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aka-indulgence · 1 year ago

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Hello @llamagoddessofficial :> Wrote another fanfic fanfic for you! I really love the good zoo siren au as someone who does some marine biologies, and I had a burst of inspiration so I wrote the first day working at the aquarium :D I loved writing the parallels hehee

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You were a janitor in the Ebott aquarium!!

Which, when you say out loud, does sound underwhelming. But you didn’t mind it. You had come to them in the hopes of becoming an intern, a volunteer, or a staff if things went your way. The lady at the information desk (who was very helpful), had looked quite apologetic when you asked her.

“I’m sorry… but we’re not looking for anymore creature carers at the moment.”

It was quite disappointing, but you weren’t expecting to get accepted straight away, anyway. And you’d already bought a ticket anyway, so you still had an aquarium day all to yourself, not like you were wasting your day. And you had a great day! If you weren’t caring for the animals directly, you were reassured by the fact that your payment is going to contribute to their care.

The day became even better when the lady recognized you on the way out and stopped you.

“We don’t have positions for carers right now, but… how would you like to be a cleaner? I’ll keep you up to date if there are any spots open.”

Naturally, you took it. It wasn’t like you had anything pressing for your schedule right now. As soon as a position opens- whatever it is- you were going to take it by the throat.

It was your first day. You were blasted with warmth as soon as you went in, having to quickly shed your winter clothes for the janitor uniform. It had little fish on the sleeves, which was a cute touch. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, of course. You spent more of your hours in the toilet than you did in the exhibit rooms. But any agitation you got from coming into a stall, only to see tissues strewn about on the floor like someone just blew up a roll after you had just cleaned; was quickly washed away when you went out, to the cool blues, the dancing lights cast in the darkened rooms. Even when you had to excuse yourself in front of the guests to wipe a drink spill in front of the giant ‘Pacific Bay’ aquarium, the music calmed your soul.

It wasn’t very quiet in the afternoon, what with the families and their 300 toddlers running about and crying babies. But when the day waned and the water glimmers dimmed, the one’s left were adults, couples. Then of course, the aquarium closed.

You worked up a sweat that clung to your uniform uncomfortably, after you scrubbed a mysterious stain on the floor leading to the gift shop that seemed to seep into the shiny tile, somehow.

“Hey, Julia?” You called; the lovely information lady that allowed you to have this opportunity in the first place; wandering about the empty entrance to check out. It felt like a bit of a ghost town all of a sudden, as you roamed the aquariums for any management-type people you could ask for help.

“I’m done, right? What should I…”

You stop when you walk by a doorway, into a room that was always darker than the rest, even when the sun was still up in the sky.

… You could walk back into the dinky staff room in the back of the building where they just gave up on aesthetics, a ‘modern’ and unsightly concrete structure. But… you could also just… say that you didn’t find anyone… right? And just… ‘got lost’... in the Deep Seas room…

Looking around, holding a cloth to your heart as if someone was going to chastise you if you hadn’t, you snuck into the room. It was hard to pass up on an opportunity like this.

Ebott aquarium was special, after all. They were one of the few aquariums in the world that had sirens. Three, to be in fact. One orca siren, one shark siren, and a deep sea cecaelia. A spectacular cast, to be sure- it wasn’t a surprise how they won so many awards over the years.

This room in particular was the cecaelia’s, the most reclusive of all the sirens.

You walked past the languid isopods, the floating nautilus, the sparkling comb jellies, to a giant opening in the room where the ceiling extended so you could see the entire tank in all its glory.

It usually looked empty, of course, but the few chances you get to see the cecaelia, it would be a shame to be unable to see him.

Though, as it was now, the tank looked uninhabited, as it usually was. This siren in particular was ‘shy’, though shy wasn’t the right word. It was more that he didn’t like being looked at, as to be expected with deep sea specieses.

Which is why this was the perfect opportunity for you. Julia told you about him- that he was more likely to emerge during after hours. They had cameras in the viewing room, for the purpose of recording his activity whenever he does something interesting to show visitors that he is in fact real, and they aren’t just displaying an empty tank for fun.

The TV display is off now, but you remember the video they posted online, where the most exciting thing that happened was him shooting out of the cave to grab the food they lowered into his tank, before quickly retreating back into the cave. There were screams of children and adults alike going wild.

You read the information board next to the TV.

Skull, Deep Sea Cecaelia

Sirenus cecaelia aequor

Ebott’s most recently acquired siren, Skull was found floating near the surface, a sign of disease or weakness in deep sea sirens. It is our belief that Skull recently acquired the crack in his skull. This may have caused him to grow uncontrollably, though our researchers argue that it might as well be due to deep sea gigantism.

Not much is known of deep sea cecaelias as of now, as they are the rarest encountered sirens in human history, and extensive observation we do have is in captivity, like Skull.

They are as enigmatic as they are beautiful, deep sea cecaelias are believed to live a mostly solitary life……

Your eyes scan through the text- having read most of it from the other day visit. Your sight is caught on the plaque next to the board, under the TV. You hadn’t noticed it before, with how full the room was. Boarded with wood and written on a golden plate, it reads:

In memory of Henry Freeman.

1975-20XX

Your squint when the gold plating starts shimmering a pinkish hue. And, did it get darker?

You follow the direction of the light to see…

“Whoa-lly shit!” You staggered.

Right there, against the glass, was Skull. He was big, you knew that, his size was listed right there on the board with a human outline next to his to show scale, and you’ve seen the videos of course- but that didn’t prepare you to see him in person.

Just his skeletal upper body dwarfed yours, bones thick and marred with scars of unknown battles deep below, where sunlight couldn’t reach. His pitch black tentacles waved around him like deep shadows in the darkness of the tank, suckers sticking and popping off the glass in tandem. At its base, a single tentacle was thicker than you were.

You held a hand up to your chest. Your heart had jumped at the giant shadow, that glowing red eye of his, the size of your fist, zeroing on you, and a great big smile full of characteristically sharp deep-sea teeth. It must’ve been instinctual fear, having a great predator looking at you, so close, only separated by a couple inches of glass.

The tips of his front tentacles were poking and tapping on the glass.

The initial adrenaline of fear quickly turned to curiosity and awe. You’ve never seen him with your own two eyes before, let alone so close- why was he out? Did he notice the empty room, and the lone ‘prey’ turned away from him and just lunged..?

“Hahahah, am I lucky to be on this side of the glass,” you joked, approaching the glass.

His eye stayed trained on you as you approached, his smile widening. He even lowered his head a little, like he was trying to get on eye level with you.

“Can’t tell if you’re curious about me or if you just really really want to eat me,” you giggle, at the way he was focused on you.

You pressed your hand to the glass, and practically squished your nose to it as you took him in. You could imagine the sounds those great big tentacles were as they moved like midnight waves.

You pull your head back in time to see his eye on your open palm against the glass. A great finger pointed to it, scratching the glass. Then… he presses his hand to the glass, right in front of yours.

Your mouth opens. Your hand just barely fits into his palm. You looked back to the cecaelia. This close, you could see all the little shift in his eyelight, flitting here and there, like he was paying close attention to the details in your face.

His eyelight cast a soft red on your face, your cheeks. A small glimmer in your eyes.

“This is…”

“Eeeeeee!”

You startle at the squeal, sounding like if a squeaky toy could get excited. When you turned around, you see a woman standing at the end of a hallway, in a white coat and white turtleneck, looking very ready to walk in the cold.

“U-uh,”

“How did you,” she strode over to you, long blond hair bouncing as she did, “how did you get him to do that?”

“I’m- sorry?” you sputter. Looking behind you, Skull had retreated a few paces to the back of the glass. “I was just… just…” you shrug, making a face when you remember you’re still holding the cleaning cloth, hiding it behind your back.

“Magnificent!” she stood next to you, one hand on the glass. “We’ve never seen him so interested in a human before. You had him against the glass!”

Skull was swimming around, darting from one corner to the other, keeping his eye on the both of you.

“He’s never done that?”

“Never!” she turns to you, conviction in her voice. “Skull doesn’t like being looked at, he usually hides in his cave when someone walks into the room, not… approach and give them a greeting. The only reason he isn’t rushing back is because he recognizes my face as ‘someone who gives the food’. And like you see now, he doesn’t give me any special greetings. Just having him out and about while someone is in view is stunning, let alone…”

“Oh, so do you feed him?” you ask. Hopefully you weren’t going to get chewed out for dawdling in the aquarium when you’re supposed to be clocked out 30 minutes ago.

“I do help with the feedings.” She says, then extends a hand to you. “Call me Mildred. I’m the head of the aquarium.”

“The… the head?!” Your eyes widen as you shook her hand. “I’m… I’m (Y/n), it’s an honor! To meet you!”

“Oh, please, I’m much more interested in you!” She smiles, the lines around her lips wrinkled with age, evidence of a lively woman. “Say… are you the new cleaning service Julia picked up?”

“Y-yeah! I mean. Yes,” You corrected yourself. You were talking to the big boss here, and you were a little bashful to find that she knows about you.

“You said you wanted experience in animal and magical creature care, right?”

“Absolutely,”

She presses a finger to her lips, as if thinking for a moment. She casts her eyes to the exhibit, where Skull was still circling above. Then she looks at you with a playful smile.

“... How would you like to come into the siren care team?”

Your heart rate spikes, and you sputter.

“I… wh… hhhhhreally?!”

#not gonna write a long fic!!!!!!!#probably #i might get inspo to write other scenes with the other Bones #im an aquarium enthusiast?? maybe???#i like good aquarium :>#heehee #aka writing #fanfic fanfic #fun fact: i have in fact worked in an aquarium! a small one but still!#good zoo siren au

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deadchannelradio · 3 months ago

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descartes

t, gen, humor, 4.9k, 1/1

“It’s fine, Jason,” Dick says. “Chill out. I’m a grown adult, it’s not like Slade’s bothering a teenager anymore. It’s enrichment for me. I get a little shot of adrenaline and a bug treasure hunt. Sometimes he even makes me coffee.” “And you drink it?” “Well, yeah. It’s my fucking coffee, I’m not going to waste it.” “I’m going to kill him,” Jason decides aloud. “Next time I see that man, I’m gonna kill him.” “No, Jason, do not,” Dick says in the same tone Jason uses to tell his dog not to chew on his boots.

Read more on AO3

#dc comics #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batfam #god this is possibly my fastest turnaround time on a fic ever. hi guys im still alive i just dont have wifi to post 99.9% of the time #i got medicated and its working SO WELL. everyone go take wellbutrin so you can write more fanfiction #ive been writing a very long and emotionally intensive fic for the last. months. and sometimes apparently i need to take a break #and fart out something like this. which is so silly. enjoy #my writing

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lighthouseshepard · 5 months ago

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writing idea - john gets considerably injured and doesn't tell arthur cause he thinks arthur would judge him cause "arthurs had so much worse happen and he just got back up" and arthurs like "dude you've had a human body for like two weeks i would expect you to not be used to pain" and its like a stereotypical hiding injury thing you know

HI HI thanks for this!! again i tried to keep it under 1k but. it ended up... 4.3k.....

heres a mostly unedited first draft i might play around with more later!! (: not so much a considerable injury but this is where my brain went anyways!

As John takes the stairs up to their small apartment building, Arthur in tow with one arm wrapped loosely around his just behind him, he stumbles.

It’s a quick, clean slip of his left ankle, rolling outward at an unnatural angle just as he reaches the last step. The movement itself would have been almost unnoticeable if not for the sharp stab of pain which accompanied it, a searing pressure radiating outwards in undulating bursts. He hisses under his breath, hurriedly letting Arthur go so as not to accidentally drag him down too, and tries to casually play off the lurch.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, righting himself. Immediately he bangs it against the cement edge, eliciting another silent wince he’s immensely grateful Arthur isn’t privy to. “Lost my footing, I guess.”

Arthur hums, instinctively reaching out for John’s guidance and huffing when none was received. Cautiously he takes the remaining steps, coming to stand just beside John at the top before the door.

“It’s alright, John,” he replies, head tilted in his direction. “Thanks for not pulling me down with you.”

His smile begins to fade after a moment of silence in which John stares dizzily at his own feet, struggling to control his breathing. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” comes the hasty retort. “I just… hit it on the stone, I think.”

His brow furrows. “Hit what?”

“My ankle,” John growls, blinking away spots of light dancing across his vision. In the dying sunlight they blended in amongst the cloudless sky, shimmering specks deceptively working to trip him up again as they wavered in front of him. As soon as the words leave his lips he regrets them.

“I mean,” he clarifies, “I barely knocked it. Nothing to worry over.”

“Oh.” Arthur frowns, searching for John’s hand in the middle distance between them. “Do you want me to take a - well, not a look, but perhaps we could patch it up? Is it bleeding?”

“No.” John pushes slightly past him, fidgeting for keys in his pocket. Arthur’s arm is left hanging at his side, fingers lightly clenched. “I said it’s fine, Arthur. Can we drop it?”

“Okay,” Arthur mutters exasperatedly under his breath, following him hesitantly inside once the door is unlocked. “Whatever you say.”

John all but limps his way into the front hall. If the shuffle makes a noticeable sound against the faded rug he attempts to ignore it, desperately gritting his teeth. With each shift of his leg the throbbing increased, sending burning jolts of agony up through his foot. Beads of cool sweat were breaking out on his temples. Irritably he wipes them away, squinting into the living room through the haze of pain clouding the forefront of his mind.

“Stupid fucking ankle,” he mumbles.

“What was that?” Arthur calls from behind him. John struggles to turn, one flattened palm braced against the wall. He watches as Arthur unwinds the scarf from around his neck, smoothly kicking off his shoes into the corner. Shoes that he, too, needed to probably remove if bending down didn’t seem like a far impossibility.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead he slowly twists back around, hobbling towards the promise of relief found in the couch awaiting him.

“John? Did you hear me?”

His eyes shut tightly as soon as he sinks into the cushions. The pain refuses to dull despite the lack of pressure once he sits, if anything only growing stronger when he attempts to prop it up on the coffee table, as though gravity were relentlessly trying to tug it down again for his own good. He groans, the noise pulled unbidden from his throat, and hastily covers it up with an aimless cough he feels as a weak imitation of one in his chest.

“John,” he hears a second time. Arthur’s voice is closer now, somewhere directly to his left. Although he turns his head in acknowledgement, his eyelids remain closed, brow furrowed.

“What? I heard you.”

He could practically sense the crossed arms.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asks, his tone firm. “Why are you sitting like someone threw you there and you don’t know how to get up?”

“How do you know that?"

"Lucky guess."

"Nothing’s going on. I’m… comfortable.”

“Really? You don’t sound like it.”

“I said it’s nothing,” John snaps. The wince which pulls his lips taut lessens any blow he’d intended within his retort. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I thought you hit your ankle on the steps?” Arthur says thinly, stepping closer. “So which is it?”

It never ceased to irritate and amaze, Arthur’s ability to weasel the truth out of him. Back when he’d just been a voice behind those deep amber eyes it was magnificently easier to conceal the truth, hiding himself in falsehoods he had ample time to conjure up while Arthur slept or moved about the world amongst others, unable to talk to him. He hadn’t been bound to a body which would betray him at the slightest inconvenience: all his emotions, he felt, were visible on his face and in the lines of his silhouette all the time. Being given away by the twitch of his mouth or the hesitancy in one look of his eyes was maddening. He couldn’t control it, hadn’t yet mastered the subtle art of physical deception. He had no reason to, he knew, but it continued to bother him regardless, being so visibly and openly seen by everyone around him. Every thought was laid bare, ripe for someone else to pluck.

These visual cues didn’t apply to Arthur, of course, but it didn’t need to. It didn’t matter when it came to him. He could sense each ripple of truths withheld in John’s voice as though they were tangible vibrations running beneath his fingers, plucking incorrect notes from a string of music. Whether this was a skill gained through time or familiarity, he didn’t want to ask. Perhaps he’d just had plenty of practice, before John came along.

“It’s… both,” he says lamely, eyes flicking open to watch as Arthur shifts from one foot to the other impatiently. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he exclaims, a frustrated scoff behind his words. “I’m not even looking at you. I can’t.”

“Like you know exactly what I’m thinking,” John presses, willing himself not to wither beneath that sightless gaze. Like a parent, he thinks to himself, who’s just caught someone doing something they shouldn’t.

“Maybe I do.” Arthur comes to stand beside him, bumping up against the edge of the couch. “Maybe I’m just trying to help, you donkey. What is going on with you?”

“It’s-” he begins to say, but he’s quickly cut off.

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’ve been like this all day: grumpy, antagonistic, walking… very oddly. Did you not sleep very well?”

“I slept fine,” John mutters. “How could you possibly know I was walking strangely?”

“Ah, so he admits something!” Arthur says with a scoff. “I can feel it along your arm when I’m holding onto you. The movement of your gait is different from anyone else - Noel, Oscar, even Marie. Your footsteps all sound unique, too. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying not to limp.”

The silence stretches. John breathes in shallowly, as if the quieter he became, the more likely he was to become invisible.

“John?” Arthur asks uncertainly. “Have you been limping all day?”

“I… not all day, Arthur.”

He sighs, a ragged exhale. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I knew it!” he says, throwing his arms up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

John tries to prop himself farther up on the couch cushions, sliding the dead weight of his leg along the coffee table. “Because it’s not important, Arthur,” he protests angrily. “It’s just a - a sprained ankle or something! Noel says it happens to people all the time.”

“You told Noel?” Arthur’s demeanor shifts, and John can’t quite place where it was going. “Is that who you hung up on over the telephone yesterday, when I walked in?”

“I - yes, I told Noel,” John says, glancing away. “I didn’t want to… I mean, I wouldn’t-”

“But you didn’t tell me,” Arthur states, frowning. “I don’t understand, John.”

“Because I didn’t want to bother you with it, alright? Jesus fuck, Arthur! It’s just a little bit of pain!”

His shout rebounds around the living room, echoing along corners and twisting through the dark. Once it dissipates, all that nervous, fearful energy fading into thin air, John realizes the sun had already set. In the shadow of the singular lamp they’d kept on after they left earlier that day, Arthur looked smaller than John had ever seen him previously - socked feet, soft button down shirt untucked, shoulders slumped while his head was turned away from John’s direction.

Hurt, he understood after a solid minute of nothing spoken. There was hurt on his face.

“Arthur,” he says hastily, backtracking. “I didn’t…”

But Arthur was already interrupting.

“Is it bleeding?” he asks flatly. “From where you knocked it as we were coming in.”

John’s eyes widen. “What? No, no, like I said it’s probably just a sprain.”

“Don’t get up.”

“I wasn’t. Where are you going?”

He watches helplessly as Arthur begins to trod across the living room to the hallway just behind them. His left hand searches for the wall, brushing against it occasionally as he vanishes around the corner, the thin lines of his silhouette blending into the darkness. John waits with gritted teeth, listening to the faint but unmistakable sound of a drawer opening in the bathroom, before he’s rejoined in the living room.

“Give me your foot,” Arthur instructs. He comes around on the opposite side, taking a careful seat on the table in front of the couch. “Which one is it?”

“It’s… it’s this one,” John stutters, glancing at the little white box he’d placed between them. “What is that?”

“First aid kit. Came with the apartment, I think. Never thought I’d have to use it.”

There’s a bite to his tone which causes something in John to cower. Panicking at the unfamiliarity of the uneasy feeling, he thinks immediately to fight back against it. Yet no manipulation tactic in his mental catalog nor no insult he’d ever learned from Arthur was readily able to be wielded. He stares, unsettlingly dispirited, at Arthur’s hands while he begins to search through random items in the kit.

“Arthur.”

“Put your leg on my knees, John,” he says. He’s facing away, still wholly focused on determining which items were what through sensation alone. The subtle surprise when John does as asked without further complaint doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh. Thank you. Now tell me where it hurts.”

Stretching over as much as he was able, halfway balanced on the edge of the cushions and held now partially up by Arthur’s own legs, John indicates with one pointed finger.

“Here,” he says, lightly touching the far side of his ankle. “Move your hand just - just there.”

As slender fingers come into contact with the swollen skin, John hisses. Arthur moves as if to draw back, but after some hesitation makes a second attempt with a touch so gentle John hardly senses the wandering examination at all.

“It’s swollen, John,” Arthur says, staring into the middle distance as he feels along the reddened skin. “You’re going to have to take your shoes off.”

“I know it’s swollen,” he grinds out, “I can feel it.”

Immediately he regrets the display of aggravation. Eyes flick worriedly to Arthur’s face, searching for any kind of reaction there, but he may as well have been surveying a blank canvas.

“I think we should try ice,” is all he says. “Before attempting any kind of compression. Wait here.”

“It’s not like I could go anywhere,” he mumbles beneath his breath as Arthur leaves him for the second time. “I’m not running a fucking race on this thing.”

When he returns, grasping a cloth wrapped bundle, John studies him curiously. Nervous muscles stiffen in preparation for another round of sharp throbbing; but as Arthur sits again opposite him, the grip which guides his foot is somehow even kinder than before, cradling the injury into position across his knees.

“Let me take your shoe off,” he murmurs. “I’ll be quick.”

"I’d rather you didn’t,” John protests. “Can’t we just - God, Arthur!”

No apology is forthcoming. It’s palpable in the tension of Arthur’s fingers regardless, the unhappy twist of his mouth. He fumbles the laces undone with one hand and slips the shoe off, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. One black sock follows. The hem of his trousers is rolled back up to his calf, delicately smoothed along by a soothing touch.

The introduction of cold is almost worse than the prodding he’d just undergone. John jolts as the cloth touches his skin. A pang similar to shattered glass ricochets across his foot and he has to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. Arthur holds him steady, other hand firm on his calf, bent over the injury.

“Easy,” he says quietly. “It’ll hurt for a minute or two, but this will help to numb some of the pain and swelling.”

“Numb?” John gasps, “or worsen? What even is that?”

Arthur readjusts the bundle. “Peas wrapped in a washcloth. You should know, you bought all the groceries last.”

“Why the hell would I buy peas? They’re repulsive.”

“Well I didn’t, and we don’t have ice in right now, so it’ll have to do.”

True to his word, after some uncomfortable minutes of silence, the throbbing begins to lessen. John sinks back in relief, a sweet dullness overtaking pain receptors which had not let up on their constant alarm for what seemed like eons now. Thoughts broken up by the unrelenting ache finally begin to clear. From behind the haze he sighs, tilting his chin up towards the ceiling. Long hair spills over the back of the cushions.

“That’s… much better,” he says weakly. “Thank you.”

“I imagine it is, yes… John?”

“Yes?” he answers, anticipation sitting nauseatingly in his gut. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you hurt your ankle?”

In the low light he steals a glance over. His vision was better than most - better than Arthur’s, when he had been able to see out of his eyes. Things came across with astonishing clarity, even when there was little illumination to help refine the world around him. John narrows in on the long pink scar across Arthur’s throat, an indelicate reminder of the Dreamlands, the incomprehensible weight of that last stand reduced to one single, jagged divide. His torn ear hid neatly enough behind reddish gold curls, but the mark across his face where those dangerous sands had scraped away the skin there was not so easy to miss.

In the break between their conversation he rolled up his shirtsleeves and there too John could spot scars, dots and lines of invisible constellations, healed but not forgotten. The wooden pinky finger taps his ankle as he shifts the peas. John’s pinky, he thought. Or, it had been.

Everything about Arthur was a testament to some horror he’d survived, that they had survived together. And John, in this new body, had nothing to show for it.

“John?” Arthur asks. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” he argues. “It hurts.”

“Is this helping at all? We can always wrap it afterward. Hopefully it won’t need to be seen by anyone.”

There’s concern in his voice, so genuine despite the way he’d just been treated that something snaps just around John’s lungs, a sharp, bitter pull. Whatever he had been about to say dies under his tongue. Nothing comes out, although his lips part for several seconds.

“John?”

His restraint falters.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“...What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, yanking the words agonizingly out. “It wasn’t my intention to lie to you from the start, I - I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what, John?” comes the baffled prompt. “That you injured yourself?”

“Yes,” he emphasizes. “I don’t even remember how I did it, I guess I just… stepped incorrectly? Tripped over something? I don’t fucking know, Arthur, and it’s so goddamned stupid. I can’t even control my own two legs! How am I going to keep existing in this body if I break under the slightest influence? It’s not like you get hung up over a fucking sprain, or don’t bounce back from a coma, or a car crash, or-”

“Hang on, John, wait,” Arthur interrupts. “Is that what this is about? Me?”

“Yes! No. I don’t know, Arthur. A bit of both?”

Frustration boils beneath his skin, hot and shimmering. The corners of his eyes prickle but he doesn’t move up to rub at the sting coiled there, waiting for release.

“You don’t let anything stop you,” he says, the living room blurring. “Gunshot wounds to the chest, electrocution, multiple stabbings, so many falls I’ve lost count-”

“Technically the gunshot would have killed me if not for the wraith, " Arthur offers feebly, but John doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Not even getting gutted through inside those mines in Addison! Not even my shitty job of sewing you back up.” He swallows, breathing heavily. “You’re practically fucking invincible, and meanwhile I take one wrong step and I’m incapacitated for days, can’t even take a stroll with you down the street, can’t carry you up to bed when you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.”

Tears were flowing now, trickling in trails of shame down flushed cheeks. “It’s ridiculous. I witnessed you wade through literal nightmares, Arthur, and you did it without losing yourself. You still managed to laugh where you could, to have hope, and-”

The thought was running swiftly away from him. He twists sideways as far as he could, facing the other side of the room, held in place only by his ankle. Again wishing to disappear, again wanting to crawl back inside Arthur’s head where it was safe.

It takes Arthur far too long to respond. For some time nothing moves in their midst, save for the rapid rise and fall of John’s chest, the hitched cadence of his breathing. Eventually Arthur shifts. John listens to his clothes rustle and wonders when the floor would swallow him whole.

“John?” Arthur says softly.

His jaw clenches. “What.”

“Look at me.”

Sniffing, he turns. The hand not keeping the frozen vegetables on his foot coaxes his chin up and over. Arthur’s touch doesn’t linger, giving him ample space. John wishes it would. Frustration continues to slip across his face, lines of damp salt.

“I didn’t react that way to all of those things because I wanted to, John,” he says gently. “I did so because I had to. I was surviving, trying to keep us both alive. What would have happened if I gave in and just laid down and let it all overtake me?”

John mulls it over.

“Nothing,” he concludes, wiping angrily at one eye. “We wouldn’t have gotten very far.”

“Exactly. You think I didn’t struggle? You saw me, John, you saw through me!”

He laughs, the first bright sound to filter through the room since they’d come home, tinged by bittersweet memory. “You were there for every second of it. Remember me waking up from the coma? I could hardly drag myself out of the bed, much less walk. And everything else that’s happened to my body, well…”

Briefly he touches his stomach. “Sometimes I wonder how there’s any blood left in me. I feel patchy, like I’m just made up of gaps a person could see straight through. It all still aches, John. I’m aware of it all, every stupid mistake or scar or… whatever else Addison and the Dreamlands, all those monsters did to me; but if I refused to accept in some capacity, where would that get me? Fuck, I’d never leave the bed, and I’d have every right to do so. Why do you think I still sleep in some mornings?”

“You’re saying you’re hiding things too, then,” John says slowly. A flutter of remorse crosses Arthur’s smile, curving it downward.

“Yes,” he nods. “A little bit. I didn’t want you to worry, John.”

“This is the same thing, then!” John exclaims. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“It’s not the same, but… it is similar, sure. I’m still figuring this all out, what to do now afterwards. I know we both are. I suppose we’re each guilty of something here, aren’t we?”

A mutter answers him, unintelligible. Arthur sighs, rubbing John’s leg placatingly.

“I have experience with this kind of thing, John. You, frankly, do not. We don’t know how this body is going to react to the smallest of injuries, so when you’ve hurt yourself, or tripped, whatever, you need to tell me. I can’t help you if you’re so determined to be… stoically adamant that you can handle it.”

He winces. “No, poor choice of words. You’re more than capable of handling anything. The point here is that you don’t need to do it alone. I didn’t do it all by myself, either, even if it was our body at the time. I still had you there with me.”

“Okay,” John mumbles. The tears had stopped, drying in faintly gleaming tracks. Unable to help himself, he reaches over and directs Arthur’s free hand to his face. Arthur catches on quickly enough. One gentle thumb brushes the dampness away beneath both eyes.

“You said I didn’t lose myself in the midst of all that,” Arthur adds contemplatively, “but I did. You brought me back over and over. I won’t let you drown here, either. I guess we need to be more honest with each other in general.”

He flashes a small smile. “Works in progress, hmm?”

“Sure,” John says, wavering under that look. It was impossible not to. “Okay, Arthur. Thank you. I guess I…”

“Hmm?”

“I know it wasn’t easy, but you made it seem so effortless. I guess I wanted to be able to react the same way.”

“Nothing about being human is effortless, John. If it were easy, you’d be something else altogether.”

Neither are sure what else to say, so they choose to say nothing at all. Arthur removes the cloth, saturated with condensation. The swelling had gone down somewhat. Beneath the inflamed skin a dull ache persisted, but it was milder, simpler to deal with. Darkness shot through with distant city lights and a sliver of the rising moon sits just behind the glass window panes of the front room, enticing and comforting with its allure of endless promise. In the lamp’s glow, John watches Arthur start to slide off the table, cradling his foot until he’s able to place it down atop its surface.

“I think you should sit here for a while,” he advises, frowning. “I can help you down the hall later. If you want, that is. It’s doubtful you’ll be able to keep much weight on this over the next few days if you want it to heal properly.”

“Great,” John mutters. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To change out of these clothes? Why?”

“Can’t you,” he stutters, “stay here? I can’t reach the washcloth. What if I need it again?”

“I can place it next to you,” Arthur says wryly, catching on. “It’s only a foot away.”

“What if I have to get up?”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all.”

“Arthur, please.”

“Christ, alright,” he agrees, fondly. “Just for a while. I’m exhausted too, you know.”

He slips next to him. They fit together seamlessly after some adjusting, John avoiding old wounds, Arthur working around this new one. It’s a recently acquired habit, this circling of one another, quietly curling up until they were consoled enough in their own selves and each other. John’s head ends up across Arthur’s thighs, his foot propped up on the armrest of the other end. He was so tall his leg stretched past the edge of the sofa, halfway dangling in mid air.

“John, darling?” Arthur asks absently, untangling dark curls spread out across his lap.

“Yes?”

“You’ve… carried me up to bed before?”

John blinks. “Of course. I couldn’t leave you on the sofa like that, shivering.”

“I wasn’t shivering,” he retorts with mock affront. “Was I?”

“It was kind of pitiful. To give you credit, you had kicked off the blanket I put over you earlier.”

“I was wondering where that had come from,” Arthur mumbles. “Thanks, John.”

“You’re welcome. You sleep like you’re the prize boxer in a dream ring.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You kick,” John says meaningfully, eyes already beginning to close. “Hard.”

“Oh. Sorry. At least I don’t hog the blankets all the time,” Arthur retorts sheepishly.

“I do not hog anything. I’m much taller than you now! I need more of it.”

“Not all of it.”

“Buy a second blanket, then, if you’re so concerned.”

They bicker until John falls asleep. Sentences drop to single word responses, and soon enough he’s out, trying to get one last quip through the heavy pull of slumber. Arthur sighs as he feels his breathing even out, one palm flat on his chest. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to change clothes.

“John?” he whispers. “John?”

He doesn’t answer. Arthur lets loose another weary exhale. There was no way he could move now.

“I think you did this on purpose,” he says softly, yawning. “You just want me to play with your hair, don’t you? Unfortunately for you, I’m probably going to fall asleep right here beneath you.”

He brushes stray strands off John’s forehead. It continued to puzzle him how someone who had once spent thousands of years inflicting agony on others now flinched beneath the prospect of bothering those closest to him with pain of his own.

Arthur drifts into unconsciousness soon after the thought dissipates like smoke, head dipping to rest sideways on one shoulder. John, clinging to the last dredges of wakefulness, peers up through heavy lidded eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of Arthur’s silent goodnight, John, on his lips.

#caspost #malevolent #malevolent fic #ANYWAY HOPE IT ISNT BAD CJNEJV #like i said first draft and all #might put this up on ao3 later!#god i need to sleep now im so tired #long post #also the other 2 prompts!! still working on those! (: the dress one and the baking one!!#also this could be read romantically or queer platonically ig!!

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mamawasatesttube · 4 months ago

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ooooo timkon w “Can you just hold me?” or “You look like you need a hug." for the ficlet thing :3

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be, with a whole hair care shower routine, silken pillowcases, and an array of curl creams and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for it now and then, but he knows it's because Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. Kon got too used to being picked apart on camera for that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in from the balcony is... concerning.

Even more concerning is the way he barely even looks at Tim before he throws himself at the bed, flopping face-down with an oof. The balcony door closes itself behind him like an afterthought, and he heaves a huge, melancholy sigh.

"Kon?" Tim pushes away from his desk, trotting over to the bedside. Kon's legs are sticking off, and Tim shakes his head fondly as he reaches down to tug Kon's boots off. "Long day, huh?"

The first boot comes off in his hands; the second follows almost instantaneously. Kon lifts his head from the duvet to give him a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, apologetic, before he drops his face back down with a thump.

"I'm tired," he mumbles. And he sounds like it. There isn't even a hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim crawls onto the bed next to him, rests his hand comfortingly at the small of his back. "What happened?"

Kon hisses out another sigh into the duvet. "Someone tried to—and don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm fine—but someone tried to dissect me today. Again."

Alarm jolts through Tim's whole body; his hands immediately start roaming Kon's torso, probing for wounds. "What?! Are you hurt—"

"I just said, I'm fine, Rob." Kon sounds a little wry as he rolls onto his back. "Jeez. What happened to your listening skills?"

He catches one of Tim's wrists and holds it to his chest, over his heart; Tim can see the sliver of an incision, cut right into the center of the S-shield emblazoned on his chest. He can't tell if it cut the skin beneath or not, but at least he doesn't see any blood.

The tiny smile on Kon's face fades, and Tim softens, studying him. Now that he can look properly, he can see the telltale signs that Kon cried, earlier; his cheeks are a little blotchy, his eyes slightly reddened. An eyelash is stuck to the delicate skin just below his eye.

"Some... ugh. They were some, like, Cadmus-wannabes. Total bozos, though. They had a red sun lamp, but no metagene suppressant, so." Kon shrugs, discontented. "They didn't even use the energy restraints like that time with Amanda Spence, like—c'mon, at least do your basic research if you're gonna try to vivisect a guy, right?" He snorts humorlessly. "I got out fine, took it down, called the S.C.U., it's whatever. I'm just... I'm so tired, Tim," and his voice cracks on Tim's name.

"Kon," he murmurs, leaning down. He presses their foreheads together, his chest aching. He'll have to check the news, find out from reports who exactly was behind this, because... it shouldn't matter, since it's already taken care of, but something inside him burns at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could put such a bone-deep sorrow into Kon's eyes.

"I'm so tired of people acting like I'm—like I'm not a person just 'cuz I hatched outta some stupid tube in a lab." Kon's eyes are too bright. He squeezes them shut and takes a shaky breath. "Like—what do I gotta do, y'know? How do you just—how do you even get through to people who're so convinced clones aren't people? I'm a person, too! I just... I..."

Tim very briefly debates the ethics of breaking into Stryker's just so he can hit someone with his staff. Or his car.

"I'm... really sorry you had to deal with that," he says instead, lamely. It's cold comfort, and awkward, and—

And it makes Kon laugh, watery but real. He blinks his teary-bright eyes up at Tim, brushes a gloved hand to his cheek. "You're mad as hell right now, aren't you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and presses his lips to Kon's jaw. "You caught me." Another kiss, to the corner of Kon's mouth. "I just—I hate that I can't do anything to fix this kinda thing for you. You don't deserve it."

"Mm." Kon takes a second to collect himself, swallows hard, and breathes out slowly. "You do more than you realize, I think. Can you just—can you just hold me? For a little while?"

Tim flops down on top of him immediately, wraps his arms around his head and neck, and smushes his face into Kon's hair. It would probably be more comfortable if they were side-by-side and facing each other, but the advantage of this position is that—

Kon laughs again, soft and fond. His voice is still a little thick, but he's smiling now. "Is that comfy for you...?"

"Kinda." Tim kisses his temple, too. "You smell like smoke."

"Mmf, sorry." Kon sighs again. "And I got it all over the bed now, too, huh..."

"S'okay. We can just grab a different blanket later." Tim scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair until they hit a tangle. "...Want me to wash your hair for you?"

Kon's arms tighten around him, and suddenly he seems like he needs a moment before he can respond. Tim doesn't rush him.

"Yeah," Kon croaks out after a moment, his voice suspiciously wet. "Yeah, Robbie. I'd like that a lot."

#rimi writes #emmothman #timkon #yet another ficlet for the ''this got kind of long and maybe it should go on ao3 instead but idk'' pile. 964 words. awkward length 😔#oh well maybe ill come back to the concept for a proper fic later bc i DO constantly think abt kons bedrock belief in his own humanity--#--even in the face of constant and sometimes extreme dehumanization #hi. im still thinking about clone baby guardian arc and amanda spence trying to kill kon on the dissection table #like i know its a comic but also exsanguination w/o co2 or other anesthesia is like. extremely illegal to do to MICE #<- worked in a lab where we handled animals #and just thinking abt that vs how dehumanized kon gets in there. man!!!!!!#anyways uhhhhh tag ramble over. bye #tim #kon

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lovesickeros · 1 year ago

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can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

#asks #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #yelan #furina #ei #THIS DIDNT SHOW UP IN MY INBOX UNTIL LIKE #NOVEMBERBIM SORRY IM ANSERRING IT SO LATE??????#tumblr working right is a miracle that will never happen #anyway can u tell i have. biases. there r so many characters I wanted to write for this (shenhe.........) but I forced myself to limit it #to 4 for my own sanity and everyones elses #also didnt know if u wanted just yan or sagau so I went for my specialty 🧍‍♂️#was gonna include my beloved cryo archon but decided against it #ei the pathetic lesbian that u r....mwah #I'm sorry this took so long it took me 50 yrs to figure out yelan.. 😭#i am still not confident abt my characterization of her but shes so good at her job even im confused abt her #reading her lore crying and sobbing in the corner. shaking her like a can of soda #checks note idk uhh cocky doesnt let herself form personal relationships charismatic uhhhhhhhh #idk dont ask me i just started praying and hoping for the best here #i think she'd get a kick out of getting reader into like. fudging rolls and shit. create an absolute menace out of reader #set them loose and see what chaos happens #just kicks back and watches it all unfold internally laughing her ass off #i didnt know whether to just do headcanons in uh. bulleted list or like #full on drabbles

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dollarneko · 6 months ago

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small and rusty hareway sketch using a scene from my unpublished fic...

I think from now on im gonna tag all dd404 stuff as "404EX" too bc that's my fic's/AU's name

#looney tunes #duck dodgers #dd404 #hareway #404EX #im sorry i rushed this a bit he is so hard to draw. i havent drawn bugs since 2022 i mght die #“when r u publishing the fic” probably never. it is 20k long and unfinished. altho i still wanna work on it.#i have put so much unrelated shit in it that when i think of the characters im perceiving them with that story n characterization #so im making a tag for it #credit for the DD404 au to not-a-comedian !!!!#u know it #duck dodgers 404 #i just noticed in the scene he says ''i dont have to answer you'' i MISREAD IT *dies*

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firefly-factory · 8 days ago

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Astorvember Day 5: VILLAGE

Got called in to work last minute today, so this one is pretty rough. Pretend there are more houses hidden in the trees lol

But yeah, up until today I wasn't quite sure where I thought Astor grew up. All I knew was that I wanted there to be plenty of trees (because spooky atmosphere). Today I decided to open up Totk and run around the map until I found a place I liked . . . And realized that the Akkala region has SO MUCH potential.

It has trees, it has a spooky skull shaped lake (which is wonderful if you're part of a Ganon Cult I'm sure) and, more excitingly, I found two statues that give my headcanon for a pinprick village a grain of truth (especially when you realize how easily wood decays)

I also imagine there may have been some sort of small village to the south, mainly comprised of workers for the Ordorac Quarry. Astor's village (which I'll call Rok for now, after the woods it was in) likely traded with the quarry workers for more exotic goods every now and then. That being said, it was an isolated part of the world.

#todays been a long day but im still going <3 #i have a much longer script that id originally planned for “village”#might work it into a fic or smth because its sorta critical to backstory stuff #or i could share it (just in script form) if yall are interested?#anyways hope yall like todays lil comic #hes just having some quiet time #he needed it #astor #astorvember #astor aoc #my art #comic #legend of zelda

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bunnieswithknives · 2 months ago

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sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

#Its so shocking whenever anybody mentions that fic to me #like its just such a specific combo of interests how are there this many people interested in it...#I have some fragments of unfinished chapters for it laying around but I was struggling to get them to work #and I definitely dont have the motivation to finish them now #If youre curious the chapters were going to be Slaughter avatar miss Power and Web avatar Mr Big #and possibly Flesh avatar Butcher but I never got around to starting that one #The Miss Power chapter was basically going to be about her having kind of lost her thread #I wanted to leave a lot of ambiguity as to what happened with her home planet #but she hadnt been in contact with them for agessssss and her radio is damaged and her ship is in bad shape #the chapter was just going to be her being like 'pfff I dont interpersonal connection Im doing great out here. Murdering. All on my own'#Well she has her little squirl thing but she treats him like an animal #mr giggle cheeks or whatever #anyway I wanted it to imply that whatever happened her bloodthirst was destroying her #The Mr Big chapter was from Lesley's perspective #She would have been one in a long long line of assistants that Mr Big went through like candy #Lesley is his favorite though because. while she is terrified of him. shes still willing to push him. to be honest with him #but she also knows exactly when to step off. when to lie to appease him #( its always a tossup as to whether he wants a sweet lie or the harsh truth that day. He can always tell either way #its a gamble he does to be cruel. She always picks right though. or maybe he's more lenient with her than he should be)#He likes that she knows exactly how to push him without ever stepping over the line #He likes that her guilt and revulsion are slowly eating her up inside but shes too selfish to leave #She likes being special. She likes the idea of ruling the world alongside him #She'll always be second in command but shell be so much higher than everyone else #and shes willing to do anything to get that #Mr big doesnt think shell ever make it that far #but he likes her anyway #shes the one assistant he'll be sad about dying #OK damn apparently I did still have things to say about this old fic DAMN #still not gonna finish it tho. they call me the struggler becaus.e writing is a struggle...

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gblogg · 4 months ago

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A Bumpy Ride

---

The car hummed along the highway, the rhythmic thrum of the tires, the only sound breaking the quiet. Beautiful autumn trees blurred past the windows as Nico and Phoenix made their way to Nico's family's house for a weekend visit. It was a trip they had both been looking forward to, but Phoenix had been dreading the drive more than anything.

Phoenix had always been prone to motion sickness. He had taken his medication, hoping it would ward off the worst of it, but as the miles ticked by, he felt the familiar queasiness settle in. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the roiling in his stomach, but it was no use. His mouth began to fill with saliva, a sure sign that his body was not handling the motion well.

Nico glanced over, concern etched on his face. “How are you holding up, babe?”

Phoenix shook his head, swallowing thickly. “The meds aren't working.”

Nico’s brows furrowed with worry. He reached over, squeezing Phoenix's hand. “I'm sorry, baby. We’re almost there. Just a bit longer.”

Phoenix nodded, trying to focus on the passing scenery to distract himself. But the nausea was relentless, building with every twist and turn of the road. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose, hoping to keep the sickness at bay. He leaned back and was breathing slowly through his mouth, hoping to quell the nausea.

The car hit a particularly rough patch of road, and Phoenix's stomach lurched. He groaned, his hand touching his stomach, his body jolted slightly with a hiccup. “Ugh, god..”

Nico turned to Phoenix, worry evident in his eyes. “Hang in there, love. There’s a bag in my rucksack at your feet. Use it if you need to.”

He rummaged through the rucksack and pulled out the plastic bag, opened it and dropped it in his lap, and rested his head against the window, sighing. Nico rubbed his shoulder soothingly. He wanted to do something, anything to help.

“It's okay, Fee. Just breathe,” Nico murmured, his voice calm and steady.

“I hate this,” Phoenix mumbled could feel the toast he had for breakfast sloshing around in his belly, the feeling making him want to gag. He groaned and put his head in his hands as everything started to spin, and the nausea was becoming unbearable. He opened the bag and burped over it. The car came to a stop, and he forced his eyes open, Nico had stopped at the side of the road.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Nico stopped the car and touched Phoenix’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. His voice was filled with empathy and concern. His question was answered when Phoenix shook his head and gagged again, this time burping up some of his breakfast, which made an awful rustling sound as it landed in the bag. He coughed and threw up again, and Nico grabbed the side of the bag as it started slipping out his boyfriend’s hands.

Phoenix straightened up, sniffling, and he almost melted as he felt Nico tracing his nails against his back. His cheeks puffed with another burp, and he moaned, “Lemme take that” Nico softly touched the bag, and Phoenix loosened his grip slowly. Nico took it and put it in a bin that was nearby.

When Nico came back, he found Phoenix adjusting the seat so he could lean back comfortably. Nico took a bottle of water from the back seat and handed it to his boyfriend. Phoenix took a sip and rinsed his mouth, then drank some. When it stayed down, he smiled gently, and with a gentle touch, Nico reached out, his fingers threading softly through Phoenix’s hair.

“Thanks, babe,” Phoenix said, his voice filled with gratitude.

Nico sighed, “You don't have to thank me, love I’ll always take care of you.” He leaned over and kissed his forehead.

...

The rest of the drive was slow and steady. Nico took extra care to avoid any rough patches or sharp turns, and he kept the conversation light and soothing. Phoenix leaned back, eyes closed, focusing on Nico’s voice and the feel of his hand holding his.

Finally, they arrived at Nico’s mom’s house. The warm glow of the porch light welcomed them, and the sight of it filled Phoenix with a sense of relief. They had made it.

Nico’s little sister, Lillie, ran out to greet them, her face lighting up with excitement. The six-year-old had her hair in the cutest little pigtails, her brown eyes glistening in the light from the sun. “Nico! Phoenix! You’re here!” she squealed, her voice high and full of joy.

Nico scooped her up, spinning her around. “Hey, Lils! Did you miss us?”

Lillie giggled, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! Come inside! Mommy made cookies!”

Nico set her down gently, then turned to help Phoenix out of the car. “Hey, Lillie. Can you help us get our things inside? Phoenix isn’t feeling too well.”

Lillie nodded, her concern matching Nico’s. She grabbed Phoenix's hand with her tiny one, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on, Phoenix. Mommy can make you feel better.”

With Nico and Lillie’s help, Phoenix made it inside and settled on the couch. Nico’s mom and stepdad greeted them warmly, their concern evident when they saw Phoenix’s pale face.

“Are you okay, Phoenix?” Nico's mom asked gently, placing a hand on his forehead. Her touch was warm and comforting, reminding Phoenix of his own mother.

“I'll be okay,” Phoenix replied, managing a small smile. “Just a rough ride.”

Nico’s stepdad, Mark, a tall man with a kind face, came over with a glass of ginger ale. “Here, Phoenix. This might help settle your stomach.”

Phoenix took the glass gratefully, sipping the fizzy drink. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

“Call me Mark,” Nico's step dad said with a friendly smile. “And I keep telling you, you're family now, no need for formalities.”

Nico sat beside Phoenix, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. “We'll take it easy tonight. Just rest, baby.”

Phoenix nodded, leaning into Nico’s side. Despite the rough start, he felt a sense of peace knowing he was surrounded by people who cared for him. The warmth of the home, the soft lighting, and Nico’s steady presence made the discomfort fade into the background.

Lillie climbed onto the couch next to Phoenix, her big eyes filled with concern. “Are you sick, Phoenix?” she asked in her sweet, innocent voice.

Phoenix smiled at her, ruffling her hair. “Just a little, cariño. But I’ll be okay.”

She patted his hand with her tiny one. “Mommy makes the best cookies. They’ll make you feel better.”

Phoenix chuckled, his heart warming at her earnestness. “I'm sure they will, Lillie. Thank you.”

As the evening went on, Phoenix started to feel a bit better. He joined in the laughter and conversation, grateful for the love and support of Nico and his family. Lillie insisted on sitting in his lap while they played board games, her excitement contagious.

“Look, Phoenix! I made this drawing for you!” she said, holding up a crayon-covered picture of a family.

“It’s beautiful, Lillie,” Phoenix said, helping her hang it on the fridge.

Mark brought out a tray of cookies and hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the kitchen table, the room filled with warmth and family chatter. Nico’s mom told stories about past visits, and they all laughed at the funny memories.

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Nico held Phoenix close, whispering soothing words in his ear. “I love you, Phoenix. Thank you for coming with me. I know it wasn't easy.”

“I love you,” Phoenix replied, his voice soft and content. “And it was worth it. Being here with you and your family... It means a lot.”

Nico pressed a gentle kiss to Phoenix’s forehead. “Sleep well, baby. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

#nico kim #my writing #burping #sickfic #motion sickness #something ive been writing for a long time and ive changed a lot #i hope its okay #will now be finishing the nico fic but im still working on the appendix one #nicos fam introduced here #Phoenix Fuentez #changed the name of nicos sister so if you see “emily” i meant to put “lillie”

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