whatever the voice was saying is drowned out by a beautiful, echoing melody. It whispers promises of safety and warmth and love, and something in Jaskier’s chest gives a near painful lurch towards the sound. It’s also not until then that Jaskier gets a sense of his surroundings: the lake in front of him, the grainy sand sticking to his sopping wet clothes, the slate gray overcast sky above him. There are ripples in the lake and that song is calling to him from the water.

Overcome, Jaskier scrambles towards it.

“Fuck—”

Something thick and heavy grabs around Jaskier’s torso and pulls him back. The bard’s back hits something solid and firm but Jaskier’s chest is still pulling, pulling, pulling towards the water, towards the song.

The cool, smooth thing is pressed to his lips again. Jaskier wrenches his head away. But then he can hear something, barely, rumbling like distant thunder beneath the lilting song.

“Drink it, Jaskier. Please.”

The “please” sounds… odd to him. Strained and choked.

Jaskier lets his lips part in response, and a cool liquid floods into his mouth. It tastes of honey and cotton, washing away the briny taste that had been lingering in his mouth. He swallows it down.

A second later, the song fades away. So does the sound of the lake and the dusk breeze brushing past his ears. Just… silence. Jaskier feels the pulling in his chest release and the bard nearly goes boneless from the sudden relief.

He blinks a few times as clarity starts to trickle back into his thoughts. He’d been… traveling. Tracking a siren, or a mutation of one anyway. Yes, that was right. But he’d been with someone. Specifically…

“Geralt?” he asks, his own voice sounding odd in his head with the rest of the world muted. He realizes as soon as the name leaves his lips that Geralt is the thing that’s holding him in place. Jaskier cranes his neck to look at the Witcher, who still hasn’t relaxed his grip. Bright gold eyes meet his blue ones, then flickers over his form with panicked speed.

The stoic, collected look the Witcher usually wore has splintered, just a bit, and Jaskier thinks he can see a glimpse through the cracks that Geralt is frantically trying to piece back together.

He’s… afraid, Jaskier thinks. Or he had been, a moment ago.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier tells him, if only because he has the feeling that maybe Geralt needs to hear it.

The Witcher doesn’t reply, instead swallowing thickly and sinking his head to where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. And if Jaskier traces Geralt’s arm around him to find his hand and lace their fingers together, well. Geralt doesn’t seem to protest.

IX.

Jaskier is about halfway through the song about the vampiress when the door to the tavern ricochets open with a loud crack. Geralt staggers a step into the room—and it’s the fact that he staggers that makes Jaskier stop mid-song. The Witcher’s entrance is less than graceful, but Jaskier watches closely as Geralt grits his teeth, straighten his spine, and step fully through the threshold. Geralt’s eyes flicker over the room like he’s looking for something, or someone—perhaps the woman who had hired him—when they settle on Jaskier.

Oh.

The bard gracefully, if quickly, jumps to his feet and slings the lute in his hands around his back. Geralt is hiding it now behind sharp eyes and a rigid posture, but something is wrong. Jaskier can tell.

“I hate to cut a performance short,” he says to the crowd as he maneuvers through them towards the Witcher, mostly in an effort to break the sudden silence in the room, “but alas, I must bid you all adieu for the evening. Geralt, shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hum. But he follows Jaskier as the bard carves a path through the crowd towards the stairs. Jaskier flashes patrons reassuring smiles despite the way his own throat is tightening with concern.

They make it to the room—barely—before Geralt’s steps falter again. Jaskier steadies him by grabbing his arm and bracing a hand against Geralt’s chest.

“Easy,” he says softly.

“Fuck.”

“Here. Let’s get you sitting before you end up face-first on the floor, because if that happens then we’re both out of luck because—Melitele’s tits—” Jaskier yelps when he staggers for a second under Geralt’s sudden weight. “Okay. I’ve got you. Here we go.”

Jaskier is rambling as they cross the small room to the bed. He helps Geralt sit, kneeling in front of him as the Witcher sinks to the edge of the mattress. Geralt grimaces tightly and pitches forward into the bard, his head landing on Jaskier’s shoulder. His weight sinks a bit more, as if too weary to pull away. This close, Jaskier can feel the echoes of faint tremors wracking through his body.

Jaskier swallows the rising panic down. “Potions?” he asks in as level of a voice as he can manage.

“Out,” Geralt answers. “The venom isn’t lethal just—” Another shudder and a tight grunt. “—hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Jaskier releases a faint breath. He supposes he should feel relieved that it’s not lethal, but he can’t help that the tightness in his throat doesn’t quite ease. “What can I do?” he asks, because of all the things Geralt could have done and all the places he could have gone, he chose to find Jaskier when in immense pain. He wants to live up to that display of open trust.

He feels Geralt fist a hand in his shirt. “Just… stay.”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier says thickly, and if his voice breaks just a little, at least Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jaskier doesn’t think about it. He sees the mage thrust a hand out in Geralt’s direction when the Witcher’s back is turned and Jaskier lunges on nothing but instinct and the acrid taste of fear on his tongue.

A bolt of sharp green slams into his chest. Something cracks when Jaskier hits the forest floor, something that the bard doesn’t think is magic. His head snaps against the ground, his vision swimming. Heat and sharpness tears through his chest.

Someone screams. Maybe it’s Jaskier. He thinks he hears his name shouted, but it sounds far away.

He is drowning. Can you drown without water?

The bard gasps, desperately, searching for air that he can’t seem to drag into his burning, burning, burning lungs.

His eyes sting. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

There’s a hand on his shoulder—and Jaskier tries very hard to let that tug him from his haze of thoughts. When the hand pulls at him, rolling him onto his back, Jaskier can’t quite contain the choked whimper that releases in the back of his throat. He grimaces, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Jaskier.”

He definitely knows that voice. Jaskier blinks his eyes open, setting squarely on Geralt above him. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Geralt’s eyes quite so wide.

“Fuck,” Jaskier wheezes. He grimaces again. Is he dying? He doesn’t know.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Geralt’s voice very nearly breaks. Jaskier voice is tight with pain—his lungs are throbbing—but soft. Unapologetic. “You’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

He’d never said those words aloud before—I love you—but he means them. He thinks perhaps he’s meant them for quite a long time. Long before even the thought had occurred to him on that mountain all those years ago.

And he thinks Geralt knows this, from the way his eyes widen, and then his whole expression crumples.

“Jask,” he says, a hand cupping the bard’s jaw, his thumb skimming Jaskier’s cheekbone. “You can’t—you… fuck.”

Jaskier takes a breath to reply but cuts off with a wince at the sharp jolt it sends spiking up through his ribs. But he realizes then that the burning in his lungs is easing—gradually, but quickly—and the bard’s next exhale trembles with relief, even as his vision blurs with tears. Whatever spell the mage had sent at Geralt, it seems like one meant to briefly incapacitate and not kill outright. With a quiet grunt of effort, Jaskier presses a hand against the wet leaves beneath him and pushes to sit up.

Geralt looks startled, but he helps nonetheless. The hand on Jaskier’s jaw slips back to cup the back of his neck and the other grabs his free hand to ease him up. The bard sees Geralt’s gaze flicker over his form.

Jaskier tosses him a shaky, wan smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

“You didn’t know that,” Geralt snaps, like that should have made a difference in Jaskier’s decision to jump in front of it.

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

Something bright and pained flickers through Geralt’s gaze. He takes a breath as if to reply, then stops. A crease appears between his brows a second later. “You’re still hurt.”

“Some broken ribs,” Jaskier replies dismissively. The fact that Geralt is still gripping him like he’s afraid Jaskier might just dissolve into smoke in front of him doesn’t escape the bard’s attention.

“Hmm.” He sees Geralt swallow. Watches the way his pupils flicker over the bard’s chest and refuses to meet his eyes.

“Geralt.” The gaze snaps to his own, wide and splintering. Jaskier takes a shallow breath, his gaze as steady as the words that leave his lips. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Though Jaskier can’t be sure—his ears are still ringing a bit—he thinks he hears Geralt’s breath catch.

“Jaskier,” he says, and the bard doesn’t know why his name sounds choked in Geralt’s throat. The Witcher leans forward until his forehead rests against Jaskier’s, and he’s clutching the bard’s hand to his chest like it’s a lifeline. “I… fuck. Fuck.”

And then Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips brush against his own—soft and careful, warm and asking. And Jaskier kisses him back with answers and promises on the edge of his lips.

It feels like coming home.

#geraskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #witcher fanfiction #my writing #mixed feelings about this but mostly just #happy to have it done!#hope you enjoy!

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years ago

Text

Getting lost together

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I hope you enjoy, this one is fluffy XD

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Nines, that was the last bag, come on! We’re going to be late!’ Gavin closed the trunk of his car and looked over to where Nines was standing right between the house and the car. ‘Tina will look after the cats alright, she loves the little beasts, don’t worry’, he tried to comfort him, opening the car door and leaning against it. ‘We’ll come back, and they are at least a kilo heavier’, he joked. Nines straightened his back, but avoided his eyes as he walked towards the car. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’, the Detective asked softly. ‘I thought you looked forward to this.’ ‘I do!’, Nines quickly replied. ‘It’s just my first time leaving Detroit. I… I’m not sure what awaits me.’ ‘That’s what travelling is about’, Gavin explained and stepped past the door to take his hand. ‘Don’t worry. You will love it.’ ‘I hope so’, he mumbled far too insecure for a war machine and entered the car.

Gavin sat down too, leaning over to press a kiss to Nines’ cheek and start the engine afterwards. ‘Come on. Let’s go on a road trip!’ He handed Nines a case full of music CDs and gestured him to choose one. ‘Passenger decides the music’, he explained and started pulling out of their driveway. The android frowned at the disks, contemplating whether he should tell Gavin he could always just connect to the car and play whatever song he wanted. But he guessed this was part of the experience, so he pulled out one of them without researching band names or titles written on it. ‘Excellent choice’, Gavin cheered as the first heavy guitar riffs came up. Nines couldn’t really say something to that as he had no idea what else he could have picked, but seeing Gavin grin and drum his fingers on the steering wheel he found he didn’t really care if it made his human happy.

They drove through the streets and Nines traced their route with his GPS. He got increasingly worried as they made it onto the highway and finally left Detroit. ‘All good, love?’, Gavin asked, seeing the red flashing LED. ‘Yes, just… I lost connection to an android network.’ ‘That means?’, the man asked concerned. ‘My scans won’t be as effective anymore as I can only detect what I see. I can’t supplement it with information from the internet or databanks.’ ‘Should we turn around?’ Nines thought about it. It was their first vacation since the revolution as work had kept them busy with anti-android crimes, retaliations and the rising Red-Ice trades. He had looked forwards to it and still did. He would spend time with his human somewhere neither of them had been before, just the two of them. What about that wasn’t exciting? ‘No. It’s just weird loosing a function you never paid much attention to.’ ‘I can imagine’, Gavin hummed, unsure what to say. ‘I guess that at least makes us equal?’, Nines contemplated. ‘Neither of us knows Providence. It’s a new place for you and I have no way of acquiring more information than you could.’ ‘Heh, a full-on human experience, then?’ ‘You could say so.’

They drove down the road and the longer they were on their way, the less worried Nines became. If anything, partially loosing his scanning abilities made it even more interesting. He simply couldn’t know some things and others passed too fast to get even a little bit of information. ‘How do you live like this?’, Nines couldn’t help but ask as he could see buildings to his right that might have belonged to a town called Sweaburg, but could as well be something entirely else. ‘How do you live, seeing things and having no idea what something is?’ Gavin laughed. ‘Learning to ignore what isn’t important, I guess? I mean, do I have to know everything to survive. And it can make it all the more interesting if you do find out someday. You can always learn something new, even if you lived your whole life in just one city.’ Nines frowned and tried to understand. ‘I mean, isn’t it boring knowing everything? What about curiosity and the joy of discovery?’ The android had to nod to that. ‘That’s why I like our work this much. And I’m starting to like this new perspective, too.’

He found himself smiling as he watched the world pass by, details appearing and disappearing before his programs could even try to gather information. He had become a passive onlooker and it was a weirdly relaxing experience when at the same time his eyes darted from one fixing point to the next trying to take in everything at once. Gavin found he had a difficult time concentrating on the road when Nines sat in the passenger seat almost pressing his nose to the glass like a school child on their first but ride. Sometimes he wished he could take photos like the android could, just to remember this sight forever.

They had to stop for gas soon and Nines took over for the rest of the ten-hour ride. Gavin, understandably exhausted, had tried to stay awake, but when they were an hour away from their destination, he was peacefully sleeping leaned against the door. Only as Nines left the highway and had to stop at a red light, the man woke up again. ‘Oh, we’re already there?’, he asked and sat up. ‘Sorry, I’m just really tired.’ ‘Our hotel is just down the road. Then you can sleep properly.’ ‘Nah, I planned to go take a look at the city first!’ ‘Gavin, I doubt we will get anything else done. And it’s supposed to be a vacation.’ ‘Okay, I’ll take a short nap then and afterwards we go for a walk in the evening, but that’s the only compromise I’m willing to accept.’ Nines sighed. ‘Fine.’

They checked in to their hotel and went to their room to stow away their luggage. Gavin’s nap ended up being longer than expected and with an amused huff, Nines slipped under the blanket too to join his human in this unknown place.

Maybe it had been the night spent in stasis, but when Nines rose to see Gavin in the light of the rising sun in this foreign room, he could barely contain the happiness that he felt. No deadline, no case that had to be solved, no clear mission to follow. Just himself and Gavin in a city neither of them knew; time reset to a new schedule counting down the days of their vacation. It was almost… liberating.

He snuggled closer to Gavin and wallowed in his warmth. The human grinned and turned around, still sleepy but slowly waking up. ‘Morning, Nines.’ ‘Morning darling.’ Gavin buried his head in his shoulder. ‘Jeez, Nines, if you keep this up I’ll never leave the bed.’ ‘We can do that if you want’, the android murmured, kissing the top of his head. ‘Nah. Let’s get ready for breakfast and then go see the city. I have something special planned for tonight and you can’t research it! It will truly be a surprise.’ ‘I can still do normal research via the internet, Gavin. Just slower.’ ‘Don’t you dare’, Gavin laughed, pointing his finger at his nose, before standing up and getting ready for the day.

After leaving the hotel, they walked through the streets without any real plan in mind. Nines followed Gavin, who seemed to take random turns and stopped at random places. Watching the people around them and the different sorts of buildings, Nines was quickly feeling weirdly at home. In the afternoon they stopped at a park near the river and Gavin got himself something to eat at the many food carts around. They sat down at a bench right at the riverfront and enjoyed the sunny day. ‘This is perfect’, Nines couldn’t help but voice the content he felt at watching the water lazily pass by, a few ducks swimming on it. A few joggers passed them, faces without names for the first time in Nines’ short life. ‘Got over that lack of information?’, Gavin asked, mouth still half full of the hot dog. ‘I’m actually considering shutting off that program completely when not on the job’, he shrugged. ‘You were right it is more interesting to not know and wonder. If I really need to know something, I can always switch it on again.’ ‘Nice. Good to know it’s not too bad for you.’ Nines looked down on Gavin and put his arm around him. ‘It’s never around you.’ ‘Aw you damn romantic android. I would hate you if I didn’t love you.’ ‘Sure.’ Nines looked out over the river and cocked his head. ‘Gavin, what did you wanted to show me?’ ‘In the evening, love. Has to be dark for it. Patience.’

At least time passed quickly with the human around to guide him around town. As the sun set, they returned to a different part of the river. Nines frowned, as he saw several people blocking his view on the water. ‘Gavin, what-‘ ‘Shh, come on, follow me. I looked this up beforehand, there should be a good spot over here.’ Gavin took his hand and pushed through the crowd, not even thinking of apologising. Pulling Nines right to the front, the android was indeed blown-away. In all his preconstructions, he hadn’t expected this: Several bonfires were lit on the water and lit up the walls in soft orange and hot white yellow. Music played and the masses stood and watched as people tended to the fires and gondolas passed through the flames. ‘Gavin, what is this?’, he asked in surprise. ‘They call it Waterfire. A festival that began as art is now celebrated annually. ‘Thought it would be something fun to be part of. Do you like it?’ Nines couldn’t pull his eyes away from the reflections on the water, the thousands of people at the shore and the flickering fires cracking on the surface of the water. The smell of burning wood filled the air and managed to overpower the different smells from the food stands. ‘Gavin, I… I never experienced something similar. Can we… Does this stretch the whole river? Can we see all of it? Can we ride one of the gondolas? I… For how long did they celebrate this? Why-‘ Gavin’s loving smile made him stop, feeling awkward for asking so many questions and letting his excitement overwhelm him. But Gavin only rose to his toes and pulled Nines head down into a kiss. ‘For you? Everything.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Me German: oh I can finally streetview these famous American highways!#Sees a two-lane street. Wow okay now I understand why Americans love Autobahn #How do you abolish your trains for cars and then drive a two-lane street cross country?#honestly I just want to travel so hard at the moment #Just forget the world and roadtrip #I wasn't on holiday even before corona and now I just haven't left the house and I wanna see stuff I haven't seen #I'm happy to commute again between uni and home but they piled up earth to both sides of the train track so now you almost never see stuff #I just wanna drive around and see friends again like holy shit when will this virus end #ramble end #fluffy Reed900 because we all need that

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darkhymns-fic · 4 years ago

Text

Of Firsts and Seconds and Thirds

They shared their first kiss underneath the shade of a church, their second at the top of a windy mountain, their third in the quiet solitude of a dwarf's home.

But how many more until the guilt finally leaves?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: T Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week, Day 3: First Kiss / Confession! Not much to say about this except that I've already written too many versions of their first kisses so I struggled with this one for a bit... Hopefully, it reads okay! Slightly higher rating because I wanted to be self-indulgent.

They shared their first kiss underneath a crooked awning of the temple, situated to the side where half of it was covered by the mountain’s shade, frayed banners picked up by the wind.

It was further away from the steep stairs that was overgrown with grass stalks, with moss that climbed in-between the cracks, making it far too easy to slip. And of course, Colette had done so when she left for her church lessons, only saved from a complete fall by Lloyd’s reflexes, even as his own boots almost sent them tumbling across the top steps. Only fifteen, but his own motions at least held more surety, his arms holding her up high.

Colette had scraped her knee, biting her lip to keep out a small whine from the sharp sting. Lloyd resumed the climb up the stairs, feeling quick relief when they arrived at the top and there were no nosy priests in sight, only the cool shadows over them. “How do you go up this every day without falling?” he asked, his smile sneaking through. “Good thing I came to walk with you.”

“I don’t usually slip here,” she had said. “Not unless…” And it was soft and quiet, her words traveling just underneath his ear as he carried her. The shade was comfortable, and he had only meant to set her down for a moment before finding his lips brushing against her own. Her hair tickled his forehead, and her hands reached to wrap around his shoulders, the way they always did whenever he’d swing her up in his arms as he helped her get on top of Noishe to ride.

The shade held them close, even as he felt a sliver of the sun rise to meet his neck. His hands moved to grip her waist – to keep her steady? Or himself? – before she stepped away.

“S-Sorry,” she said, looking away. Behind her was another entrance to the temple, a place where the candles hadn’t been lit inside, where no windows had been placed, the hallway dark. “Sorry, thank you. I mean… thank you for carrying me!”

Her voice was full of guilt. It made no sense to him. And yet she smiled all the same.

He was too late to say anything before she rushed inside the temple, her scrape forgotten, her hair moving as quick as the waves bathed in sunlight. Lloyd thought about following her, but he didn’t know the way inside the temple. That and the priests always turned him away, always made him feel so badly for wanting the Chosen to come outside with him to walk alongside the shore.

“What’s with you?” Genis had asked once Lloyd came back to the schoolhouse. “Colette rejected you coming along this time?” The boy had meant it as a joke, already laughing in his seat. But even he noticed the somber look in Lloyd’s face, how he collapsed into his chair.

“Uh huh…” was all he would say, tucking his head against his folded arms on the desk. The lesson conducting ahead of him was nothing but white noise as he went over the kiss again and again. He could only remember the feel of her hands on his shoulders, and how closely she had brought him in.

They shared their second kiss in Hima, after Colette asked him to follow her to the top of the cliff.

Hima was such a small village, smaller even then Iselia, with only its inn clearly seen from the entrance, while other structures and homes were placed at lower levels of the mountain. Lloyd felt the wind tug at his coat the higher he climbed, shivering and noticing through every step how Colette didn’t flinch at each gust at all.

Her broken necklace still in his pocket, he watched as she reached for his hand. He had taken off his gloves, wanting to understand her as easily as he could. “Can I…ask a…favor?” Lloyd blinked as he read aloud, raising his eyes to her. “What is it?”

At times, he thought he’d hear something from her – or maybe it was just wishful thinking. But the way she smiled reminded him of her laughter, the quick and playful comments she’d make about him, all of it uplifting and warm. Her fingers curled inside his palm, and when she traced them next, it was, at first, just to follow the lines across his hand, until…

Can you forgive me for hurting you?

Maybe, perhaps, he should have denied it outright. But her words brought a quick flash of certain things that stung his heart; her letter in his hands, the brush of her fingers when she took the coffee from him and smiled all the while, the shade of the mountain as she leaned towards him.

Lloyd was too late to hide it, and Colette bit her lip, tracing in his hand once more. That’s selfish of me.

“Wait, no, it’s not.” Lloyd gripped her hands, but lightly, because he still wanted to hear her words. “That’s not fair to you… after everything you’ve gone through.”

Colette smiled and it was painful in its shape, in the way it was so close to him. Her fingers again in his palm, their touch feather-light. And because it was so light, he scrunched his forehead as he focused on it, the constant wind on the mountaintop forever trying to distract him with its pull on his clothes, with its sound in his ears.

“I’ll just…k…keep… Agh, sorry it’s hard now…” Even when Colette finished writing, he tried to remember the shapes she made, painting herself into his touch. “Keep…hurting…you…”

He paused. Colette lowered her face just a bit, yet he could hear the cadence of her breathing. “I don’t really understand..”

When she leaned in to kiss him for a second time, was it really that bad to be selfish, to ask something from another so carefully, both hope and fear inside of you all at once?

Her lips were gentle, fitting over his, and maybe Lloyd was more clumsy, more self-conscious than last time, but her hair still tickled him. He might have kissed her for the rest of the night if the cold didn’t keep trying to freeze his hands.

“Colette…” he whispered, letting go for just a moment. Only later would he feel the guilt, when he realized she wasn’t able to feel it, any of it, along with the biting wind surrounding them. How was that even fair at all?

But she smiled again, hands gripping his own to lead them back down the mountain to the others.

Even then, she gave him back a piece of something he had felt missing since that summer day, with the banner of the temple fluttering next to them. She had chosen that, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny her that one freedom left to her.

They shared their third kiss at Altessa’s, the night sky numerous with stars, and his present held lightly between her fingers.

“Colette?” Lloyd called out from the front door, having found her bed empty, and the snores of Genis much too overpowering. “You’re still up?”

The old fear of the angelic sickness came back, but he saw her try to hide a yawn that didn’t look forced. She sat on a nearby wooden bench, boots making indents in the dirt. “I’m okay,” she said, and he was only half-convinced, her smile just barely seen through the moonlight. “I can sleep, I just don’t know if I want to yet.”

Maybe that should have been enough, along with the way she kept flicking her gaze to him when he went to sit beside her, then back to the skies. On nights like these, she would trace the patterns of the stars with him, and in Tethe’alla, he could already tell such patterns here were different. They’d have to start all over again, but he didn’t mind, just as he didn’t mind being out in the late night, as long as he could be with her.

The path to Altessa’s house was plain, and only to the side could he see the storage of the dwarf placed near the wall of his home, in wooden crates and clay pots. “You know, I wonder if this is how dad used to live…” he said absently. “Though he said his home was more underground.”

“Do you think he still has it? His old home, I mean?” Colette’s eyes sparkled at the idea, pulling out a grin from him. “Maybe we can ask to go visit it!”

“We could! But it probably has low ceilings… We’d be hitting our heads the entire time.”

“Then can you protect my head with yours? Genis always says you have the toughest head around!”

“Heh, well, I am tough… Hey, wait, I don’t think that’s a compliment!”

When she laughed, it was radiant almost. A sound that wasn’t filtered or dimmed, that seemed to shine all the brighter when she reached to take his hand. Her thumb brushed over his Exsphere, sending a warm tingle through him, and it made him think, made him want on that word, on selfishness.

Yet as Lloyd debated with himself, Colette had shifted close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Soft. Sudden. I’ve missed this.

He knew it had been an instinctive thing from her. For it was just the moment her lips left his cheek did he see the change in her eyes. She held her hand loosely, unsure. “I’m…sorry? That just happened…I…”

It took everything in him to not sigh then.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispered, gripping her hand, bringing her close. And she didn’t turn away, even as he kissed her – but over her forehead, her skin warm over his lips. The wind brought in the scent of her hair, strands of them brushing his cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I want that from you?”

Colette opened her mouth, then closed it, one hand reaching for the necklace and pulling on it gently, the chain crinkling and turning in on itself. “I just… I just keep making mistakes with this…” A quick blink, and she looked to the floor. “I’m taught to not want it… but I did and so that’s why I ran and… and then I was selfish and took your kiss again when I couldn’t feel anything… and I really wanted to…”

Lloyd saw how the moonlight fell down her cheek – and so he followed it, kissing her skin there and hearing her take in a breath. Lingering, all as his hands moved to encircle her. “But you can feel that now, can’t you?”

Colette closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest. Her lips rested against the base of his throat. “I can feel…too much…” But she didn’t sound distressed – she sounded eager, excited, and yet also content as she pressed against him.

Was there something else in him to then want to kiss her fully, to give her all that had been taken away? Maybe his own selfishness too, but he waited. He just embraced her instead, giving small kisses to her forehead, her cheek, and even the tip of her nose. It made her giggle, eliciting a smile from him. Only later, after more tickling kisses did he kiss her lips, and only when she raised her head to his.

He hoped she would never have to feel that old guilt again.

They shared their fourth kiss, their fifth, sixth, seventh – all continuing as if on a chain that Lloyd was keen to follow. In Flanoir, for why wouldn’t be drawn to kissing her the moment she gently placed the figurine in his hands, her fingers shaking through not only the cold? He saw the fine edges of snowflakes as he leaned in, caught on her eyelashes, drifting back into the air as she lowered them halfway.

In Heimdall, as the moon rose, as fireflies danced around them, promising her a world that they’d never have to be alone again. It was easier to kiss now, to fall into the rhythms of her laughter after each press of his lips against skin.

In Iselia, as he lifted her onto Noishe with him, ready to set off down the road. The kiss she gave him had been so second-nature, that he rarely even thought on it even happening. Just the warmth that was left with him, and the urge to kiss her in return, so that this time, he could fully remember it.

And it was only in their seventh kiss did he finally realize he had never told her that he loved her.

It happened after they had set up camping for the night, the travels of the day weighing down his arms. He could barely set up their sleeping blankets, sighing out the exhaustion from his mouth. Colette had gone to put away their packs safely, and so he was left to this one simple task that he had done dozens of times, all to the crackles of their campfire.

His first thought was that it was just too hot, that the summer heat was quickly burning up what little energy he had, leaving him to sink. So how could he fix that? “I’ll just take this off,” he mumbled and nodded to himself. Hands that could barely roll out the blankets couldn’t unbutton that much better, but eventually he succeeded, throwing the jacket onto the grass, with his undershirt following quick.

A moment of pure relief as he stretched and felt the cool air at his bare back – and then heard the soft giggle just to his side.

“If you were hot, we could have stayed at an inn.”

Not like he didn’t expect Colette to be here, but maybe the heat really had been getting to him. He laughed nervously, knowing that this wasn’t any different to being dressed like he was going to the beach. Except this wasn’t a beach, and no body of water that size was anywhere near them. He turned to see her standing just a few feet away, arms behind her back, a great smile on her face. “The nearest inn is way too far. And I’m just a little bit hot!”

“Oh, I see.” Colette nodded, and knelt next to him to help unroll the last remaining wrinkle of the blankets. “Then maybe we should have camped at Flanoir.”

“But then it would have been way too cold…” he weakly argued.

“Hm, couldn’t we warm each other up?” she asked him, and there was something eager in the way she said it. He looked at her, at how her knees touched his, eyes on his face – with the occasional flicker at his chest. “Kisses are warm.”

Different, because even as he felt the flush on his cheeks, there was a turn in Colette’s voice that was more confident. The way she didn’t really take her eyes away to the side, how her smile never wavered. Lloyd scratched the back of his head. “Are you just asking me to kiss you now?”

“Hm…” Colette visibly pondered, then moved closer to him, so close that her hair tickled along the front of his torso. “Yeah. I want you to kiss me.”

The wind rushed against him, making him shiver just a bit. “Ah… shouldn’t I dress first?”

Colette tilted her head slightly. “Do you need to?”

He took that as a gentle way of Colette saying, Please not yet.

With a smile, he shifted closer. “Okay,” he said, relaxing, making sure that this was truly okay as he leaned forward. Her lips met his, no longer as hesitant as their other ones, falling quicker into the rhythm as if it were a dance. He felt Colette move in closer, a hand pressing just against the center of his chest.

The touch was nearly electric, making him gasp a little into her mouth before pulling away softly. “Sorry, having…trouble breathing a little.” From the hard day of traveling they had, or because of her touch? It was difficult to say.

Colette hummed thoughtfully, the same hand on his chest trailing up towards his collarbone. “Would it be better if I kissed you?”

In their first kiss, she had reached for him. Maybe only just now did he realize something, but he simply nodded, feeling the tingle on his skin where she touched. “I wouldn’t complain,” he teased.

But as the campfire slowly dwindled, as he expected her lips to find his own again – she instead leaned somewhere else. Mouth pressed against the center of his chest, right at the small dip where a pendant would usually find its place. Lloyd shuddered, a small sound leaving his throat, but didn’t pull away.

It was true that he wasn’t going to complain, but he was still surprised. “T-That tickled!” he could only say, wincing at his own words.

Colette raised her eyes to him. “So, would it be better here?” she asked, and then lifted herself up on her knees to reach him – placing her mouth against his neck, a soft kiss that made his pulse flutter just against it.

“C-Colette..” he whispered, one hand gripping her own, entwining their fingers. “Colette… I’m already really warm..”

“Oh… that’s right.” Colette giggled against his throat, her smile felt on his skin. He surrendered to her kisses over his chin, then back down, just to the top of his chest. “So it’s too much?”

Lloyd shook his head, arms embracing her, clinging tight. “I love you,” he said, the words finally imprinting in his head. How long had they done this, had they traveled, and he had never even said such words to her? “I love you so much, Colette.”

Her lips kissed his earlobe, then his cheek, until she reached his mouth, her hands tracing patterns against his bare chest. Just a few months back, she would have been too shy for any of this at all. “I love you…too… Ah!”

He wasn’t sure how she fell, but she did right on top of him, his arms instinctively clutching at her coat to keep her near. Laughter spilled from both, his back fully hitting the dry, slightly pointy grass instead of the soft sleeping blankets. “You dork!” he said, unable to stop laughing, unable to stop kissing her, his own lips traveling from her mouth to her neck. “Such a dork, I love you…”

“I…do too! Ah, it really does tickle though!”

Still, he thought back to that warm day at the temple, how hesitant and shy – but how she had kissed him first. Even from back then, she had always wanted to share it with him.

Worries and regrets can leave, little by little, and each kiss seemed to chase them away, replaced with something else. I love you, he thought, as her lips took his, knowing he would never get tired of such a thing, like the feel of the sun on his face, or the refreshing breeze from a nearby sea.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #fanfiction #one shot

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

Text

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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