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ruthiswriting · 3 years ago

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body of choice

chainsaw man | denji, power, hayakawa aki, gen, 5k | on ao3

“It’s just…” He stopped. “You really don’t care about tits?”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by low buzz of Aki’s desk lamp. “You care about tits,” Aki said finally, “an unusual amount.”

(or: Time off work means that Denji gets to spend a lot of time thinking about what exactly it is that he likes about tits, anyway. Gender is involved. Power helps.)

inspired by my roommate’s headcanon that denji is a trans lesbian and doesnt know it yet! this fic takes place after the international assassin arc but before ch 73.

trigger warning for denji making transphobic statements due to the fact that he doesnt know that being trans is a thing, internalized transphobia, and body dysphoria. general disclaimer that i am not a trans woman but have been known to experience a gender from time to time. enjoy!

They’d all been given time off work, after the Darkness Devil. A leave of absence for Aki to recover, for Power to get her head screwed back on straight, and for Denji to sit and wait for them to be well, since he wasn’t allowed to go on work missions by himself. It was coming to an end soon— Aki had acclimated to his one arm pretty well, and Power didn’t wake up screaming anymore, so they’d be back to work soon.

Still, Denji was running out of ways to fill the empty time. Having nothing to do made him sizzle with nervous energy, waiting for something to do, for a task and directive to achieve. Aki provided the direction of reading materials, movies, and chores— but it still gave him too much time to think.

So it was a lazy afternoon, not long after lunch but still too early for another meal, when Denji asked Power a question.

“Hey, Power,” he said. “You took over a dead body, right?”

She was stretched out on the floor on her back, hugging Meowy in her arms— Aki always said that she held him too tightly, but no matter what Power did the stupid cat purred like a pleased, rusty motorboat. Denji’s question made her stall, frowning as Meowy squirmed. “Eh?”

“That’s what Aki said a fiend was,” Denji said, rolling onto his elbow to look at her from the couch. “A devil that took over a human’s dead body. So you did that, right?”

She paused, thinking this over— reaching for something hidden in her memory. Then her eyes widened, and she sat up. “That’s right,” she said, suddenly triumphant. She rubbed one finger under her nose, pivoting Meowy to rest awkwardly in the crook of her other arm. “I forgot… The way Power was born!”

There was the beginning of the story in the gleam of her eyes— something that would go on, and be uninteresting and mostly nonsensical. “Yeah, I don’t really care about any of that,” Denji said, before she could begin. “I was just wondering, like,” he paused, and one hand rose up, like he could better form the thought if he could grab it. “…Why’d you end up picking the body you did?”

“I used whatever was convenient,” she said. “Of course, my body is the best body I could have gotten. Tis one of the reasons I am so perfect.”

“So you didn’t care about what it looked like?”

Power sniffed, immediately dismissive of the question. “Only humans care about things like that,” she said. Denji could tell she was starting to lose interest in the conversation— she was starting to lift Meowy in front of her, the cat’s little arms jutting awkwardly toward her as his body dangled. “It is very sad! The only good devil feature I have now are my horns… Human bodies really are so unappealing. And they all look the same.”

This caught Denji off guard. He slid forward on the couch, trying to get Power’s attention again to argue. “Huh? That’s not true at all. We all look completely different. Like, you don’t look anything like me. And Aki looks super different from us…” His argument warmed up slowly as he cooked it over, and suddenly, he was invigorated. “We all look super fucking different! That’s crazy.”

“What are you two talking about?” Aki appeared in the doorframe, his one remaining arm wrapped over the white laundry basket he’d been struggling with the whole day.

“Denji is jealous of my perfect body,” Power said.

“No way!”

Before Power could say anything else stupid, Meowy squirmed over her shoulder to land on the ground behind her with a thump. She wheeled again to grab at him, but he scooted comfortably out of her arm’s reach to vanish under the couch, curling his patchy tail around his feet. “Meowy!”

Denji pointed at her, victorious. “That’s what you get. He’s not gonna come out for the rest of the day.”

“You two, stop fighting,” Aki said, before Power’s high pitched whine could end in a yell. “Denji, help me hang up the laundry. And Power, you need to clean Meowy’s litter box. It stinks.”

“Meowy should be allowed to shit wherever he wants,” Power grumbled.

“He does shit wherever he wants,” Aki said. “He just has better manners than you.”

As he stood on the balcony with Aki, picking up shirts one by one to hang, Power’s words continued to turn in Denji’s chest, until they finally stopped to lodge themselves there at an uncomfortable angle. It felt like he’d swallowed a piece of food before chewing it all the way through, and some piece was sticking there. His breaths couldn’t dislodge it.

Was he jealous of Power’s body?

No. There was no way. Why would he want a body like Power’s?

He’d seen a lot of Power’s body. All of it, actually. He knew what it looked like, what it felt like— even what it tasted like, not that he’d wanted to drink her blood. And he’d decided, pretty thoroughly, he wasn’t interested. Whatever exciting mystery lay under a girl’s clothes had fallen flat when it was attached to Power.

But maybe there was something else to want about her body? Something not about sex, or touch. He couldn’t name it. Or maybe, eventually, he could name it— but he definitely shouldn’t.

Laundry ended with hanging their spare public safety uniforms, all in an identical line. Denji was bigger than Power, and Aki was taller than both of them— still, they were all close enough in size that their clothes could easily mingle together in a confused heap. Denji had gotten halfway through getting dressed into Power’s too-small clothes to know he couldn’t wear her pant size, but on the line they almost looked identical. Empty squares of fabric, wafting in the warm breeze. When the sleeves moved, they looked like they were waving in time.

“You’re thinking about something,” Aki said.

He was kneeling by the now empty laundry basket, because even though Denji could have hung the laundry by himself in about the same amount of time, Aki had insistently stayed to pass the laundry to him. Denji guessed he just didn’t like being able to finish the stuff he could before, when he had both arms, and that maybe if he stuck around to the end of the task it was like he could do it anyway. But also, it felt like he was watching Denji. Waiting for something important.

Denji clipped the last shirt up, letting the clothespin clap shut around the starched white collar. “It’s nothin’ important,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The next day, Denji remembered something that brought him back to Power, reading through a manga that Aki had brought home from the conbini.

“I thought of something else about what you said that doesn’t make sense,” Denji said, standing over her.

She had to move the volume down out of her face to look at him, scowling immediately at the interruption. “What?”

“You said that you don’t care about your body, but you do,” Denji said, accusatory. “You wore those— fake boob things. Why the hell would you do that if you didn’t care about what your body looked like?”

She stared at him, and Denji could see from her expression, instantly, she’d forgotten the whole conversation already. Power forgot about a lot of shit, admittedly, but for some reason it felt like a bad sign— like Denji was putting way too much thought into something stupid. He went on pointlessly to add, “you know— what we talked about. How you said human bodies are gross…”

“Correct. Human bodies are gross,” Power said, instantly confident even if she’d forgotten the context. “But there are ways to make them less gross.”

She sat up, throwing the magazine aside. Denji jerked back, out of the circumference of her turning legs, and watched her draw herself up. “It is also helpful to have large breasts,” she said, confident. “Because many people desire them, and so they act in useful ways— like when you helped me save Meowy.” She folded her legs under her and crossed her arms, with sudden finality.“Isn’t that right?”

“Well— yeah,” Denji said. “But you couldn’t have known I would do that before we met…” His eyes flickered to her chest automatically at the memory— she wasn’t wearing them right now, so her t-shirt hung loosely against her body.

“But I knew humans are disgusting. And that they would be interested in me having larger breasts.” She crossed her arms and legs at once, forming a defiant pretzel. “Maybe you should try it some time, Denji.”

Any further argument Denji had against this line of reasoning immediately evaporated. He felt his face flush instantly, and he struggled for words— or anything at all, really. “What—“ he stopped, sputtering. “Don’t be fucking stupid! I can’t have tits, I’m a guy.”

“Why not?”

He stared at her, bewildered. “Cause— cause guys don’t have tits.”

It was so obvious it felt stupid to say— but even with it being obvious it felt like a weak argument. Power wrinkled her nose. “Stupid! Very stupid, Denji. Come with me.” She stood up, briefly on the couch before hopping down next to him. And then, she grabbed his arm and marched him to the bathroom, her fingers making a vise grip against his skin.

“You’re lucky I’m here to help you,” Power said, shutting the bathroom door behind them. This seemed like a bad sign to Denji— Power had to practically be bribed to not leave the door open when shitting, and she didn’t care when they shut the door either. She was trying to cut off his escape route. “Humans are so limited and rigid in their thinking! It’s very boring, so I will help you.”

She was wriggling out of her t-shirt as she talked, discarding it on the floor between them. Then, she ducked her arms behind her back to undo the clasps on her bra. That wasn’t really a big deal— Denji had seen Power naked before, and he’d done her laundry enough times to know what her underwear looked like. But he was starting to feel nervous about wherever this conversation was going. “Power,” he said, eyes flickering to follow her movements, “I don’t know about this.”

“I’m only trying to show you,” she said. “That it is very easy. And that humans do look alike.”

And then, she was pulling his shirt off— Denji choked as the cloth dragged against his mouth, arms jerking up automatically to follow the movement. His shirt joined hers on the floor.

With businesslike hands, Power turned him around so he was staring at the blank drywall. He felt the bra drag around his ribcage. “Whoa— whoa,” Denji yelped.

“Don’t bother fighting me! This is for your own good!” She was snapping the clasps in place, so it was snug against his body. They scratched against his back as they clicked.

Then, she pulled the straps over his arms. Denji felt his eyes drop, to where his cleavage would be, if he had cleavage (but he didn’t because he was a guy, and so he shouldn’t be thinking about this). The rip cord of his chainsaw heart curled awkwardly out between the bra’s lace detailing. He could feel it constrict in his chest— an ugly spasm in reaction to the way it gapped against him.

Power’s hands snaked out from under his armpits. She was holding the breast pads. “Put them on,” she commanded.

Hell no, Denji screamed. Or, well, he thought he screamed. His voice wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, his hand moved, mechanical, to take them from her.

They were pretty much how he remembered the first time— silicone. Kind of squishy, except for an odd firmness in the middle. There was a sticky backing that probably helped keep them from falling off your chest. They also stank, since they lived up against Power’s sweaty unwashed body most of the time.

He raised them to his chest, and after a few moments of arranging, they were on, cool and sticky against his skin.

Power turned him again with one firm hand on his upper arm. Now, they were both facing the mirror— Denji in Power’s bra. Both shirtless. Both, somehow, with tits. She leaned against him and crossed her arms, smirking with satisfaction. “Now you see,” she declared. “We don’t look so different.”

She was wrong, obviously. Denji was taller than Power, and broader shouldered, and just— different. They looked different. Because they were two different people, obviously, but also because Denji wasn’t a chick. No way anyone would buy that he was just from some fake boobs.

But also, he couldn’t stop looking at them. Why? He knew they weren’t real, and also, they were on him. The usual reasons Denji wanted to be looking at tits couldn’t really apply. Especially when Power, who had actual tits, was standing next to him, naked from the waist up.

Of course, he’d already figured out he wasn’t interested in Power, so it made sense that he wasn’t looking at her— except nothing about this situation made sense at all. Especially that some noise, buzzing in the back of his skull constantly, had gone quiet. A feeling that he hadn’t even known was there was gone.

“You can keep them if you want, Denji,” Power said generously. “I only wear the bra because Aki makes me.”

Reality snapped back into place. Denji pushed her away, yanking off the bra. The boob pads unstuck from his body with only a little coaxing, and they fell to the floor with a mushy plap. “Fucking— keep your clothes on, Power!”

Denji ran from the bathroom without reclaiming his shirt, hiding in his room from both Power and whatever he had seen in the mirror. He’d have to come back for the shirt later— Aki always got onto them for leaving their clothes in the bathroom when they showered. But he wanted to be sure that Power would be gone. Power, and her stupid fake boobs, and whatever she’d done to him when she snapped that bra into place.

That night, Aki turned on an old cartoon while he cooked dinner— the sizzle of grease popping over the tinny background music and shouted dialogue. TV always mesmerized Power, although she complained if there wasn’t blood and gore. She still sat close to the screen, blocking the bottom half with the top of her head and horns.

Denji didn’t care about TV, really. It had been kind of novel at first, since his dad had sold the TV set when he was pretty young and they’d never had money for things like movies. But since he’d gotten to watch movies with Makima, watching grainy TV on Aki’s tiny television set had hardly been appealing. But he still watched, apathetic, until his stomach began to twist again.

The show was about some kid who got cursed, so that every time they got wet they’d change from a boy to a girl— or a girl to a boy. Denji wasn’t sure. It seemed pretty inconvenient, honestly. You probably couldn’t plan for being splashed with water in every situation, and the kid didn’t want everyone to know about it, so it just ended up being a lot of dumb shit about the kid managing all the different identities and what people thought he was— or she was. Denji could hardly keep up with his one life, so managing two seemed like a huge hassle.

So he didn’t know he felt so much envy, every time the dumb kid slipped into some water fountain or got dunked in a river. It didn’t make sense to want that. Nothing he was feeling made sense.

He took a shower after dinner. The hot water steamed over the mirror, leaving Denji alone with his thoughts, and the water, trickling over his back. His naked chest.

It was probably something wrong with his head. He knew that already, though—everyone had already made it clear that whatever Denji thought about anything was probably weird and fucked up. This was probably the same sort of thing. Whatever this was.

He rubbed his skin raw with soap and tried not to look down.

It was early in the morning when Denji couldn’t take it anymore.

Without understanding why, he crawled out of bed— over where Power was sprawled, taking up half the space in his bed, like she always ended up doing whenever she passed out there— and crept down the hall to Aki’s room.

When Makima had arranged for Denji to live with Aki, the door to Aki’s room had stayed solidly shut. He hadn’t been explicitly told to stay out, but Denji knew when not to sniff. And it wasn’t like he’d been especially compelled by whatever Aki got up to, so, whatever.

But then, Power had moved in too, along with her near-constant impulse to wreck most of Aki’s possessions and her cat that liked to sleep under Aki’s desk. Aki had waged an intense internal battle between wanting to make sure he could hear when Power was up to shit and wanting to keep at least an illusion of privacy. But at some point, he’d admitted defeat, and the door remained just slightly cracked, even when he was sleeping.

Then, after the Darkness Devil, Power would alternate between sleeping in Denji’s bed and Aki’s, so whatever privacy Aki had attempted to maintain had been thoroughly destroyed. He didn’t seem to care too much anymore anyway— even when it was Denji’s turn Aki always ended up ghosting down the hall to check on them, when he thought they were both asleep.

The light was off, and Denji was at least smart enough to feel bad about bugging Aki when he was definitely asleep, and when Denji should be too. He hovered in front of the door, hand half clenched over the knob, before finally reasoning that he’d known when he’d walked over here that Aki would be asleep, so he might as well follow through. He pulled the door open, and crept into the room.

Denji had seen Aki fall asleep on the couch enough times to know that he slept like the dead. It wasn’t something he understood— it seemed like a pretty big weakness for a devil hunter, if he was being honest. But at this point he at least knew the drill. In the dark, Denji hunted for Aki’s desk lamp, and clicked it on.

The warm yellow bulb cast dozy light over the room. Aki stayed stone still, body half curved on the bed in an uncomfortable contortion. Denji sat next to him, touching his shoulder. “Hey, Aki,” he said, voice a mutter, and felt his ears turn red.

On any other day, Aki would have remained asleep long enough for Denji to back out of this terrible idea. But as Denji hurriedly pulled his hand away, Aki’s nose wrinkled, and he slowly blinked awake. Denji’s shoulders sunk.

“Denji?” Aki’s voice was still thick with sleep, and even in the dim light he squinted like it hurt. “What’s going on? Did Power clog the toilet?”

“It’s not important,” Denji blurted. “Don’t let me bug you, actually.” He stood, planning to leave, but he couldn’t get his feet to unstick from the floor. Every attempt he made just rooted him more solidly in place.

Behind him, Aki’s gaze slowly focused on his back. “…Is everything okay?”

It was a weird sentence, from Aki. He knew it, too— there was something self conscious in the way the words formed, even through his fuzzy concern. But this whole moment was weird, and Denji figured if they both knew it he might as well take advantage of it. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Aki. “I was just, like,” he stalled, trying to find a way to word what was sitting in his chest. “Wanting to know what you thought of something I’ve been thinking about. It’s not important, but, you know…”

The lamp’s bulb was making a weird buzzing noise, filling the dead space between Denji’s fumbling sentences. Aki’s body hadn’t moved, but his eyebrows kept contracting, like if he furrowed them enough he could get to the point of Denji’s sentence. Finally, he said, words slow, “you want my advice.”

Super lame. It sounded so lame when Aki said it, in his weird, grown up way of talking about everything. “Yeah,” Denji said.

Aki looked at Denji. Looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table that was scheduled to go off in three hours (which Denji knew because whenever he couldn’t sleep he could hear Aki start to move at the same time every morning). Looked up, finally, at the ceiling, squinting into nothing. Then, he said, “okay.” And he sat up.

Before he could stop himself, Denji sat again on the bed. This time, Aki drew his legs up, making room for Denji. He waited expectantly for Denji to start talking.

“It’s just..” Denji was glad, suddenly, for the awkward configuration on the bed. Looking at Aki in the eye felt too intense. “You know. I was thinking about…” He took a breath, and said in a burst, “Aki, you’re gay, right?”

The silence suddenly got a lot thicker. Denji could feel the way Aki stared into the side of his head with a new, unwelcome intensity. When he talked, there was a beginning of an aggravated edge to his voice. “Did you wake me up at three in the morning to ask me why I’m gay?”

“No,” Denji said defensively. “It’s just— I’m trying to understand something, okay.”

“Why..” Aki stopped, and ran a hand over his face. He tried again, voice mechanically even. “Why do you think I’m gay?”

This, at least, was an easy one. “Your ears,” Denji said. And he pointed at Aki’s ear, where normally, black stud earrings would poke out from behind his bangs. “They’re both pierced, so like… One of them’s gotta be the gay one, right.”

Aki’s face was beginning to sour at his usual impressive rate. Unusually, though, he made an effort to contain it— to keep his bad mood from running off the edges of his face into the rest of the house. “We can unpack that later,” he said. “What’s your point?”

Denji wasn’t sure, was the thing. He wasn’t sure what his point was— only that there was this unknown thing lurking in the base of his stomach, something he didn’t know was good or not. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, like the answer was living up there. “It’s just…” He stopped. “You really don’t care about tits?”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by low buzz of Aki’s desk lamp. “You care about tits,” Aki said finally, “an unusual amount.”

“Fuck,” Denji said. He rubbed one arm over his eyes. “I know you think it’s stupid, okay. It’s...” He didn’t know. He didn’t know what it was.

Aki’s head tilted, just a little— the lamp shadowing the way he squinted at Denji. But then, he said, voice slow, ponderous: “are you thinking you don’t care about tits? And that…” He raised his eyebrow, leaving the connection for Denji to make.

“I’m not gay,” Denji said, voice definitive.

Aki didn’t argue this point. He nodded, willing to accept it without trouble. “But there’s something else about it that bothers you,” he said. “Like…” He paused, slowly feeling out his words. “That you think what you want about them— might not be normal?”

They were statements of fact, made carefully— Aki watching his reaction between every minute word. So Denji knew that he saw the way his shoulders shriveled, inching away from whatever Aki was arriving to. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” he mumbled.

“Why not?”

Denji stared down at his hands. His hands, resting on his legs, and the curve of his stomach against his boxers. “When all those assassins were coming after me,” he said finally. “One of them said… That some things you’re just better not knowing about. So, maybe it’s one of those things.”

Aki considered. “I suppose that can be true in some cases,” he allowed. “But I’d rather know the truth, however painful. …And I don’t think it really is one of those things, this time.”

“So what do you think it is?” Denji challenged him, finally turning his head to look Aki in the eye. “You’ve got something in mind, right? You wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise.”

“Not really.”

Denji couldn’t make out Aki’s face clearly in the dark, so it was hard to tell if he was lying. “Yeah, right,” he said. And he looked away again.

It was a while before Aki responded. Before he said anything, he shifted to be sitting next to Denji— legs close together, the ghost of his empty sleeve batting against Denji’s arm. Denji chanced a look at him, out of the corner of his eyes, but Aki wasn’t meeting his eyes either. He was just looking at some point on the wall. Reflecting.

“Some things you might be better off knowing,” Aki said. “Some things maybe you shouldn’t. But I don’t think it’s wrong to want to get to know yourself better… Even if it’s uncomfortable in the meantime.”

“You do have something in mind,” Denji mumbled.

Aki paused again. “Only based off of what you told me,” he said, voice light. “What you asked me.”

Denji’s vision swam. He squeezed his eyes shut, insistent on blocking out whatever he was feeling, and however Aki was looking at him. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said again, because maybe if he kept saying it it would be true.

The bed creaked, and he felt the mattress rise underneath him as Aki stood. Denji dared to open his eyes to watch him move. Aki was turning to face Denji, so he could use his one remaining arm to push him down to the bed— gently, one hand firm on his shoulder. Denji didn’t fight. He let his body sag, until his head was resting against one of Aki’s lumpy pillows. His eyes kept prickling, so laying down was probably a bad idea. Whatever was burning behind his eyes only got worse the gentler Aki was.

But then, mercifully, Aki turned the lamp off, dropping them both into darkness. He went around to the far side of the bed, and laid next to Denji, a tiny sigh bursting out from behind his lips. Denji felt his throat click.

Aki’s arm cuffed around his head, almost cradling him in the crook of his elbow. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s fine if it takes you time to figure it out.”

Denji wanted to protest more. To say that really, there was nothing to figure out, and that Denji was just making a big deal out of nothing. Power had said and done some weird Power shit, and that was all. He could get over it. But at this point, that felt even stupider. So Denji swallowed, and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice anymore, so Aki’s only answer would have to be the way the back of Denji’s neck shifted against his wrist.

Aki didn’t say anything else, only laid against him in the dark, a silent, still presence. Denji drew in breaths until his heart calmed, until he could trust himself to speak. “Should check on Power,” he muttered. “She still gets nightmares sometimes… ‘Specially if she wakes up alone.”

“Right,” Aki murmured. “I can go look— you don’t have to get up.”

“Nah,” Denji said, and he started to sit up.

Before he could get further than his elbows, though, a heavy, furry weight thudded into Denji’s chest. Meowy sank heavily against him, like a furry rock pinning him to the bed.

Denji swore, and in response, Power’s cat meowed in his face. “God, your breath stinks,” he muttered.

“What are you both doing in here?” The vague outline of Power’s body lingered in Aki’s doorway, like a horror movie monster. If a horror movie monster refused to eat vegetables or brush her teeth. “You left me alone, Denji.”

Denji grumbled, still trying to move the cat. “What’s it look like we’re doing? We’re sleeping. And you defeated the Darkness Devil, so it’s fine, right? Nothing bad’s gonna happen. You’re too tough.”

“Not important!” She stepped into the room and the bare sliver of moonlight coming through Aki’s balcony. It made her face white, almost gleaming with sweat. “I knew Meowy wouldn’t leave me for no reason. You two are too weak and pathetic to be left alone! Very good work, Meowy.” She crossed the room to crawl into bed next to them, pressing up against Denji in an insistent effort to fit.

Denji grumbled in protest, but there wasn’t any stopping her— in a matter of seconds she was insistently pretzeled next to him.

“Thanks for watching out for us, Power,” Aki murmured. “Good job.”

He was already falling back asleep. Which was really pretty annoying, because Aki’s bed really wasn’t big enough for the three of them. But if Denji wanted to move, he’d have to drag all of them with him and he just didn’t want to deal with that. So he sighed and wriggled over, making room for Power by jamming himself against Aki’s shoulder.

Meowy slid off his chest like a heavy ooze, landing between him and Power on the crook of his shoulder. Power curled happily around the cat, one arm catching around it to drape across Denji’s chest.

And then, they were asleep again, with just Denji awake. Watching the dawn light start to crawl across the ceiling.

Sometimes, when he was stuck on shit like this, he started to wonder if he had been better off when it was just him and Pochita. Even if he didn’t have money and food, it was less complicated. He didn’t have time to think about things like tits, because he was too busy trying to pay rent, and the bills, and feed him and Pochita. It was harder, but also way, way fucking easier.

Right now, though, it was okay. Denji could stand thinking a little more, if it was like this.

He let his eyes close. This time, he fell asleep.

#chainsaw man #csm #chainsaw man fic #denji chainsaw man #power chainsaw man #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki

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lizzyandie · 4 years ago

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I guess this is my life now (Dead by Daylight Fanfic)

I’m not dead, I swear. I just lost interest in Tumblr for a long time, but I might return on a semi-permanent basis.

I found joy in writing again, so enjoy this small piece I created!

Warnings: Mention of alcohol

You don't remember much of your former life before the Trials. You have some glimps of a small house in a suburban neighbourhood. Was it yours, or maybe your family? Did you even have a family? Was the memory even real, or did that Thing put it in your head? A false glimmer of something happy? A comfort in this eternal Darkness? Who knows? You sure didn't. You didn't know much except that you needed to survive the Trials. They would happen once or twice a day, depending on what that Thing was up for. One thing was certain; You would be sacrificed most of the time.

That Thing, otherwise known as The Entity, ruled this realm. Or... Was it even a realm? Was this the afterlife? You wouldn't know, but you would believe those who were here before you. A gang of people, everyone stolen by the Entity, all from different places of the planet, maybe even different time-periods. They would tell you to not worry about anything. You would never die here, never feel hunger or feel the need to sleep. The quicker you became relaxed, the better it would be for you. "Don't let your guard down" they'd say. "But come to terms with you never leaving this place".

The days were short and nights long. It was torture, so you would find a way to make the days go by. Is there even days here? Maybe the Entity just resets everything back to square one and it repeats itself over and over again. You didn't know, nor did you care. You were here, no way out. You were stuck here for all of eternity.

Whenever you were lucky enough to not be in a Trial you would wander the Realm. Get your mind off of things, maybe think of something else than being chased by a madman with a machette. Or chainsaw. Or shocktreatment... Not to worry about being sacrificed to the Entity. Your shoulder was numb after all the hookings. The hooking, feeling the blood run down your body was far too familiar to you now. But it was the Darkness that scared you. You were scared this was the last time you'd see it, feel it... Last time you'd take a breath. You shake the thoughts off of your mind for now. You wanted to clear your mind, not make it worse.

The Entity had opened a new doorway, a new place to be chased and sacrificed. The dusty worndown sign said "Glenvale". It looked like a old western town, dusty and abandoned. Anything left alive was a couple of crows and volchures. Old carriges were scattered around the streets, some watering trough was placed outside the saloon. The saloon was dusty like everything else, but the piano kept playing this tune. It made you uneasy, but it didn't bother you too much. The bar had some old bottles in the shelves, and the tables were barely standing. It reminded you of those old Western Cowboy movies. Movies... You remember movies. You would watch them every hour of the day if given the chance. You remember the screen, but not any faces. The actors were almost sensored from your mind, but not the scenery. The scenery plays so cleary in your head. Big cities, far away planets, the deep seas.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps, rythmic and determend footsteps approached the saloon quickly. You shook the feeling of feeling secure out of your mind as your Survivor-instincts kicked in. You instantly hid behind the bar, hoping whoever was approaching didn't see you. You held your breath as you heard the creaking of the floorboards getting closer. You heard a loud thud and a groan followed by a chair by the bar creak. Someone was sitting by the bar. You cursed in your mind, regretting coming here. Now you were sure to die, you just knew it. You were sweating, shaking, but holding your breath. You had to get out without being seen.

You tilted your head back looking up. You saw a hat on the bar, a hat way to familiar. It belonged to the new Killer. We called him the Deathslinger. The harpoongun must have been the thud you heard. But you didn't see the Killer, but you heard him. His breathing was deep and hoarse, but something was different. It sounded... tired? Exhausted?

You couldn't think about this, you had to get away!

You started to crawl on all four, being cautious with every move to not make a sound.

You made your way forward, slowly and silently.

Movement behind you!

You stop breathing and stop dead in your tracks, sweat dripping down your forhead down to the floorboards under you.

You slowly turn your head to see if the Killer was watching you. To your relief he was only stretching over the bar to grab one of the bottles. You let out the smallest sigh and keep crawling your way to the doors leading out of the saloon.

Creak

A lose floorboard. You stop once again, listening for movement. Nothing. It was dead silent. No movement, no...breathing. You slowly turn around to be face to face with the Killer. He must have seen you as he reached for the alcohol. You turn pale, you shake uncontrollably and your breath is panicked. You open your mouth ready to let out a shocked shriek.

The Killers hand covers your mouth, his face not changing expression. You're panicking even more, you grab his forearm and try to yanking it away. But he was too strong, and you knew it. This is it, you thought. This is how you die; in the hands of a Killer, literally.

"The hell you doin' here, girl?" He asked in a strict voice. "You ain't supposed to be 'ere." He let go of your mouth, but you didn't finish your shriek. You took a deep breath, relaxing your body and whiping the sweat off your face with the sleeve of your dirty and worn sweatshirt.

"I-I-I just wanted to-to-to..." You manage to stutter out a few words before he cuts you off, much angrier this time.

"Entity got yer tongue? Whatchu want 'ere, huh? Came 'ere to torment me more?"

Torment? The Killer? You slowly get on your feet, not taking your eyes off the Killers face. His face didn't look that damaged here. Maybe the Entity does something to the Killers to make them look scarier. His eyes weren't white or glowing, they were... Blue, atleast something close to it. His scar covering half of his face in the Trials is nothing but a mark here. He looked like a human here.

"Tormen---Torment you?! You're the one hooking us! Besides, I just wanted to clear my head! It's not against the rules to wander!" You protest, crossing your arms to make your point. The Killer just waves his hand at you, gesturing for you to leave.

"Bah! I ain't got time for melodrama. girl. Either ya 'ave a drink with me or ya get the fuck out." He said in a tired manner, sitting down at the bar again.

Have a drink with the Killer? You're not sure if he's joking or not, but he's not chasing you.

He gestured for you to sit in the chair next to him.

"Ya comin' or what?" he asked, pouring two glasses with... something. The label was so faded you couldn't even see the color of the liquid inside. But by the looks of what was in the glass, it was old.

"Don't...you want to kill me?" You ask carefully. You were confused to say the least. Why on Earth would a Killer want to have a drink with a Survivor?

"I ain't gonna kill ya, don't ya worry. I just want some company, that's all." he shrugged, taking a sip from his drink. With a grimace on his face, he swallowed the liquid, shaking his head.

"Fucking 'ell, tastes like shit. But it calms the nerves, ya know?" He turned his gaze torwards you, racing his glass.

"It ain't poison, atleast not the deadly one." he chuckles. "Come on, humor me, would ya?".

You didn't like the idea of drinking with a Killer, but it was better than nothing. You made your way to the chair next to him, quickly grabbing the glass with the mysterious liquid. One quick smell of it made you gag, but you didn't want to offend the man who just offered you a drink. And he spared your life, who knows what he would do if you refused? You drink the liquid, forcing it down your throat. You cough, covering your mouth as you didn't want it in return. The Killer laughs, looking at you.

"As I said, it ain't the best. But ya'll get used to it. Ya can't be a beggar here, girl." He shrugged, finishing his drink. You swirl your glass, looking at the patterns in the liquids left by you turning the glass.

"Y/N." You said, giving him a crooked smile. "My name is Y/N." The Killer turns to you, raising his glass.

"Charmed. Ya'll call me Deathslinger, but my real name is Caleb. Caleb Quinn. Ya call me what ya want.".

The both of you clinked your glass, smiling at eachother.

#dead by daylight #dbd #deathslinger #the deathslinger #caleb quinn #fanfic #dbd fanfic #self-insert #alcohol #entity #Dbd deathslinger #Dead by daylight deathslinger #Chains of hate

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ngame989 · 5 years ago

Text

“Christumpmasday” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 4

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox (make sure to follow him for bonus pics from the story!)

Editing: @toxicpsychox, @seddm

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: The holiday season is upon Earthni, and as her 16th birthday draws nearer, the blended festivities are leaving Star feeling down while they scramble to set up everything in time for the perfect Christumpmasday celebration.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Also doubles as a late @wholesome-week Holiday submission!

See below for the text, hope you enjoy!

“Is it… a dragon-cycle?”

“Nachos is too protective, if we got a second one she wouldn’t get along with them.” Marco ran his fingers carefully through the branches of the pine tree in front of him, giving it a gentle shake. Half of the needles fell to the ground.

“True, true. OK, what about, like, a cool sword or something?”

His focus was already on to the fourth tree in the row, ruling it out just as easily as the previous three. Disappointing. Didn’t anyone know how to properly maintain a healthy and good-looking evergreen? “Star, that’s just what you got me for my birthday. I’m not going to tell you your gift early. Besides, would you even want a sword? We can look for one sometime.”

“I’m good, just wondering. Just give me ooooone more guess… your abs?” He lurched forward in surprise, his reaction to the comment earning him a faceful of foliage. Shaking the needles out of his hood and spitting a few from his lips, he finally turned his full attention to his girlfriend, studying her as she leaned against the fence on the perimeter of the farm. She’d donned one of his hoodies overtop of her blue narwhal-embroidered outfit as emergency protection on the unexpectedly chilly day, as California’s relatively warm winters had mostly carried over to their slice of Earthni. Adorable rosy hues surrounded the heart marks on her cheeks, and he wasn’t quite sure it was from the cold - he was much more certain where his own flush was coming from, at least. “What? It’s super freezing and I’m super cold and I super do not like wood. I needed a distraction and my mind wandered back to the Neverzone after I mentioned the sword.”

“Well, don’t worry, because I found the one!” He beckoned her over with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and pointed to the one in front of him. Relatively tall and thick by Christmas tree standards, but it would be sure to look fantastic in the monster temple foyer for the first annual culturally blended holiday. Why it had been dubbed Christumpmasday, and why the rest of the town had gone along with it, Marco might never know, but he was still excited no matter how unwieldy its name might be. She took his hand when she got beside him, but kept moving until she crossed fully in front of him, gently tugging his arm around her. Marco smiled and took the hint, wrapping himself snugly around her and tucking his chin into the crook of her shoulder; despite growing a bit in recent months, he was still a ways off from being a full head above her. “Better?”

She briefly nuzzled her cheek into his through his hood. “Much. Sorry for being a party pooper today… I just want to have a normal holiday, and my birthday, without having to worry about appeasing a giant angry log. Is that too much to ask?” There was a fire in her sparkling sapphire eyes that Marco recognized all too well: this was really bothering her.

As best he could, he threaded their gloved fingers together and reassuringly squeezed both the hand and the hug. “Maybe the Stump isn’t even around anymore… still, better to be safe than sorry for this year at least. Look on the bright side, if it isn’t an issue anymore, then next year we can just do what we do best here on Earth: keep traditional holidays around as an excuse to eat and have fun!” Star snorted in laughter and turned to face him with a smile, hesitant but genuine all the same, and he returned a sympathetic one of his own. “If you really want a hint about my gift, it’s something we’ll get to enjoy a lot when we get to hang out after all this is over.”

“Well if it involves spending time with you, then I know I’ll love it,” she teased, and the cold bothered Marco a bit less.

The moment was interrupted when Rafael entered his peripheral vision with an unfamiliar woman behind him. “Ah, there you two are. I have been looking all over the place!”

The woman, taller than Marco’s dad and almost as brawny and sporting a stereotypical lumberjack outfit, jogged ahead of Rafael, seemingly unbothered by the cold. She patted Marco’s head as he and Star scrambled to split apart. “I’m Dee, nice to meet you.”

“Ooooooh, I thought ‘Dees Trees’ was just wordplay,” Star responded, shaking her hand after Marco, who giggled in response.

“Well aren’t you two just the most precious things? So your dad here tells me that you’re looking for a tree?”

“Yep, this one,” Marco pointed to the one in front of him and the sign marking it at $65.

“That one’s certainly a beaut. Tell ya what, it’s on the house. As thanks for this whole Cleaving thing - best thing to happen to my business since that household tree burglary spree in ‘89!” she said jovially.

Star bristled a bit inside the hoodie. “You don’t have to do that-”

“Please, I insist.”

“We’re fine, thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“I said we’ll pay.”

Marco’s eyes bounced back and forth following the two as Dee remained fairly calm while the frustration in Star’s voice visibly mounted.

The heated exchange was interrupted by a loud rev; the three turned to see Rafael already midway into cutting down the chosen tree with his chainsaw. Dee helped the man steady it as it was fully detached from the base and he let out a victory shout while turning off his chainsaw. “This is my favorite part of the holiday season,” he chuckled, patting the handle on the tool.

Star sighed heavily. “We’ll take it, then. Thank you.” Marco was still worried by her sulliness; he’d ask her about it later.

“Take care, now!” Dee said as they hauled the tree to the Diaz car. Once it was secured to the roof, Marco hopped halfway into the backseat before Star grabbed his hand, holding him still. He looked up at her from halfway inside the vehicle and saw her reading something on her phone.

“Everything OK, kids?” his dad called from the front seat.

“Eclipsa just texted me, my dad’s been swinging around the temple using the holiday lights like vines to hang them up and he hurt himself.”

“River…” Marco facepalmed. “I told him I’d help with that!”

“Hold on, she just sent a correction.” Her brow scrunched up worryingly as she read the words. The tension in her shoulders finally released after a few seconds as she rolled her eyes. “Apparently those were two separate things. Lights are all set, but he sprained his back falling off the ceiling while trying to race Meteora around the castle after, so now he can’t go get a ceremonial stump like he does every year.”

“Maybe we can just see if we can take the one from our tree?” Marco offered.

“Good idea. But we’re paying for it this time,” Star insisted, puffing up her cheeks.

She took his hand and led him back into the farm to the same spot they’d been, stopping dead in their tracks at seeing the sign which had an additional description written on in red ink. “Don’t risk angering the stump! VERY special offer, guarantees no botanical horror attacks!” A zero had been added to the price tag, and Marco resigned himself to the inevitable as he pulled out his wallet for the familiar sum. “So that’s what she meant by us helping her business.”

***

The decor in the monster temple was splendid, Moon idly mused as she strolled through the corridors. There was a certain vivacity that Earth’s traditions brought into the holiday season that hadn’t been present for Stump Day alone. While she tended to prefer a more orderly, professional aesthetic, even she had to admit that a holiday celebrating the dead bottom of a tree could get dull at times with an almost exclusively brown wooden palette. If she had been told one year ago that come next Stump Day she’d be galavanting around the infamous Monster Temple, no longer a Queen, preparing to celebrate the holidays alongside Eclipsa, she’d have sent the laughable soothsayer to a therapist posthaste. But somehow she had settled into her new life with relative ease. Of course there were still lingering vestiges; many Mewmans still sought her advice about all sorts of mundane topics, albeit in a less… needy way, and she’d provided some counsel to the governments of the new world, filling in any information about the Mewman people and tradition. But at the end of the day, she was no more or less than any other woman in their new world, and after all the hardships she saw Mewni through - some, regrettably, by her own hand - it didn’t upset her as much as she might have thought it would.

She navigated the labyrinthian hallways until she reached the set of guest bedrooms Eclipsa had set up and walked over to hers to find the door open and her husband playing cards with Globgor.

“Moonpie!”

“Hello, darling. Hello, Globgor,” she waved. She walked over to the side of the bed and pecked River on the forehead before sitting down beside him, careful not to hurt the multiple casts he had on. “How are you holding up?”

“Never been better! Just some minor scrapes, really.”

“River, you fell three stories and landed on a hard stone floor directly on your back.”

“Bah, no matter, I’ve had worse! Besides some minor agony I barely notice it at all! Globgor here is teaching me some card games that the monster army used to play hundreds of years ago, it’s roaring fun! You should join us!”

“I think I’ve heard of some of the games…” Moon trailed off suspiciously, one eyebrow raised.

Globgor rubbed the back of his neck, clearly understanding her implications. “Ahem, well, I may have made some modifications to them. Most used custom decks that had lots of very, shall we say, unkind pictures of Mewmans on them, and most of the moves had unflattering names as well. While I was in the crystal I ended up remaking most of my favorite games without that stuff and playing matches with all kinds of imaginary characters in my brain,” he chuckled. Not that she was one to judge, after all - she’d already been through that song and dance with Buff Frog what felt like ages ago.

“Yes, and he’s really good at them!” River exclaimed in frustration as he tried and failed to counter Globgor’s most recent play. “You should join us, dear, you’re remarkable at these types of games!”

She patted his hand and flashed him a contrite smile. “I’d love to, but I still need to go through all the family belongings and find some Stump Day decorations. I’m sure at least some of them were salvaged from the castle.”

River clasped Moon’s hand with both of his own animatedly. “That reminds me! You just missed Star, she stopped by not too long ago to check up on her old man. She said they were going to set up the tree.”

“Shoot, I promised I would help them with that!” Globgor conked himself on the head, accidentally throwing his cards all over the bed in the process. “We can pick this up soon, so sorry about that!” He quickly gathered the strewn cards up and shuffled around the bed, closing the door on his way out.

“Not a problem!” River shouted after him. His volume lowered substantially as he and Moon were the only two left in the room. “It really is wonderful to have family holidays like this, is it not? Good food, good company, and best of all, no in-laws,” he smirked at her.

“River!” she jokingly admonished.

“Oh honey, you know that as much as I do. I love the Johansen clan dearly, but they can be positively insufferable at times. And don’t get me started on old Aunt Etheria…”

Moon laughed into her hand. “Yes, I suppose it is nice that the festivities will be much smaller this year.” After all the chaos and the dissolution of the Butterfly kingdom, their extended family (especially her own side) had some… mixed reactions. With Moon distancing herself from the power and prestige her family had been accustomed to, things were a bit tense and as such everyone had decided to stick to themselves for the holidays, which just left the main former Butterfly lineage and the Diazes to celebrate. Moon had grown rather fond of this new mixed-dimensional extended “family” of hers, which she supposed was a good thing since she had a sneaking suspicion that they’d become official family in due time. While she wouldn’t trade the last half a year for anything, it too had its own brand of chaos which made moments for just the two of them still rarer than she’d like, and now that they had one both seemed most content not doing anything. The comfortable silence lingered on for many minutes, both of his rough hands delicately clasped around one of her own while her other idly toyed with his beard, and neither seemed . Finally, their tranquility was broken by a knock at the door, which meant it couldn’t be Star. “Come in,” Moon said, separating from River and defaulting to a more proper pose.

She was greeted by a familiar red hoodie. “Oh! Um, sorry if I, uh, interrupted anything.”

River struggled to sit up and face the door properly, beaming brightly at the young man whose company he enjoyed very much. “Not a problem, my boy! Moonpie was just checking up on me. But don’t worry lad, I’ll be back on my feet in no time!”

“Oh, I know that. Star and I were just in the kitchen and thought you’d want the leftovers from tonight for a snack.” He held up a bag filled with what had to be a few pounds of meat and some corn.

Her husband’s eyes lit up like fireworks as he beckoned Marco into the room. “I see the holidays have come early this year, hah! Thank you, you know this old man quite well.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Moon gestured to the bag and her husband, rolled her eyes playfully as he fished his meat blanket out from his beard and began to dig in.

She and Marco both walked out of the room. “Have fun with your boxes, honey!” he mumbled out as the door was closing, nearly unintelligible through the multiple drumsticks barbarously stuffed in his mouth.

Marco stopped and turned back to face Moon. “Oh, is there still something left to do for decorations?”

“I was planning on going through some of the Butterfly family possessions to find our old Stump Day decor, that’s all.”

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before responding, “Do you want some help? We finished everything with the tree already.”

Moon warmly grinned back at the boy. She’d noted his kindness and willingness to be by Star’s side through anything years prior, but what impressed her most was how it consistently extended to everyone else around him. “That would be lovely. They’re in the storage room, I’ll be up in a moment.”

“OK, I’ll get Star and we’ll meet you there.” He hustled off back to the main area of the castle, leaving her alone in the hallway.

She made her way to the storage room, getting lost a few times along the way, still not entirely familiar with the layout of the building. Her first task was to do a quick scan of the boxes and organize them. There was a notable lack of cohesion to the contents of each container, she noted with ire, but that was likely due to the haste with which they had been packed as the castle had been attacked. Forgivable. She’d noted around fifteen that possibly would contain the decorations she was looking for and had gathered them all together when a conversation from the hallway caught her attention.

“Why noooooot?”

“Star, they’re not going to let you use one of River’s clubs. Those things are like two feet wide and have spikes!”

“Yeah, those are his miniature clubs, which is why I want to bring them to miniature golf, duh!”

“It’s indoors! There will be kids around!”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so! Dad has some indoor clubs for kids too.”

“He showed those to me, they’re even more dangerous!”

“Marcooooooo, come oooooon.”

“Trust me, it’ll be more fun with the normal clubs.”

“Fiiiiiine.” Just as they came into view through the door, she spotted Marco give a quick peck to the side of her head as she rolled her eyes at him, their fingers intertwined. Moon raised an eyebrow with a smug grin when they entered the room. They reminded her so much of herself and River when they were younger.

“Hi Mom!” Star said, leaving Marco’s side to give Moon a quick hug. “Marco said you needed help with something here, what’s up?”

“We just need to locate some of the Stump Day decorations from our usual family gatherings, shouldn’t be too long,” she responded, indicating the various boxes and bags on the floor behind her.

Star’s cheery expression visibly sunk. “Oh. Yeah, um, sure, we can help with that.” Moon’s brow furrowed in confusion briefly; she considered speaking up, but had learned it was best not to pry too much. No matter, they could finish this up quickly enough and all have a well-rested night before all the celebrations to come in the next few days. “So what exactly are we looking for?”

Moon pried open the nearest tub and overturned the piles of now-unneeded royal attire to see what lay beneath. “We’ll probably need a lot of mugs for the big dinner that Eclipsa is hosting for the locals tomorrow evening. And the diorama for River’s annual telling of the story of Stump Day, which he’s insisted he is still going to deliver himself. Perhaps a few of the hats as well, if we’re able to locate them. After last year, I don’t think we can quite play it too safe, after all.”

The three began to dig through boxes, clearing them out at a rapid pace. She noted a newfound chilliness even in Star’s interactions with Marco, responding to his antics making goofy voices with some old puppets with only half-hearted laughter. After about thirty minutes, they’d gathered everything they needed and began packing back up the belongings.

“Why do we even still have this stuff, anyway?” Star spontaneously spoke after a rather uncharacteristic bout of silence during their labor. Moon glanced over to see her holding up one of Moon’s old crowns, her hearts wrinkling as her face contorted in displeasure.

“Sweetheart, it’s a valuable heirloom. It’s still important to the tradition of this family to keep these things around, what if you or someone else might be interested in them in the future?”

Star scoffed and carelessly dunked the crown back in the box. “We’re not royalty anymore, Mom, and we never will be again,” Star retorted, dunking it carelessly back into the box.

“I know that, dear, but-”

Star’s voice, now risen to almost a shout, cut her off, echoing throughout the spacious room. “But what? I’ve moved on, I’m through with this, and you should be too. So what’s the point of keeping this, or this, or any of this unless you’re trying to hold on to the glory?” She held up the crown again, the top to one of the royal staves, and the medallion with the royal crest to illustrate her point. Moon and Star had butted heads enough in the past that this feeling of anger bubbling up wasn’t new to her, but it had been a while since her daughter had frustrated her to the extent she was right now. “Marco, back me up here!”

The boy raised a finger and stuttered briefly before an incensed Moon cut him off. “That’s not my point, Star. Even if it’s in the past, we can’t just toss away our history! What about things you did for your kingdom or your people? Don’t you want to at least remember that much?” she held up a few of the dresses and official portraits from various diplomatic events Star had participated in when she was younger. “These were things you did, not just stuffy royal artifacts. Surely that at least means something to you?”

Moon followed Star’s bright blue eyes as they darted intensely around the items she held until they suddenly stopped, fixated on a puffy blue and pink dress. The fury evaporated instantaneously and her expression morphed into shock. “Forget it, I’m done with all of it,” she sullenly intoned, dumping what she was holding on the ground and walking away. Marco tried to wrap an arm around her shoulder but she shrugged it off brusquely and marched out the door.

Marco took a step forward to follow her and then stopped, sulking and turning back to the pile of stuff, plopping to the ground and burying his head in his hands.

“What has gotten into her?” Moon vented through gritted teeth. “She just wants to be a normal teenager again, fine, but that does not mean she has to disrespect everything this family has done!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down before turning to Marco, not wanting to take anything out on him unduly. “Has she talked to you about any of this?”

His eyes remained fixed on the ground, playing with the zipper of his hoodie. “Earlier today she said she just wanted to have a normal birthday and not have to worry about Stump Day, but this stuff, it- I don’t really know. I mean, I- I get it, kind of, what she’s trying to say.” He looked at her with his brown eyes wide, as if asking permission.

“Go on.”

“Star… she spent practically all her time on Mewni trying to fix things, and trying to do whatever she thought was best for everyone. And- and when she gets an idea in her head about how to do that, she believes in it really hard, and it’s hard to stop her.” Both unconsciously smiled at the thought, and Moon didn’t miss the glimmer in the boy’s eyes as he continued talking about his best friend and love. “She still cares a lot about making the world better for everyone, even now. And the last big thing she believed in was that magic and Mewman queens and the whole Butterfly monarchy needed to be destroyed to do that.”

“So perhaps keeping everything squirreled away made her think I plan to use it again in the future,” she finished the thought.

Marco averted his gaze and rubbed his arm for a moment, opening his mouth a few times and failing to speak before finally choosing his words. “Do you?” he asked meekly.

The question stunned her, but upon a moment of reflection she couldn’t blame him. Time and time again, Moon had taken charge when she felt the time called for it, for better or worse. “No, heavens no. It’s been difficult at times, giving it all up, I admit. Even after Eclipsa took over, I still ended up doing what I thought was best to bring order. I suppose Star must get that from me, although she’s far better at it than I ever was.”

“I- I get it, though. On Earth we had a saying that I remember learning in school: ‘Those who can’t remember the past are doomed to repeat it,’ or something like that.”

“I like that. It works. Well, I’ll… give Star some time, and think about what to do with all of this, I suppose. I can finish the cleanup myself now, run along.” Moon was about to turn around as he went to leave but decided on one more thing to say. “Oh, and Marco?” She walked over to him by the door, noting that he was almost as tall as her now, and grabbed both his shoulders before placing a tender, motherly kiss on his forehead. The brown eyes she’d caught her daughter getting lost in all too often focused intently on her own amongst the surprised expression on his visage. “You’re still both teenagers, but you’ve grown so much. She wouldn’t be the admirable young woman she is today without you, and I suspect the opposite is also true. Thank you for being everything you are to my daughter.”

His mouth was slightly agape, unable to formulate any words in response. “T-thanks, um, Mrs… thanks.”

“Just ‘Moon’ is alright, dear,” she said affectionately.

“Thanks, Moon,” he finally stammered out before stumbling towards the door and out of the room at her gentle nudging. It only took a few minutes to carefully organize the remains back into their boxes and get the Stump Day items ready to set up. Turning one last time toward the belongings that had been neatly packed away, a few ideas began running through her mind…

***

Everything was a mess. Star the Screw-up strikes again. She sulked into the battlements of her balcony, gazing into the night sky. She’d bummed Marco out, she’d gotten all tangled up in the holiday lights, she’d yelled at her mom who really didn’t deserve it, and even after they’d worked it out over some tea later she still felt hollow inside. The fact she was out in the cold in just her nightgown didn’t help, either, but she couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. Weren’t the holidays supposed to bring ‘tidings of comfort and joy’? It didn’t feel like it. She grabbed the pillow she’d dragged out from her bedroom and screamed into it, letting her head sink further down until she was almost laying flat on the ground.

“Hey.”

Star lowered the pillow from her eyes and saw Marco in his pajamas, fiddling idly with the bottom of his shirt.

“Hi,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Mind if I join you? I brought some hot cocoa.”

“Mmh.”

He took it as an affirmation, slumping down on the cold floor next to her, seemingly unbothered.

“Sooooo… nice night out tonight, huh?” he asked hopefully, passing her a stump mug.

“Yeah, I guess.” Her gaze went skyward as it had been for the past dozen or so minutes while she thoughtfully sipped her drink, feeling the liquid warm her instantly. “The stars are really pretty from up here.”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking her hand in his. She rolled onto her side to find him already facing her, studying her intensely with a faint smile dancing on his lips. “Did everything go alright with your mom?”

She sat in silence for a moment, drinking in the soothing love his chocolate gaze was practically projecting into hers, and feeling the soft caress of his fingers on her hand. “It was fine. She apologized too, even if I was the one who messed it up… but I get it. She’s right, you can’t throw away history just because you don’t like it. Heck, I think I was the one telling her that like a year ago!”

Marco shrugged his shoulders. “Things change, stuff happens, we all mess up sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up about it too much.”

“I know, I know, it’s just… all this holiday stuff, all this reminiscing and being thankful for what you have and all this celebrating traditions from Mewni got me thinking about a lot. Stump Day, and my birthday, and princesses…” she paused for a moment, steadying her breathing. “...and you.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “Me?”

“You.” Star untangled her hand from his and brought both to her face, grounding the bases of her palms into her shut eyes to try and plug up any waterworks that she could feel working their way up towards the surface. “Stump Day just made me think of last year, and all the fighting and drama, and that made me think of all the other stuff, and… euuurgh,” she moaned.

“Star, it’s OK-”

“No it’s not,” she whimpered, not being able to stop the tears from dripping down her face this time.

“Woah, woah, Star…” he sat up, visibly scared for her, and pulled her up with him, but her body language was unyieldingly feeble as she shied away from his touch. “Just talk to me, OK? None of that was your fault.”

“Maybe…” she folded her arms and crossed her legs, leaning back against the merlons mulling over her words. “In the barn, you told me you felt like that since the beginning. And I know you didn’t, like, mean that you were head over heels in love with me while you were showing me around school or anything, but… I get it because I was the same way.” Once the words started, the pace quickly swelled until she couldn’t help but pour her heart out. “I pushed it aside, convinced myself it wasn’t there, ignored it when it was staring me in the face, and ate up the whole Curse thing like the cheapest, crummiest street corn. But looking back on it, that whole year on Mewni… it never went away then either. I was just too blind to realize what those feelings meant until it was almost too late. That’s what- that’s what I just wanted to forget.”

An arm bumped up against hers, and in her peripheral vision she saw him standing next to her, looking off the balcony into the distance. “It always feels better when you talk about it,” he offered meekly. How many times had she been the one trying to pry the truth out of him? Now that the roles were reversed, she fully understood why it had always been so hard. “What do your guts feel like?”

“Just one giant bleeeeergh,” she garbled, sticking her tongue out for emphasis.

“Well, you did have four glasses of cornnog.”

She smiled wistfully, staring down at her feet. “Touché, Diaz.”

The cool breeze whistling through the nooks and crannies of the temple was the only sound around them for a minute until he began again. “I won’t lie to you, Star… it stunk sometimes. It wasn’t always fun, sometimes it hurt. My feelings for you felt like an obstacle for so long…” In her mind’s eye, she could picture it all too clearly: wheeling on him, grabbing his arms and apologizing with rivers running down her cheeks to show him what he meant to her. But he cut that off only a beat later. “But I don’t regret a single day, because they were still with you.”

Now she whipped around to face him, looking incredulously at his calm form hanging over the top of the stone. “Wha-”

“All that time I spent trying to shove away or ignore how I felt, it- it still meant something to me. I wouldn’t trade any moment where I loved you for anything, even when it hurt, even if you were with someone else, or, heck, even if I didn’t think it was love. Doesn’t matter.” He sniffled briefly, wiping his face with his arm, and finally turned to face her. The glossy trembling she’d expected to find wasn’t there, instead she only found a fiery resolve. “C’mon, let’s go inside.” She barely remembered to grab her pillow before his firm grip pulled her back into their bedroom. Star wasn’t sure how he could be so calm about all of this. Some nagging, self-loathing voice in the back of her mind told her this had been eating away at him too, that he was just trying to spare her feelings, that she’d been the one to screw up by taking too long to tell him she loved him, but it was dulled by her curiosity at his actions. He shuffled under the bed, rummaging around until he pulled out a long, thin box with baby blue wrapping paper and pink hearts all over it.

“Marco?”

“It’s your birthday present! I- I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but I think now is better.”

They both sat down on the edge of the bed. Star glared at him suspiciously, inelegantly removing the bow and wrapping paper to find a thick velvety fabric. She started to pull it out and it unfolded itself many times, quickly sagging to the floor as she held it up. The water built up on her eyelids once more, steadily beginning to pour out as she beheld the sight in front of her.

He scooted beside her, wrapping one arm around her midsection. “I, um, hadn’t realized all this stuff was getting you down this much or I wouldn’t have-”

She shut him up with a passionate kiss, weaving her fingers through his hair as the heat of the moment stretched on. Their foreheads stayed together when they finally separated, both panting for a moment as Star tried to recover from the tongue-tiedness. “Marco, you absolute dork,” she said breathily with her lips grinning as widely as the could. “I love it.”

Both their heads turned back towards the blanket as they each used one hand to hold it up. It was a beautiful tapestry of moments from their entire relationship, from beginning until at least one thing Star could pinpoint as only happening a few weeks ago. Her spare hand caressed the fabric, adoring each and every detail. “The day we met, that day you froze time for sixty hours, the Blood Moon Ball,” he pointed out one by one. “Our first kiss… in the booth. When I found you before you killed Toffee. Right before we went to destroy the magic. This is us, Star. I- I don’t want to pretend that this stuff didn’t happen even if it wasn’t always fun, because then it wouldn’t be what made you special to me. And also, our old Friendship-Thursday-slash-Thursdate blanket was getting nasty. It smelled like month-old nacho cheese even after Lavabo washed it,” he shuddered. “So now, every time we’re snuggled up together, we can remember everything that got us to this point, and- and I left some blank spots for more patches later, because I want to look forward to the future too.”

“This is way better than any of my dumb ideas from earlier today,” she chuckled, wiping the tears and snot from her face. “Maybe that’s what ‘Christumpmasday’ should be about. The past coming together and making something new and exciting without giving up what led to it.”

“...except for the actual evil Stump demon thing. We might still be better off without it.”

“Definitely.” Both sported a cheeky grin.

“Oh, and by the way, Star?”

“Hmm?”

His lips suddenly were on hers once more, catching her off guard for a moment before she reciprocated. He swung her around, hugging her body tightly onto his, setting her nerves ablaze and causing all the hairs on the back of her neck to tingle. She adjusted her legs and pushed him back down into the pillows, landing on top of him without breaking the kiss, both hungry for more of the other. When the moment finally ended, she propped herself up on her elbows, fingers toying with his silky hair as she gazed down at the love of her life. When his eyes left hers, she followed them to the clock on her nightstand. 12:06 AM. “Happy birthday, Star,” he grinned before pecking her on the cheek.

A warmth like no other spread from Star’s chest through the rest of her body when she curled into him, needing more than anything to hold him tight tonight. Her legs tangled themselves into his as her head found purchase on his chest. “I love you so much, Marco. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“Same. Love you so much too, Star.”

He tucked the blanket tighter around both of them and held her as closely as he could until sleep claimed him. Star planted one last languid smooch on his jawline, nuzzling her cheek into him hard enough that it squished against his body before she too drifted off, snug in their bed, while visions of sugar-stumps danced in her head.

#starco #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #moonriver #tgg svtfoe #fanfic

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

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Self Shipping Ask Game

I’m feeling self-indulgent as all hell so I did another one, with Patrick Verona this time!! 💙 I’m starting to lose track of my F/Os...

Tagging @jokershyena so she can see!

Word count: 2, 253 (lmao woops?)

Date you got together? April 24th 2020. We are... a very new couple and we’re still finding our way with what we have together. It feels like stepping into shoes you’ve worn a thousand times before, but the soles are different; there’s new marks left behind and we’re finding out what they mean slowly but surely. We have lots of love between us and we’re letting it guide us.

Favorite personality trait? I love Pat for all that he is, but if I have to pick just one thing then it’s his nature. He feels like... you know when you lay down outside on the grass or the beach and there’s a gentle breeze in your hair and the sun is warm on your face and your eyes are shut and you feel yourself smiling because this is why you’re alive, for moments like this? That’s how Pat feels to me, all the time.

Favorite physical trait? His smile. I almost said his eyes but, oh... that smile makes flowers bloom in my heart. I would die to keep that smile on his face. He’s so beautiful and those dimples and his eyes, I... he’s so beautiful. 🥺

Couple song We don’t have one yet. I’m still looking for the perfect one. I often listen to I want you to want me from the soundtrack when I want to feel him close by, just because it makes me think of him, so maybe that one?

Pet peeves... He likes to leave his switchblade open and lying in random places and it freaks me out. I don’t even like kitchen knives near me and there he is, leaving it stabbed into the coffee table pinning a note for me to the surface. Sure, it’s convenient to just grab his knife out of his pocket and it’s a good way to get my attention, the silver glinting of the blade in the light of the room, but still.

Favorite outfit on them? As much as I adore those leather trousers, it has to be the dark grey shirt with the chain poking out... just him putting it on in the morning and the cold metal against his skin contrasted with the heat on my tongue... *ahem*

Favorite meal? Pat and I eat separately; I have coeliacs disease and Pat’s lucky enough to not have any food allergies so I always make us separate meals. I make his first, scrub down the kitchen and then I do my own food. Pat likes the tuna pasta bake I make; the golden crust of cheese on the top is his favourite and I always give him the corner bits; he likes the cronch. He always says I can just make one meal which is gluten free but I don’t feel right doing that to someone who doesn’t share my dietary requirements.

Early bird or night owl? Pat’s definitely a night owl, so long late night conversations where the two of us lay down in bed together are very common. I stay up every night for him to come home from the pub and then he showers (no dirty sweaty bodies in my bed, thank you) and we cuddle up in bed and just... talk. Sometimes we just lay there listening to music. Neither of us especially like mornings and it’s not unusual to wake up at noon or afterwards 😂

Snorer or sleep talker? Pat snores very lightly most of the time but when he’s deeply, deeply asleep, he sounds like a chainsaw lmao. I like that, though, because even though it makes the bed shake a bit, I know that he’s there with me and it eases my fears of the dark. I have my nightlights but I don’t need music because I know he’s there for me and he’ll keep me safe. Sometimes he’ll mutter unintelligibly as he rolls over and it’s always right in my ear and I have to try not to jump 😂

Do you have any pets together? Not yet! 💕 I wanna get some cats with him in the future; they’re such precious creatures. Pat wants a dog but between him and a dog I’d never get any free or alone time 😂 and I’m protective of both of those things.

Pet names! (Both from them and yours for them) I call him Pat mostly, but other times it’s “sunshine”, “baby boy” for when he needs comforting, “angel”, “darling”, “love” and he knows I’m angry/mad if I call him Patrick ksksksk it gets his attention so quickly.

Pat calls me “sweetheart”, “angel”, “love” (saved for when he’s being sarcastic, it’s like a hint I need to Do Something Soon) “honey”, “girlie” and by my name when he thinks he has to.

How often do you fight? Not... very often. We have playful banter more than anything. We do fight, that’s normal and healthy, but we try to talk things out calmly rather than go at it and risk saying something we can’t take back. Words have greater power than people know, and where the sword cuts and forgets does the tree fall and remember.

What starts fights? For me, Pat gets angry at my blatant lack of self-care and it angers him to see me treat myself as I do (or don’t, more accurately) but to shower others in love. He doesn’t understand why and it frustrates him. I struggle to explain myself properly so then I get frustrated and it can lead into a whole thing lmao the tears start when he raises his voice so he usually calms down pretty quickly. And as I said, we prefer to speak it through calmly so we’ll go calm down separately and meet in the middle later on. He knows he’s forgiven when I throw myself at him and smother him in kisses.

For Pat, I don’t get angry very often or very easily but when I do, it’s because he was out for so long that I started thinking he’d died or was injured or something and he didn’t text me to let me know and though I don’t want to control him I also don’t enjoy staying up worrying he’s dying in an alley somewhere. So when he gets home I’m a bit... colder in how I greet him and then Pat gets defensive and eesh 😬 In the end, he’ll sigh and I’ll apologise and he’ll get irritated and we cuddle and talk it out. I’ll know I’m forgiven when he kisses my forehead.

Who apologizes first? Me. I will always apologise first, even if I was right. I cannot handle any kind of conflict or confrontation and due to things which have occured in the past I will always just... take it. I’ll just apologise, and get it over with, and hope it all smooths over quickly. Pat gently tells me off when I do this, “No, Erika. I’m the one apologising, not you.” and I usually get upset so we have some cuddle therapy - our touches speak louder and more concisely than we ever could.

Big spoon or little spoon? asdfghjkl; we switch depending on who needs or wants what! Whomever needs comforting, the other is the big spoon and on the times we both need comforting or we just can’t decide who is either spoon, we lay facing each other so that we’re both the little and the big spoon at the same time! Problem solved! <3

Dom or sub? Pat’s a switch; it depends on what either of us needs the most in any given moment. For the most part he’s dominant; I can be really shy sometimes and I have no idea what I’m doing with anything, so he tends to take the lead... before we realise that we’d rather walk into undiscovered territory together, hand in hand the way it should be.

What are their kisses like? They’re somehow comforting but intense. He kisses me so tenderly it can make me cry but it’s so passionate that it leaves me breathless. He commands my lips against his and he both takes and gives in equal measure. Pat is a passionate, compassionate soul and it comes through every time he kisses me; like he, too, is coming home. He never kisses just once - just one sentence can hold a multitude of kisses. And the ghost of his lips against my skin lingers for hours after he’s gone home. He’s always with me, in one or another.

What do they smell like? Apples, leather, whiskey, stale cigarette smoke... and something spicy but so Patrick. If I concentrate, I can find it when I nuzzle into his neck.

What are their hugs like? Coming home. He always hugs me so tightly that I can feel those lost parts of me click back into place. I’m a known squeezer and he playfully grunts in my ear and it makes me smile and he squeezes back and it makes me giggle. Pat sighs happily and drops his head down into the crook of my neck and he rocks me from side to side... I’ve been known to fall asleep standing up in the safety of his embrace. He’s my home, nothing and no one make me feel as safe as he does.

Who is more protective? I think we’re both as protective as each other. I have a mean streak when my loved ones are threatened or in any kind of danger and I’m not afraid to stand up for Pat against rumours, even if he’s not with me at the time. I hate confrontation but for my loved ones, I’d walk straight through fire if I had to. Similarly, Pat gets easily defensive and seems to have a bit of a temper as well so if anything happened to me, he’d get protective. I also... feel like we protect each other from our own selves, sometimes. I have some Bad Habits and so does Pat and neither of us are afraid to tell the other when we’re hurting ourselves and need to stop... like right now, it’s way past midnight and I’m yawning every few minutes but I’m pushing through to write this. Pat’s frowning and wanting to take my laptop away.

Interested in children? Pat might be... when he’s older. But he knows my stance on this topic and we never talk about it.

Who needs the most TLC when sick? Pat. OMG he tries to work through it, to walk it off, but I can see. I do the same thing, I always pretend I’m not sick until it’s so obvious that I just can’t hide it. Pat’s a natural caregiver, he’s so used to taking care of others and that’s exactly why I deliberately go overboard when I take care of him. I buy every kind of medicine specific to his illness (and I dip into my savings but shush, don’t tell!), and I make him soup and I’m there for him and I make it known that I love him. I’m usually squeamish with sickness, even when it’s my own, but for Pat I push through and I try because he deserves nothing less than the best of everything I can give him.

Who says ‘I love you’ first? Mmm.... I think Pat said it first. He has more confidence in what we share together than I do and one day when I came through with his favourite meal and I had my own one, I sat down and he said, “I love you, d’you know that?” I just blinked at him a few times in shock and he said it again... and again... and again until I just had to put my food down so that I could grab that beautiful face and swallow his next words; he is... ethereal and I’ll never understand why he loves me but I’m so, so glad that he does! I said it back, of course I did, and his smile was brighter than the sun.

Which of you is more accident prone? Meeeee ~ omg lmao I always have bruises I don’t even remember getting. Pat gets frowny because I sit there poking them hoping the slight pain will trigger a memory of how I got the bruise, but I rarely remember. I’m forever bouncing off door frames, walking into tables, tripping over my own feet while I’m stood still... Pat finds it funny and sometimes when I actually trip he’ll say something like, “I know you fell for me, but, ah - did you have to show me, too?” or “How’s the world from down there?” and once... once, he laughed and laid down next to me on the floor and we just stared up at the ceiling and we just... were for a time. It’s a memory I cherish.

Bed hog? OMG me, hands down. Pat tends to lay on his back and I put my head on his chest so that I can listen to his heartbeat or I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, but it’s not unusual for me to wake up with my duvet on the floor and the sheets all over the place. I’ve been known to actually kick in my sleep and sometimes I wake up with bruises I don’t recall getting. Pat wraps himself around me like a koala when I move around too much because a) shitty mattress and b) I drink 18 coffees a day and in this way, I’m able to fall asleep quicker and in a more relaxed way. If I fall asleep relaxed, I move around far less when I’m asleep. I don’t know how Pat figured that out and he won’t tell me, either.

Who loves the other the most? We’re a very new couple and we’re finding our way with each other and our relationship, but I do think that I love Pat a little bit more than he loves me. But that’s okay; statistically, one is always loved a bit more than the other. I have trouble believing we’re even compatible because ??? look at him ??? and then look at me ??? and it drives Pat insane.

#self-shipping #erika x patrick #patrick verona #10 things i hate about you

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funkymeihem-fiction · 5 years ago

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A Hairy Situation

Commission fic for ObsidianRose- Thank you so much for your support!

***

“Jamie, can you even see?”

“Huh? See wot?”

“Anything?”

Mei scurried in from the open doorway, holding his prosthetic arm and peg. Jamison grumbled from the plastic folding stool in the tub, scooting to the very edge and sullenly patting the stump of his arm with his ragged towel before going to re-attach his limb. Waiting until he felt the familiar little sting of the archaic nerve-receptors digging into his skin, he clicked the joints of his fingers before he leaned to start on the leg as well, ignoring Mei’s fussing at where he was dripping all over the floor.

“Whaddaya mean, can I see? Did I miss a spot? I used soap and everything just how you like, that’s gotta pass muster! Grab me another towel, darl? Ugh, why’s water gotta be so wet—” He blinked as the wet yellow curtains in front of his vision were suddenly parted. “Oh, there you are. Yeah, ‘nother towel?”

Mei scrunched her nose, trying to slick back the mess of blond locks that were draped all over his head. They stuck to his crooked features and did nothing to help his ‘freshly drowned rodent’ look. “I thought your hair was looking a lot thicker now. Look at this, your bald spots are—”

“Oi!”

“I mean, um, your…follically-challenged areas, they’re getting better! See! Dr. Ziegler was right about the vitamins and everything.” She leaned to kiss away a droplet of water from the tip of his freckled nose. “And I was right about using the soap, Mr. Stinky.”

“Yeah, well!” His expression melted at the touch of her lips, eyes going gooey before he drew himself up to look affronted once more. “Tch! Yeah, well…Only reason I was taking those horse pills was because you threatened me. Blech. Does it look good, though? Hey, you think I should grow a beard? Oh, I bet I could stick so many explosives in a great long beard!”

“Let’s not get carried away. Actually, your hair is getting really long too. When was the last time you had it cut?”

“Why would I ever cut my hair? You know how hard it is to grow luscious locks such as these?” He reached up and tugged at a handful of blond, then blinked down at his palm. “Oh, uh…Usually they kind of fall out when I do that. Blimey, that’s pretty thick.”

Mei smiled, grabbing a nearby towel and starting to twist it around his head for him, the way she did for her own long hair. “You’re healing from all that radiation, then! This is good news! But you’re getting all shaggy, so it’s time for a haircut.”

His yellow eyes swerved upward at the makeshift turban sitting atop his head, sniffling water from one nostril. “Not so sure I like the idear of some stranger going at me with a pair of scissors, darl. What if they cut my head and then go for the throat next? You can’t spell ‘barber’ without ‘butcher’.”

“That’s…not how—”

“Asides, best way to get rid of hair is to burn it off! Here, help me out of the tub, I got the perfect stuff!”

She pushed him down where he started to get up. “Oh no you do not! You sit here and dry the rest of the way off, I’m going to go look up a video on how to give you a quick haircut. I cut my own hair sometimes, so I’ll just give you a little trim.”

“You’re no fun at all, love.”

Mei beamed back at him. “I know. Okay, let me go do a quick tutorial and I’ll be right back with the scissors!”

***

“Oops.”

“Wait, why’d you oops? You’re not supposed to oops!”

“No, it’s fine! Stop trying to move your head, I just have to fix this part!”

Junkrat jerked his head back into place, fingers twitching madly on the armrests. He sat in the kitchen with a damp towel still draped around his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that there was a pair of sharp cutters buzzing around him. Even if it was Mei wielding them, he couldn’t help but be nervous. Especially with her audible ‘oops’.

“It’s fine, really,” she assured him, pausing to press rewind on the video tutorial. It had turned out that cutting another person’s hair was a lot more different than she’d thought, compared to cutting her own. “You have longer hair than the man in the tutorial, but we’re just doing a trim, so all I have to do is watch the length and make sure it’s even on both sides. Um. Okay. Hold still, I’ll just cut the other side just a tiny bit more.”

He heard the snip of the scissors, trying his very best not to fidget. Click click. Snip snap. The metal was dangerously close to his ears, and even his poor hearing could trace its every movement. Cold, sharp scissors next to his ears, just like that time back when he’d run his mouth in Junkertown, and they’d put him on the chair and made a list of what pieces he could spare…

“Is it done?! Are we done yet?” He couldn’t keep the screech out of his voice. “Looks great, darl, I think it’s done!”

“What? You haven’t even seen it yet. And you still can barely see through it. Just hold still a little longer, okay? I think I have it just about even…”

Snip snip. Click click. Hiss hiss. The scissors were moving around his head again, towards his eyes, and his neck…

He flinched.

Then Mei flinched.

A large chunk of yellow hair slowly drifted down onto the floor. Behind him, Mei froze up with the scissors still closed, before she backed up and put one hand over her mouth. “Mmm! No no no! Y-you moved and…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Here, I can fix it!”

He tried to stay still, he really did. But his shot nerves were now mirrored by his girl, and her attempts to try and even out the absent chunk were only resulting in more chops and more chunks as little bits of hair continued to scatter around his chair. And when Mei uttered a little whimper, he chanced a glance to her and found her chin thrust out and her eyes watering like she was about to cry.

She put aside the scissors, voice warbling as she hesitantly took the mirror from the counter and turned it towards him.

“I-I didn’t mean to…I don’t think I fixed it. Sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Junkrat blinked owlishly at his reflection. Frankly, ‘disaster’ was the normal state of his hair in the first place. But this? This was a kind of disaster he simply wasn’t familiar with. The burnt and scorched black bits in his hair were gone…but then again, so was a lot of his hair too. And now it couldn’t just be blamed on his old bald spots. It was jagged on the edges, hanging in uneven rags around his head or sticking out in odd places where it hadn’t been before. Setting his entire head on fire, which had been his plan in the first place, probably would have been doing his hair a kindness.

But Mei was ready to burst into tears at any second, so he put on his biggest smile instead. “Aw, darl! It ain’t all bad! Now this is a sort of new junker look, this is!”

“Y-you’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she sniffled.

“C’mon, Snowflake, it’s just hair! How about I take some more of those vitamins, make it grow back real fast so we can try again!”

“I ruined it!”

“Nah, nah, it’s always ruined anyway. No need to get crook. Junkrat’s always got a Plan B!”

She wiped at one cheek with her knuckles, shaking her head. “Jamie, I am not letting you set your head on fire. But I’m not sure I should be cutting it anymore, either. I think I need some help.”

“Er…From?”

***

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or why he’d agreed to it, but now he was sitting on a chair in the middle of Overwatch’s main common room, surrounded by agents who were whispering and occasionally chuckling over the state of his hair. He growled and crossed his arms petulantly, pondering if it would be worth it to just blast his way out of this whole situation. But Mei was still looking awfully weepy, head down and cheeks red in shame from where she had turned his head into such a monstrosity.

It wasn’t helped by the stupid fucking face that Hanzo was making, with his dumb little pursed lips where he was clearly trying not to smirk at someone else’s misfortune. Catching Junkrat’s eye, the archer seemed to purposefully run his hands through his own silken black locks, voice dripping with disdain. “Honestly, I am not sure if any of this can be salvaged. Yet somehow, it manages to be an improvement from before.”

Junkrat heard Mei make a despairing little sound of shame at Hanzo’s words, and it took all his willpower not to jump up and double-grenade the archer right in his stupid handsome face. Maybe he’d be able to set someone’s head on fire today after all. It was only the distraction of Lucio and Hana that ended up saving Hanzo from having his very own hair emergency.

Hana squinted, circling around him. “Wow. Wow. Okay. No offense, Mei, but this looks like a chainsaw accident and calls for a serious salon intervention. I know some really good guys who might be able to salvage this. Maybe.”

Junkrat waved a hand to shoo her away from her phone. “Nah! I’m not going to go to some stranger. Can’t trust ‘em. I keep telling you, Mei can fix it! Just lop off a little more and she’ll be right!”

Lucio lingered forward from behind Mei was furiously shaking her head, prodding at a strange yellow curl that was sticking out from Junkrat’s left side where it hadn’t been before. “I dunno, J-Man. I know you don’t like strangers but Hana might be right on this one.”

“Well why don’t you just cut it then! Mei, give him the things!”

“Hey man, my hair takes care of itself, I never cut it at all. Maybe someone else here knows how to cut hair?”

Mei shyly lifted a hand. “Ms. Vaswani? I’ve seen her do it before. So careful and meticulous, she’s very good at it!”

Lucio half-lidded his eyes at the woman who was leaning by the counter with her arms folded and a sour expression on her face. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at the rest of the crowd. “Hm. Yeah. Maybe someone else?”

Satya gave both Lucio and the raggedy-haired junker an unimpressed look before lifting her nose in the air and pointedly turning away. “Absolutely not. I mean no offense, Dr. Zhao, but that is an unacceptable proposal. The state of Mr. Fawkes is regrettable, but I find that is very often the case. I have utterly no inclination to…”

Junkrat snorted aloud. “Touch me? What, because of the dirt? Just was in the tub, I’ll have you know. Still got a squeaky clean donger and everything. Oi, you’re not still sore about the prototypes what got blown up, are you? And after that lab incident with the dynamite umbrellas? Okay, not one of my most winning plans, I can admit it! Tch. Dunno why you always gets so worked up, lady. It was just a bit of soot. And some bricks. And fire. It builds character!”

Hanzo was unable to stifle a cold chuckle, only to have McCree sock him hard in the arm.

Mei winced a little, waving both hands as Satya narrowed her eyes. Strategically placing herself between the two, she interrupted them both before another argument could break up, trying to focus on the haircut disaster already at hand. “Th-that’s fine, Ms. Vaswani! Thank you! Um…Mr. Roadhog? Have you dealt with something like this before?”

Roadhog grunted.

Mei paused, but no more information was forthcoming. So she tried again. “Maybe you’ve cut Jamie’s hair for him?” She wondered aloud, trying to imagine the old biker’s huge spike-gloved fists holding something as delicate as a pair of beauty trimmers. “How did you deal with haircuts out in the Outback?”

Roadhog stepped forward, one enormous hand enveloping a fistful of Junkrat’s hair…and he pulled.

Junkrat, understandably, began caterwauling in response, punching up at Roadhog’s arm. “Owowowow! GETTOFF! What’re you doin’, ya drongo?! It’s attached this time! OW!”

Roadhog released his grip, looked down, and seemed mildly surprised that Junkrat’s hair was indeed still stuck to his skull. With a shrug, he stepped back with a ‘negative’ sort of a grunt, and didn’t try again.

Soldier 76 spoke up from the sidelines. “I was in the army. For a time. Could get some trimmers and give it a buzz.”

Junkrat covered his head with both arms protectively. “Don’t cut it all off! I worked hard for it, you know! Ugh, Mei darl, let’s forget this whole thing, just grab the snippers and let’s go back t—”

The door slammed open and all eyes turned to Zarya, who strode in with great purpose in her stride and a toolbox under one arm. The little crowd parted before her, and she slammed the box down on the table and glared down at the messy-haired junker down in his chair. Junkrat glared right back at her, jaw setting, a growl rattling in his throat as the two faced each other down.

“Rat Man.”

“Russki.”

“Mei has called me to fix you. I said to her ‘Oh Mei, there is too much to fix!’ but she said it is just your hair. That, I can do,” Zarya said, before turning and opening the toolbox.

Rat was going to snap something back at her, but his reply was cut off when he looked past her, into the open box. Inside was a vast assortment of combs, scissors, trimmers, hair dyes, elastics, and more hair accessories than he had ever seen in his entire life. A whole beauty shop had been crammed into that box. And Mei was looking so, so hopeful at it all. His insults died in his throat, and he merely grumbled something inaudible as he slumped down into his chair.

Mei seemed far happier about the situation, clasping both hands as she fluttered around them. “I thought you might know what to do! I really messed it up, but I’m sure you can fix it. Thank you so much for your help.”

The much taller woman looked flustered, pretending to stare into her toolbox a little harder. “Ah…Hmph, it is fine. You are welcome. This is for you, Mei.”

She descended on Junkrat’s mangled scalp, and he could only sit there with a shellshocked expression as she worked. Combs worked at tangles, little delicate clippers snipped at uneven edges, and there was a buzzing in his ears as the trimmer went sliding smoothly across his bristled skull. Zarya squinted, focused, sweated, and worked in stalwart and disapproving silence. The rest of Overwatch stood in silence as well, with occasional little whispers as she worked. Slowly, bit by bit, Junkrat’s hair began to recover from its grisly state.

By the time she was done, the junker was sitting there with a haircut that…actually suited him far more than Mei or anyone else would have assumed. The sides has been buzzed, cut off into fading edges, and he was left with a loose mohawk of yellow locks that draped to one side of his head: just rebellious enough for his wild nature, but neat enough for Mei’s approval. And when she finally stepped back, lifting up her arms in triumph as she unveiled the baffled Junkrat below her, a cheer went up from her audience.

“Oh wow, that’s so much better!”

“He actually looks kind of…good, now?”

“Woooo, J-Man, that looks sharp!”

A mirror was thrust into Rat’s hands, and he ran his metal fingers through his newly trimmed locks. Even he had to admit that it looked good. It looked pretty damn good. He could admit that. He just wouldn’t admit it aloud, that was all. So he turned away from the gloating Zarya, to the one person whose opinion actually mattered.

“D’you like it, Snowflake?”

“You look amazing!” Mei’s arms wound around him from behind, resting her cheek against his new ‘do. “Thank you so much, Zarya, this really means a lot. And Jamison, I’m sorry but I’m never going to try cutting your hair again. Unless I get proper training. Zarya, would you mind teaching me how to do all that?”

“Of course, pingvin. I will even teach you how to cut hair with hazmat suit and gloves, for the rat man.”

“Be nice. He looks so much better now!”

Junkrat didn’t even hear the insult, nor did he offer a reply. He was busy grinning stupidly, features flushed while Mei’s chest all but enveloped his entire head where she was leaning into him. “Huh? Yeah, okay. Heh. Yeah. Cut. Okay.”

Maybe he should get his hair cut more often after all.

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #junkrat #mei #overwatch #fanfiction #writing #commission #haircut #hair #humor #zarya #saves the day #but isn't happy about it

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amazingmsme · 6 years ago

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Round and Round

AN: This is a little prequel to my other Spies Are Forever fic, where Curt mentions another time that Owen had “interrogated” him. It’s based before the show, so there’s no spoilers, just our spy guys goofing off and being teasy. Hope you enjoy!

Curt's eyes flew open, and he found himself in a small dark room. He reached up to rub his aching head, but found he couldn't move. His arms and legs were strapped to some sort of wheel on a wall. He tested his bonds to see if he could break free, but they held firm. He did notice a slight movement that made the wheel turn and inch to the left. He looked out over the room, taking in his surroundings. A single light hanging from the ceiling illuminated a long metal table in the middle of the room. Atop the table were various torture devices including but not limited to: a pair of pliers, hedge clippers, a chainsaw (he really hopes he can get out of this in one piece) and knives of varying sizes. He noticed a dark blob in a chair in the corner of the room and it began to shift once he looked at it.

The figure stood and slowly made their way to the table. The light cast long shadows, coating everything about them in mystery, even when they were directly underneath it. At least now Curt could tell it was a man standing before him. Something about him was familiar, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. He wore a long black cape that swayed and billowed behind him with his every move and a top hat was tilted down to hide his features. He grabbed the edge of the cape and threw it behind him, making Curt roll his eyes at the overly dramatic entrance.

"Well if it isn't the famous Curt Mega. Glad to see you're awake. You were out for quite some time." The man spoke in an over the top loud voice, and Curt wished he could cover his ears.

"I'm right here you don't have to yell," he deadpanned, and he could see the corner's of the other man's mouth turn downward.

"It's not yelling, I'm projecting."

"Well could you do it quieter? 'Cause I find it quite annoying," he said with a smirk. The man took a step closer and said in an even louder voice, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you had such sensitive ears. But no need to worry, if you're lucky you won't have them by the time I'm done with you." He walked over to the table, picking up the large sheers, opening and closing them as he walked towards Curt. He could see a bright smile gleaming from underneath the hat. "Now, who're you working for?"

"Oh just a small agency called kiss my ass." He didn't even flinch when the sheers came for his head and clipped off a large chunk of hair right behind his ear. "Thanks, I've been meaning to get a haircut. Not too much off the top though." He reached up and violently yanked his head up by the hair, cutting off a fist full. It was then that Curt got a good look at his face. His eyes met a familiar pair of brown ones, and that crooked jaw was unmistakable. Owen was so gonna pay for ruining his hair.

"I'm sure you're wondering what you're strapped to. It's a fun little contraption I think you'll like. Allow me to give it a whirl." He reached up and grabbed the top of the wheel and heaved down. The wheel began spinning and only increased in speed the more Owen forced it.

He then walked away leaving him to spin. He stood behind the table, watching Curt go round and round until coming to a stop.

"That was a fun little ride, are you also gonna give me a lollipop?"

"I'm afraid lollipops are only for agents who cooperate. But don't worry, I have something special in store for you." Apparently, the wheel was also controlled by a remote that Owen pulled out from his pocket, and Curt found himself spinning once more.

"What're you gonna do magic man? Make me dizzy?"

"That's not my intention, but will no doubt be a side effect of your torture." Curt was ready to reply, a smart quip on the tip of his tongue, when Owen threw the scissors at him and they whizzed by his head, embedding in the wood near his head. "How about we play a game. I like to call it "answer my questions or else I throw knives at you.""

"Not very catchy-"

"What were you doing snooping around here?" Owen asked, and Curt could hear him struggling to keep his English accent concealed.

"I was on my lunch break and thought I'd grab a bite to eat. But now I'm starting to think this isn't McDonald's." He saw Owen's shoulders shake with laughter before he stopped abruptly and hurled a large knife at him. It landed in the tight space between his underarm and ribs, leaving only two inches between the blade and his body on either side. He picked up another knife off the table, slowly sauntering towards him. His eyes followed Curt as he turned upside down, and he waited for him to turn right side up. He placed the sharp edge of the knife on his cheek, the blade scraping over the skin and giving him a close shave. Curt would be lying if he said the sensation didn't send chills down his spine, and the intense look on Owen's face did nothing to help either.

"Tell me Mega, just what exactly were you hoping to find?"

"A hundred dollars wouldn't be too bad, eh buddy?"

Owen slammed the knife into one of the spaces between Curt's fingers, and this time he jumped. It was a little too close for comfort, and Owen was really pushing his luck. He walked back to the table and grabbed the remote, turning up the speed.

He was starting to feel dizzy, the constant motion grating on his brain and straining his eyes. It was getting hard to focus. Owen chuckled, "How're we holding up? You need a bucket yet?"

"No, if I need to I can just puke on you." His partner really didn't like the sound of that because this time the knife embedded itself between his legs, mere centimeters from his crotch. Okay Owen was seriously going to get it when he finally got out of this.

"I do wish you would cooperate, it would make things so much easier."

"Well I'll have you know I'm not easy. It takes at least five dates to get me in bed."

"I'm going to ask you one more time: who are you working for and what are your intentions?"

"Well I can assure you my intentions are nothing but pure," he said with a wink. Owen rolled his eyes, scraping the blade against the metal table, creating a horrendous screech to fill the air. Curt flinched and let out a yelp at the sound, unable to protect his ears.

"Stop stop stop! Fuck I can't take it!" He conceded, unable to handle such an awful noise. Owen smirked, ready to listen to his friend. "How the hell did you know that I can't possibly stand the sound of metal scraping?"

"Personal history does have its benefits Mega," he said. He ripped off the cape and threw the knife, making sure the blade landed right next to his head for the big finale. He tossed the hat to the side and paused the motion of the spinning wheel, walking up to free his friend. The trapped agent glared daggers at him.

"Oh Curt don't look so hurt, it was all in good fun."

"You throw another knife that close to my balls again, and I will make sure to chop yours off."

Owen laughed, reaching up to spin the wheel so that he was upside down. He unlatched his left leg first, then his right. "I have no doubt about it, which is why I didn't miss. Trust me, if I wanted, I could've had all your fingers by now." Being upside down with his legs free left Curt in an awkward position as he struggled to keep them upright. Owen took note of this and decided to take a step back and just observe him. His stomach was starting to hurt from holding the position and he grit his teeth together as he seethed, "Owen you ass, hurry up and get me down!"

"Why? Are you feeling the burn old chap?" He teased, reaching up to pat his stomach. Curt swiftly brought his right knee down on top of his head, hard. Owen recoiled with a cry of pain and glared down at his face while he rubbed his head.

Curt gave him a fake smile and shrugged his shoulders as much as he could, "Guess I couldn't hold my legs up that long." Owen scoffed and spun him upright, freeing his wrists. He rubbed where the bonds were, enjoying the feeling of being able to move.

"So I don't suppose you were the one who knocked me out?" he asked, using the metal table to stretch out his legs. Owen promptly shook his head, "Oh no, I would never. I did find the bloke though. I fixed him up with a nice chloroform rag and some duct tape, so he shouldn't be going anywhere but to headquarters. Be lucky I found him before you woke up, 'cause I don't think he has as good an aim. Quite the shaky hand," he said, raising his own and making it tremble.

"Oh yeah, remind me to thank you for literally shooting daggers at me."

"You're welcome. You got the test files?"

"Of course. All on this hard drive."

"Very good. Now not that I didn't have a blast, but I think we should call it a day, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, Cynthia's probably pissed that I'm not back by now. Although I have a good reason."

"Oh don't think I don't know that you enjoyed being my target; you were having just as much fun as me."

"I-" but his retort fell short on his tongue when Owen simply raised his eyebrow with a smirk. "Just you wait, I'll get you back."

"Of course you will love. That's the way this game works."

#spies are forever #spies are forever fic #saf #saf fic #curt mega #agent curt mega #owen carvour #curtwen #interrogation #fake interrogation #knives #wanted to tag it in case it's anyone's triggers

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 6 years ago

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A Smash Kids Halloween: Pt 1

It was Halloween night. About 7:30, when all of the kids go out to get free candy, and the adults go get wasted out of their minds at the Halloween��parties.

The group of Smash Kids went around to all of the hot-spots to get the rumored treasure troves of candy. They returned from each of the hot-spots to the candy horde site to drop off the candy. In about three hours, they’ve managed to hit all of the hot-spots listed on the map.Their candy pile was about the size of about 4-5 Bowser’s according to Red’s measurements.

The only thing left to do was split up and go to the waiting spots that each person wanted to go to. With that, the group split up into three, one going to the haunted house, one going to the graveyard near the dark woods, and Lucas was left with the Koopalings to guard the candy.

With Ness’ group, consisting of himself, Meggy, Villager, Pit, Red, and Toon Link in their Halloween costumes, they followed the map that would lead them to the haunted house that Richter had talked about.

“Well, this looks like the place on the map.” Ness said.

As Ness opened the door with a loud and errie creak, the group peered inside. The house was in complete shambles as it was covered in cobwebs and furniture was laying about everywhere. They stepped inside.

“At least this place looks like it could be haunted.” said Meggy.

Toon Link chuckled. “Please. I’ve seen way worse than this in a tower. Nothing in this house can scare-”

The door suddenly slammed shut. Toon Link screamed and ran down a hall in the house, holding up his dress.

The group blinked a few times in confusion and looked at Villager.

“You said it, Vill. He does run faster in a dress.” Red said.

The group made their way down the hall, looking around at the interior of the house. Even though the house looked to be abandoned, there were still some relatively nice portraits. Albeit they were a crooked.

Meggy sighed. “I thought this was a haunted house…”

“Maybe Simon already killed everthing haunted in here.” Pit said. He noticed that Red had stopped walking and was staring at a door. “Red?"

Red didn’t respond. He had the odd urge to open this door. He couldn’t understand why, but something inside of him was telling him to. He placed his hand on the doorknob and opened the door.

Behind the door Red saw a man standing in a well lit room. He turned around. He had a similar hairstyle to Red.

Red gasped. "D…..Dad?” Tears filled his eyes.

“Hey son.” Red’s father said.

Red ran to his father and hugged him. “Dad! Where were you! Mom was (sniffle) worried sick for years and lost weeks of sleep! (sobs). You NEVER came to any of my birthdays! Did you ever even love Mom?!”

“No. Way.” Meggy said. Everyone else’s jaw was wide open in confusion.

Red’s father held his head as Red cried onto his shoulder. “It’s okay, son.” He looked down at him. “I’m here.”

“A-am…..Am I the only one seeing this?” Pit asked. Villager shook his head in response. To them, Red was hugging a Halloween skeleton and getting emotional over it.

Red sobbed. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love yyyoouuuu tooooooooooo…..” Red’s father slowly started slowing down his words as his voice. Part of his body began to become a liquid substance.

Red looked up at his melting Father. “D-dad? What’s happening?”

His face was the last to melt, as his head slowly drooped down. “I lllllllloovvveeeeyyyoooouuu……ssssoooooooooo……..” Once the mouth melted into the wax like puddle, the voice stopped coming.

“Dad? Dad?!” Red grabbed at the puddle, trying to understand what was going on as tears went streamed down his face.

Pit watched Red as was grabbing at the skeleton. “Uh…Red?” He called, but wasn’t getting a response from him.

Villager then felt something hit the back of his head. Villager caught a dizzy spell and rubbed his eyes. When Villager opened his, he was back in Smashville during the Halloween event. Villager looked around, wondering where his friends were.

“Ah, Mr. Mayor.” A familiar voice called from behind him.

Villager turned around and saw Tom Nook standing behind him in King outfit. “Ah, is that a psycho killer outfit like from the camp movies? It’s simply smashing. However. I’ve noticed you’ve gone a bit too long without paying your fees.”

Villager gave a nervous glance.

“Now I don’t normally do this, but this whole pay me back charade has gone on long enough. So rather than keep you in debt, we’ve arranged a much better plan.” Tom Nook said.

Villager seemed interested. He finally had a way out of this debt That is, until Nook started chuckling that is.

“It’s ironic, really.” Tom Nook said. “You’re wearing that costume and,,,well, you’ll see in a minute.”

Villager became worried. He then heard a chainsaw whirring from behind him. He turned and saw Isabelle.

“Don’t worry, Mayor.” She said with a smile. Her eyes then became red. “This will only hurt for a bit!” She revved the chainsaw and lunged at Villager.

————————–

Ness, Meggy, and Pit looked at current scene. Villager was running away from an unseen terror, and Red was crying over a skeleton claiming to be his father. They heard Toon Link run past them before he ran out of hearing range.

“What’s going on?” Meggy asked. As soon as she said that, a ball hit her on the head. “Ow! Huh?” She looked down and picked up the ball and examined it.

Ness looked at the ball in her hands. “What is it?”

“It looks like….some sort of nightmare orb?” She said, tilting to show him and Pit the label.

“Nightmare orbs. Hit someone with this and their greatest wish will come true, only to become a twisted hallucination.” Ness read off of the description. “That explains what happened to Vill and Red.”

“But wait, if that’s how it works, how come Meggy wasn’t affected?” Pit asked.

“It says if you don’t fear anything or have wishes, it won’t work.” Meggy asnered. Two more nightmare orbs hit Ness and Pit, though both had no affect.

Ness looked at it again. “It also says it doesn’t work on people who are too dumb to be afraid. Otherwise known as idiots.” He and Meggy both looked at Pit.

“… Huh?! I’m an idiot?” Pit shouted.

“Well, you can’t exactly read.” Ness told him.

“And one in three people could be an idiot.” Meggy added.

Pit got riled up. “That’s it! We’re finding who threw these!”

There were quick footsteps coming from behind Pit. In one swift motion he grabbed the unknown foe and flipped them over. in a blur, they dashed back into the dark.

The group chased after the enemy and wound up in an open area by the stairs, surrounded by chairs. The group looked around in case it tried to attack again. “Where the heck did it go?” Meggy asked.

The chairs began to slowly shake before levitating up and flinging themselves at the group. The trio ran into a corner to hide from the onslaught. The chairs were being thrown left and right from every direction.

They soon stopped, and Pit peeked his head from out the corner. He looked around and saw a ghost like specter staring right back at him. He then slowly moved his head back into the corner and turned to Ness and Meggy wearing a pale expression. “We should start running.”

The three ran back the way they had came. Ness noticed that Villager was running around, still inflicted with his hallucination. He ran over to him and heaved him over his shoulder and ran. “Pit! Go get Red!”

Pit nodded and burst into the room where Red was. Red was still an emotional wreck due to his hallucination. Pit grabbed him and ran with Red hanging under his shoulder.

Meggy looked back at the Ghost and fired ink shots at it. All of the shots phased right through it, however. “Ness, do something!”

Ness threw a PK Fire at the ghost, and of course, it went right through it and hit the window curtains.

“I meant use PK Flash!” Meggy shouted.

“You try using a slow to charge move at a ghost!” Ness shouted back.

Pit turned around mid-run. “Guys… it’s not chasing us any more.”

The trio stopped running and noticed that whatever was chasing them was no longer doing so.

“What…the heck…was that?!” Ness panted.

“I don’t know…but we better-” Meggy started, but was cut off by a rustling in the corner.

Some bat-like creature leapt out to attack them. But just as it leapt, Toon Link was heard screaming as he was still in a panic. The three looked up at the balcony and saw Toon jump from it. As if in slow motion, he landed on the creature, knocking it unconscious. The trio looked down at the scene with utter confusion.

—————-

The group was finally outside. Pit was slapping Red and Villager back to reality while Ness and Meggy stared down the creature that Toon Link landed on as Toon was holding him.

“Sothis little guy was responsible for causing all of that trouble?” Ness asked, pointing to Kid Dracula.

Kid Dracula looked down at the ground, unsure of what would happen now that he was caught. Ness, Meggy, and Toon all exchanged looks and started laughing, which confused him.

“Kid, that was awesome!” Ness told him. “How did you even pull that purple ghost trick?”

“I thought that this haunted house would be super boring! But Richter wasn’t lying when he said that this house would give me nightmares!” Toon added.

Meggy crouched down to Kid Dracula’s level. “You think you can do that again?”

Kid Dracula took a moment to take in everything that had happened in the past ten seconds, especially since he didn’t know what Ghost they were talking about, then nodded energetically.

Ness cheered. “Awesome! Now we just need-”

The house then combust into flames. Red and Villager, who had just regained their senses, looked up at the flames along with everyone else.

“… Oh right. The fire. Oops.” Ness quickly said. He glanced at Kid Dracula. Kid Dracula had tears in his eyes and was on the verge of crying. “Aw man.I-I’m really sorry! That ghost thing surprised me a-and I panicked!”

Toon Link then held a hand out in front of Ness. “I’ll handle it."He then crouched down to Kid Dracula. "Sorry about burning your house down.” He then moved his hair back. “But if you want, you can stay with us for the night.”

A small blush grew on Kid Dracula’s stared at Toon Link for a minute. Meggy was on the side taking pictures of the whole thing, seeing as how funny it was Kid Dracula mistook Toon for a girl in the Zelda dress.

Kid Dracula then hugged Toon Link. Toon picked him up. “And don’t worry. That mean old bonehead Ness won’t mess with you again."

"Well SORRY, Princess!” Ness shouted.

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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years ago

Text

{January Collection} #26 (Part Two)

Monster ... in the Mirror

A continuation of this prompt.

“Sunday dinner?”

The man known to outsiders as Sheriff Hoyt nodded, resting his forearm on the door to Monica’s motel room. “That’s right, sweetheart. Mama wants to treat ya to some nice southern cookin’ to welcome ya to town.”

Monica had no way of knowing Sheriff “Winston Hoyt” was actually Charlie Sawyer Jr., who had murdered the town’s last remaining law enforcement officer (the former Winston Hoyt) to protect Thomas Hewitt--who she really didn’t know...yet, anyway. No, she was left in the dark to make her decision on accepting good ol’ southern hospitality and there’s probably plenty of sayings about making decisions blind. She wasn’t hearing the warning bells around the Sheriff anymore, and the smile he was giving her was genuine rather than a creepy showing of teeth. She had no idea what had changed his attitude but she could get behind whatever it was, and beyond that, Luda Mae had seemed really nice. Monica took her eyes off the Sheriff, leaning a little out of the room to see if Luda Mae was nearby.

As if picking up Monica’s thought, Hoyt took a step back to show an empty porch. “Sorry honey. Mama’s already at home, cookin’ up a storm. She closed the store early, wanting to whip up somethin’ good for ya.” Hoyt adjusted his belt, rattling his ring of keys as he did so. “Hopin’ that’ll get’cha to consider our offer.”

Monica had no issue with telling people no, she rather enjoyed it given the right circumstance, but she couldn’t really think of a reason to do so at the moment. No, she didn’t know these people and it was entirely possible that taxi driver was going to tell her this was some murderous family of cannibals just waiting to invite her for dinner for her to be dinner, but when Monica locked eyes with Hoyt, she didn’t feel threatened--and no offense to this town or it’s people, but she didn’t think they’d be very good at hiding it if they were intending her harm.

“I...Up to you guys’s house?” Monica shifted on her socked feet.

“The Sawyer house, that’s right,” Hoyt nodded. “You said you wanted some research on small towns and the like, right? For yer book? You could pick our brains. All the Sawyers’ll be there, rich tapestry of folks for ya to talk to.”

That was enticing, and after another few moments Monica nodded with a small but genuine smile. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Hoyt let out a holler, slapping his hands together. “All right! Well all right, that’s great. How long does a pretty li’l thing like you need to get ready?”

Monica was actually already in her pajamas, having planned a long night of writing; her laptop was still out on her bed from when Hoyt had knocked on the door and interrupted--but she didn’t mind this interruption.

“Could you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Oh easily, darlin’, you take as much time as ya need.” Hoyt raised his hands, palm up. “Mama taught me not to rush a lady and you’re a lady if there ever was one. I’ll be in my cruiser parked out of the store again, you just come down when yer ready.”

Monica nodded, stepping back inside to push the door closed, unable to help her widening smile at how excited Hoyt had seemed by her acceptance. She didn’t know why but she could tell he’d been genuinely happy. For whatever reason, her acceptance of going meant a great deal to him and she didn’t get the feeling he thought he’d get lucky or anything. Maybe it was a small town thing, she mused as she walked over to her suitcase, propped open in a chair by the dresser. She didn’t know how long she’d be staying so she hadn’t put anything away in the dresser yet, but it wasn’t a problem to fish out a change of clothes--she didn’t want to put on what she’d arrived in, this seemed...special, and a secret part of her really wanted to wow these small town folks with a touch of her city girl sophistication. January, even in Texas, called for pants instead of shorts but she picked a more free-flowing top, the sapphire fabric a beautiful compliment to her brown skin. The shirt was sleeveless silk, slung lower on the sides and back, and she finished the look with a silver anchor necklace and matching earrings. Ankle strap heels showed off pretty painted toes and then it was into the bathroom to apply makeup that made her eyes pop and her lips look like syrup kissed peaches--since Hoyt and Luda Mae had likened her to one. Perfume was a kiss to her wrists and neck and she admired herself in the mirror as she loosened her short, honey-blonde hair. It was just long enough to style in a messy bun and she let the waves tumble free from the tie to kiss her petite shoulders. She turned this way and that in the mirror, eyes scrutinizing her own appearance but she decided against running a brush through it, opting to finger comb it to leave it a little loose and carefree. It seemed the perfect compliment to the rest of her outfit and she smiled, satisfied with her appearance.

Mirrors don’t always show the best sides of folks, though, and across the dusty Texas town a mirror was showing a man what a monster he really was.

The Sawyer House sat in the center of acres of plains and farmland, home to a multitude of Sawyers at any given time but it was always home to Bubba and Thomas, the latter of whom was glaring into the dingy mirror in the brothers’ shared room. He had his mask off, and he hated it. Thomas often thought himself better than Bubba when it came to his appearance; he thought he handled it better but the truth was neither of them did. The longer Thomas’s dark eyes lingered on his skeletal nose, the deep gouges in his cheeks, the angrier he got.

Bubba lumbered in from the bathroom, one large, pudgy hand rubbing a towel over his wet curls. He was maskless, too, fresh from the bath but he immediately side-stepped the mirror and kept his back to it as he went to his side of the room. Thomas watched him pass, that dark brow knotted at the center.

A grunt. ‘Ain’t you wanna look at yourself?’

A babbled reply. ‘No. I got me a face for tonight. Don’t need to see mine.‘

Thomas turned back to the mirror and immediately wished he hadn’t. He had planned on trying to be brave and go to this special Sunday Dinner without a mask on, but Bubba couldn’t even imagine. Their princess was gonna be there! He had to look his best! And the only way to look his best was to not look like himself! Bubba wasn’t the retard some of the townspeople thought he was; he was a smart boy who knew what he looked like. His nose had long ago rotted off his face, leaving a skeletal hole, and his lips were scarred. His brow bone was a little crooked and his teeth weren’t very pretty, either. He brushed them! Mama made sure he did, every night, but no matter how he pushed on them with his thumbs, he couldn’t get ‘em straight. Bubba also couldn’t...help taking a knife to himself sometimes, trying to cut skin off here and there, even up what the sickness had already done to him, so he had thick, pitted scars on his cheeks and by his eyes. Bubba wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t have to be! His princess was the prettiest of them all, and as long as she never saw how ugly he was, maybe she’d stay and be pretty for him.

Mama had been very clear with both boys; they could wear their masks but no skin, not until Monica was safely part of the family. Thomas and Bubba had been so distracted by learning the princess’s name they had almost missed what Mama said. Thomas felt his heart stammer at the sound and Bubba tried, oh he tried desperately to say her name. He repeated it so many times Mama had to shush him, and she’d made damn sure they both heard what she’d said.

“Now you boys know we love you, but this city girl ain’t used to how we do things ‘round here. Remember the puppy you found in the barn, Bubba? She’s just like that, she’s little and she’s new to us and how we do things, and she might be a little scared the more she learns but you be patient and she’ll love you good and plenty.” Luda Mae wagged her finger between her two hulking sons, her gaze serious. “No skin masks,you put on your Sunday best, and you know how big you both are. Ya gotta be easy when she’s here--and no. chainsaws. No matter what, you leave those in the basement. Y’hear?”

Bubba would have agreed to cut his arm off if it meant Monica would come to dinner, and Thomas was in the same lovesick boat. He liked to pretend he wasn’t listening when Mama was reading Bubba those fairy tales, but at times when he was working, his thick fingers splitting carcasses and stripping flesh from bone, he allowed himself to daydream about princesses, too--

Princesses who love monsters instead of princes.

Charlie, or Hoyt as Monica knows him, gave a deep wolf whistle as she came around the front of the general store, pulling his hat from his head to place over his chest.

“Goddamn, girlie, don’t you look like a million bucks? If you can do that in fifteen minutes you gotta be heaven sent.”

Monica gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Just wanted to clean up a little, it’s the least I could do for your family inviting me for dinner.”

Hoyt moved around the front of his cruiser, opening the passenger door for Monica with a cheek-splitting grin. “See, I like that. You got respect for family, and what it means. Mama’s right about you.”

Monica lowered herself into the seat, blinking at that semi-cryptic statement. They’d been...talking about her? On one hand it made sense, they had at least discussed her coming for dinner; still, that didn’t explain the statement away--but as Monica turned to ask Hoyt what he meant, she was met with the closing of the passenger door. She watched Hoyt pass in front of the headlights as he made his way to the driver’s side door, sliding inside with a muted grunt.

“Like I said, honey, the Sawyer house is a little ways outside of town and I’m real sorry, I can’t offer you the radio to listen to or nothin’ like that.” Hoyt shifted the cruiser into reverse, backing out of the spot without even looking--but as the sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, Monica noticed the sleepy, near deserted town seemed devoid of life. This was the main stretch of road and there wasn’t a single car to be seen on it.

“That’s okay, Sheriff.”

“Oh, now, no need to be so formal. You just call me Uncle Hoyt--or hell, Uncle Charlie’s fine.”

Monica’s smile was a touch shy at how forward the offer was, but some part of her liked that offer. It was genuine, and reminded her of his earlier offer to call him if anyone ever gave her any trouble. “Uncle Charlie? ...Think I can do that.”

Charlie’s smile showed teeth as he turned from the windshield toward his unknowing newest family member. “Glad to hear it, honey.”

The two started down the main stretch of road, and it wasn’t long before the buildings fell away and Monica was graced with Texas beauty--flat plains and whispering grass fields high enough to kiss her knees if she stepped into them. The night was balmy but not hot, and Monica was actually grateful there was no radio to interrupt the silence as the wind whipped past the cruiser. Charlie occupied some of the silence by talking, reciting little tidbits of history of the town and a lot more about his family. Monica learned there were dozens upon dozens of Sawyers that all still lived here, though some lived towns over, too. At one point he asked if she wanted to record him with her phone, and it sent a wash of relief through her that he hadn’t done something creepy like tell her to leave her phone behind. When she’d taken her phone out to record him, he’d whistled at how new it was, and when she’d said it was a smartphone, he revealed he was still using a flip phone--and that had been a recent “upgrade” for him. That was the end of the phone conversation and he hadn’t even made a move to take it from her. It further put her at ease that there was no harm headed her way, and the more she relaxed, the more she enjoyed the ride and the company along for it.

It was about twenty minutes before the plains broke and Monica watched a sprawling house settle in the center of them; it looked huge even from a distance, three stories tall with old southern plantation pillars in the front that complimented a nice screened in porch. The road leading up to the house was dirt, but it only added to the rustic feel of the place and as the cruiser came to a stop, Monica could only marvel at the people she saw in front. There were a multitude of boys ranging in ages from adult to under 10 years old playing football in the yard, while older women and men were sitting in rocking chairs and swings on the porch. All of them stopped what they were doing when the cruiser pulled up, one of the older boys winding up getting clocked on the side of the head with the football but he didn’t even seem to notice, too busy staring at the pretty girl in the front of Uncle Charlie’s cruiser.

Charlie gave the entirety of the family warning look as he crossed the front of the cruiser to open the door for Monica, and she could barely place her hand in his to let him help her out, stunned by all the attention she was getting.

“D-Don’t get a lot of visitors?” She tried for a playful laugh, too busy looking up at Charlie to notice some of the Sawyers smile just from the sound of her laugh.

“It’s way more than that, sweetheart,” Charlie led her away from the cruiser with a smile full of secrets. “But why don’t ya just take that it’s you lookin’ so pretty in your little outfit?”

Monica could hardly focus on his words; there were so many Sawyers! She counted over a dozen, between the kids in the yard and the adults coming down off the porch. She gave them a nervous smile, lifting her free hand to wave and nearly laughed at how adorable it was--all of them waved back.

“Hi pretty lady!” Near her waist, two twin boys who couldn’t be older than ten, dressed nicely but a little dirty from playing in the yard, stuck their hands up in excited waves, hoping to catch her attention. “You look like the ladies in the magazines!”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Monica gave them a smile, one that ended in a surprised noise as one of the boys grabbed into her hand, rubbing his cheek against the back of it.

“Soft,” he openly hugged her arm a second later. “You smell like candy!”

“Enough, both of ya.” Charlie leaned around, and Monica could tell he was an authority figure in the family immediately by the way the boys reacted, eyes widening and stumbling back from her so fast one of them fell over onto his butt. “Mama told you boys about behavin’ tonight.”

“They’re okay, U-Uncle Charlie,” Monica placated, and Charlie seemed to settle down immediately, his weathered face softening and he nodded, before turning to face the onlooking Sawyers.

“...Aight, well. Let that be a lesson to all of ya, Monica here has full authority to tell me if any of ya get up to shit, and you don’t want Mama or the boys to find out you’re messin’ with her, do ya?”

There were murmurs that sounded worried as the adult shook their heads, and the kids were too scared to even look up from the ground. Monica didn’t know how to take this; she still didn’t feel threatened, but this was a family who had a strange sort of hierarchy when it came to listening--as if there were severe consequences for not--and it was the second time she’d heard some alluding to “boys”. The first time had been what changed Charlie’s entire personality and now it left a yard full of grown men and women afraid of their own shadows. Who the hell were the boys?

“Ma says dinner won’t be ready for a little while,” one of the women spoke up, a blond baby on her hip. “Can we visit with Monica a little, before it’s time?”

“Well now, I guess I don’t see why not.” Charlie looked down at Monica. “You okay to talk to everybody?”

Monica glanced around the inquisitive, but oddly happy faces--they all seemed so overjoyed she was there, and she couldn’t help but attribute it to not having visitors often. She couldn’t accept Charlie’s explanation that it was because of her, specifically, that was too much and left her with nervous butterflies in her ribs.

“Sure,” she nodded with a demure smile, unaware it melted a few hearts in the enraptured crowd. “I’d love to get to know you all.”

The resounding excitement brought a little blush to Monica’s cheeks; they were so ecstatic just to get to talk to her! Even the kids crowded up onto the porch as the adults led her up the stairs, the little ones vying to sit on the floor by her feet to hear everything she had to say.

Charlie got her settled before he gestured toward the front door. “I’m gonna go check see if Mama needs any help. You remember what I said?”

“Give a holler if I need you,” Monica nodded, a little distracted by one of the women holding her hand, marveling at her manicured nails. She managed to give Charlie a smile. “I will.”

“Good girl.” Charlie gave a last warning look around the clan before he walked into the open front door, already smelling the feast cooking in the kitchen.

It was no surprise, finding Bubba in the kitchen beside his Mama, thick, nervous fingers chopping up vegetables for the stew pot simmering on one of the burners. Luda Mae was sweating over two other burners, and Charlie could smell a ham baking to a fine honeyed glaze in the oven below. It was definitely a special occasion when the Sawyers put aside their cannibalistic tendencies to appear more normal to impress someone, and Luda Mae’s words from earlier had resonated with everyone. This was a very special occasion.

“Monica’s here,” Charlie announced as he stepped inside the bustling kitchen; as he passed the threshold he finally caught a glimpse of Tommy ducking into the adjacent dining room, setting the table with Nubbins.

Bubba made a nervous noise at that announcement, his hands flying from the cutting board to his curls, smoothing them around the rubber Halloween mask covering his scarred face. It was pale and expressionless, but it fit his face well and he decorated it with a little bit of make-up--because that’s what you do when you wanna look pretty! In his fretting, Bubba forgot he was holding his knife and it got caught in his curls...which only distressed him further, leaving him blubbering and on the verge of tears. He was going to ruin everything with Monica right outside!

A sigh announced Tommy was back in the kitchen and he caught Bubba’s thick wrist, stopping the older male from harming himself. His other hand unwound the knife from those thick, shiny curls, freshly washed just for their princess. Tommy was the only one in the family tall enough to be of any help to Bubba; the two locked shoulders and shared the same muscle mass and it was lucky they got along so well, because no one had a hope or a prayer of stopping them if they got into it. But there was nothing to be had but brotherly affection between them, as Tommy smoothed a rough hand over Bubba’s curls, fixing them for his nervous older brother, before grunting.

‘All better. Be careful.’

Bubba nodded, babbling wordlessly behind his mask. ‘Nervous, I’m nervous!’

‘She’s not going to leave. Mama promised.’

Bubba fitted his hands to his masked cheeks. ‘What if she hates me? What if she hates us? No one ever stays, no one ever stays long.’

‘She will. Mama says princesses do what’s right.’

‘She can’t leave, we won’t let her leave.’

Tommy nodded once. ‘We won’t. She’ll stay.’

“Well shit, Mama, does that ever not amaze you?” Charlie rested his hip against the island counter, plucking up a strawberry from a bowl as he gestured between Bubba and Tommy. “They just...talk like that. Grunts and babblin’. Sometimes I think they’re more advanced than we are.”

“Because they are,” Luda Mae gave Charlie’s hand a smack as he reached for a second strawberry. “These are for the table. Stop bein’ a hog and go put your suit on.”

Charlie blanched. “Why I gotta get changed? She already done seen me in this and I look mighty sharp in my uniform, Ma.”

Luda Mae snorted, waving a hand as she turned back to the oven to baste the glistening ham. “I ain’t arguin’ this with you, git upstairs and change.”

Charlie grumbled, before stealing another three strawberries from the bowl under the watchful gaze of Bubba and Thomas. Bubba blubbered at him, before patting Ma’s shoulder to tattle; Tommy just stared.

“Charlie Sawyer Junior if you don’t git--”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’! Goddamnit, woman.”

Luda Mae shook her head, before turning to look up at her sons, who were staring down at her. Some folks might not think they’re much to look at, but Luda Mae felt they cleaned up real nice. Bubba’s hair was something to be proud of; his curls were thick and dark, bouncy like his personality and his painted mask complimented his black suit. His white button-up shirt was immaculate and she’d seen him being extra careful not to spill anything on it, wanting to be his very best for Monica. This was the equivalent of the boys’ first date, after all, and Tommy may be more reserved of the two but it was apparent he’d done the same careful preparation. Tommy’s suit was brown, but he skipped the jacket and opted for suspenders instead, and a tan bow-tie matched the half-mask of leather that he only wore on special occasions. It allowed his mouth free for eating but kept his nose and cheeks covered and gave him the confidence to be okay meeting Monica face to face--even if his stomach was full of butterflies. Bubba’s entire torso was full of them, if anyone cared to know.

“You boys are gonna be just fine.” Luda Mae gave Bubba’s masked cheek a pat, before that same hand patted Tommy’s shoulder. “You two go sit, pick out a seat where she can sit between ya. The family’ll be comin’ in soon and you know Chop Top and Nubbins can’t be trusted not to try and take her.”

Tommy grunted in annoyance at that, nearly shoved into the hall as Bubba started for the dining room--he was not about to let that happen!

When Charlie came outside to collect the family for dinner, he found Monica was still where he’d left her, surrounded by the entirety of the Sawyer clan (a few more had arrived after they did but hadn’t even come inside, wanting to meet the newest member of the family) and Monica had one of the toddlers on her lap, the little girl all smiles up at Monica.

“C’mon, y’all. Time for dinner.”

Charlie was patient as Monica handed the reluctant toddler back to her mother, the baby making a few fussy noises and trying to cling on. As soon as Monica’s hands were free, the twin boys from before latched onto them, trying to drag her toward the door.

“Come on, you can sit with us!”

“No way in hell,” Charlie just about spat out. “You youngins are all sittin’ at the kid’s table, where ya always sit. Monica here’s sitting between Bubba and Tommy.”

Monica glanced up at Charlie even as the boys continued to drag her, not at all deterred by this news. Bubba and Tommy? She didn’t think she’d met them, though she’d met so many Sawyers tonight it would likely be hard to tell. Charlie just gave her a wink as he followed her in, the boys leading her to the dining room where the Sawyers were all talking and laughing as they settled around a large dining table. It was buffet-style long, designed to to hold a family this size, and though Monica could only glance around a little, she could see the house complimented it’s rustic country surroundings--but it wasn’t dirty. She could still smell the cleaning products in the air; fresh country air filtered in from open windows and coupled with everyone looking well-dressed (even Uncle Charlie had changed!) Monica could piece together they really had done all of this just for her arrival. She had...no idea why they had, but she couldn’t deny it made her feel special--a sentiment that only grew as the entire family stood when she entered the dining room. She was so distracted with the little boys clutching at her fingers she hadn’t noticed everyone else had gone inside, and she could appreciate the size of this family.

“Sawyer Clan, this is the little peach I was tellin’ you about,” Luda Mae, from her spot at the head of the table, gestured with a mother’s pride. “Monica. Monica, these are your Sawyers.”

The reception of her was full of boisterous cheers and hello’s, of clapping and excited smiles, so that Monica missed Luda Mae’s deliberate wording of your Sawyers. She couldn’t get the boys to let go of her hands to wave, they were stuck like glue to her, but she ducked her head with a smile. “N-Nice to meet you all. Thank you so much for all this, for inviting me over.”

Bubba and Thomas were rooted to the floor as Monica spoke, addressing their family but each man was fine to imagine she was talking to them alone. As she swept the room with eyes greener than summer sun through a gemstone, when she looked at them her gaze did linger. Bubba sucked in a sharp breath, steeling himself for her to recoil in horror, readying his heart to shatter, and Tommy braced himself to lumber after her if she ran--but she didn’t. She stared at them, questions flitting over her beautiful, expressive face but she didn’t recoil and she didn’t look at them with disgust. Her smile didn’t even waver; in fact, it deepened, and Bubba felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Tommy had to look down. He didn’t deserve such a pretty smile, but he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight again.

“Boys, take Monica to her seat, if’n you please,” Luda Mae gestured to the boys clinging to Monica’s hands and they nodded with a simultaneous--

“Yes, Grandma.”

Monica allowed the boys to lead her around the curve of the table, her smile showing teeth as she passed Luda Mae, who gave her an affectionate pat on the back. Every Sawyer went out of their way to move out of her way, gracious as they gestured or introduced themselves if they hadn’t had the pleasure to meet her outside, and Monica finally, finally got to know who Bubba and Tommy were as she was led to the empty seat between two...extremely tall, stocky men. The only two men at the table wearing masks. Monica glanced up between them with a nervous flip in her tummy but as she approached, the one in the full face mask immediately pulled her chair out for her and she caught sight of his hand shaking. Was he...Was he nervous? Monica couldn’t imagine what a man so big could have to be nervous about; the hand that pulled out her chair looked capable of driving a nail into a board with a single punch.

“Thank you,” Monica gave the little boys’ hands a squeeze as they finally let her go, but she had a feeling she’d be seeing them again before the night was over. They had certainly taken a shine to her. She then turned up to the man who’d pulled out her chair. “And t-thank you.”

“That’s Bubba,” Luda Mae called from her seat. “You may hear us callin’ him Jed, but he prefers Bubba.”

The male at her other side helped Monica into her seat, pulling her up to the table with one arm and Monica was once again left marveling at the strength these two hefted around with obvious ease.

“And that’s Thomas,” Luda Mae settled into her seat with that same motherly smile. “Can call him Tommy if you like. Charlie always does.”

Charlie shot Monica a wink from his spot to Luda Mae’s right.

“N-Nice to meet you, Bubba,” Monica turned her smile up to the male in the full mask, not missing the excited babble that drifted out from behind the latex.

“The boys cain’t talk much, but that don’t mean they won’t try.” Charlie laughed as he reached for one of the bottles of beer at the center of the table. “Bubba there’ll babble your damn ear off. Tommy just grunts.”

Monica turned to Tommy, nearly having to look away at the way he was staring at her. That half-mask was way more intimidating than Bubba’s mask; it reminded her a little of Hannibal Lector’s mask, but the more she looked at Tommy, the more his eyes softened behind the leather and she felt herself relax in turn. She’d already seen Bubba’s boyish brown eyes resembled a little boy’s under the mask he wore; despite their intimidating presence and appearance, the two didn’t seem to mean her any harm.

“T-Thank you, too, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded once, his eyes on her lips as she spoke.

“Well now, y’all go on ahead and dig in--boys, why don’t you serve our guest?”

Luda Mae’s blessing got the food started around, and Monica could only watch, a little speechless, as Bubba and Tommy both reached for a different plate; Tommy picked up the ham, serving her more than she could ever hope to eat--she had no way of knowing he thought she looked like she needed to eat--and Bubba was double-fisting two different plates of assorted vegetables. As the boys worked in tandem, Monica watched as her dinner plate, salad plate, and soup bowl were all filled to the point of over-flowing with hearty southern favorites sure to leave her way, way full and probably a little sleepy. To top the meal off, Bubba poured Monica a glass of pink lemonade from a pitcher, only spilling it a little on account of he was so nervous in front of such a pretty girl.

“Way to go, retard.”

Monica sat forward a little to look down the table at the culprit behind such an insult, locking eyes with someone she knew was called Chop Top. The insult had affected Bubba immediately; he nearly dropped the entire pitcher, only just managing to set it down, babbling incoherent apologies toward Monica for his mess. She couldn’t see, but he was beginning to cry beneath his mask, absolutely terrified him spilling a little lemonade was going to be the thing that ran her off. Princesses deserve perfect! Stupid, stupid Bubba!

“That’s not very nice,” Monica chided Chop Top, unable to stop herself from speaking up. It may not be her place, but she felt...not sorry, for the two men at her side, but she knew they didn’t deserve to be called names. “Haven’t you ever spilled anything in your life?”

Chop Top opened his mouth to reply--not to snap, but to give her a taste of Sawyer vulgarity at how many times he spilled himself earlier at the thought of her--but Charlie cleared his throat the head of the table and Chop Top’s teeth clacked together at how quick he snapped his mouth shut. He’d only insulted Bubba as an attempt to get Monica to notice him; he’d risked the folly of his entire family for just a little bit of attention. Was it worth it? ...Yeah, it was.

“It’s okay, Bubba.” Monica placed a hand on Bubba’s trembling hand; it was so much larger she nearly lost her train of thought. He was trying to clean up the lemonade around her glass, but his fingers were shaking so badly he wasn’t much use for it. “Here.”

Bubba went still as Monica gently guided his hand to dab up the spilled liquid and the entirety of the table fell away. All the Sawyers were busy talking, eating, but Bubba couldn’t focus on anything other than Monica was touching him. He’d held a flower once or twice in his life; he remembered the petals being soft, and that was what her touch reminded him of. Love at first sight was too weak a description for this boy; he was head over heels already, his breath coming in short gasps because he wasn’t used to what he was feeling. No one...no one ever touched him. He was starving for affection and had no way of knowing it until she touched him, and as the lemonade was cleaned up, she let go of his hand and he couldn’t stop the blubbering, desperate noise he made. She looked up at him in surprise.

“A...Are you okay?” Her hand replaced itself on his arm and he calmed down, giving her a nod. Her smile returned and she gave his arm a pat. “Good.”

“The boys ain’t retards,” Charlie spoke up from his spot, pride in his tone--nothing to do with the boys not being slow, and everything to do with Monica standing up for them. Luda Mae’s smile was wide enough to show teeth. “They got a little bit of a disease, is all. Doctors told us it’s name years ago, said it’s uh...” Charlie snapped his fingers a few times. “Oh hell, what was the word?”

“Generated,” Monty spoke up from the other end of the table, lifting a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

Charlie shook his head. “Naw, that wasn’t it. Close, but started with a D.”

“...Degenerative?” Monica ventured.

“That’s the one!” Charlie snapped his fingers, pointing to her. “Degenerative. S’why they’ve got those masks on, their faces just don’t look right. They ain’t pretty to look at, mind, but they’re good boys.”

Monica risked another glance up at Bubba, then Tommy--who paused with a bite near his mask...which had some errant mashed potatoes on it. She laughed lightly, taking her napkin from her lap to gently clean it off. He sat like a statue as she did, and she watched his eyes flutter closed.

He desperately, in that moment, wished he was a handsome prince--he hated that he couldn’t feel her touch his skin because of the mask he hid behind.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Monica lowered her napkin, looking back up at Charlie and Luda Mae. “That can’t be easy, but...they definitely seem like good boys.”

Bubba made a happy noise behind his mask at the compliment, and Tommy gave her a small smile she could see behind the leather covering his face. This...was definitely the strangest dinner party she’d ever been to, but Monica couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying herself and the company.

Dinner took nearly two hours before anyone was even remotely finished; conversations kept people from eating, too busy gabbing and wanting to be the one to tell Monica about this or that--and she had so many questions herself to answer that she could barely keep up. The Sawyers, especially Bubba and Tommy, were so interested in every single thing she had to say. Bubba had pushed for her to talk at length about all the books she’s written, and when Tommy found out she could draw, he had to turn to get his Mama to tell Monica he wanted her to draw him just a little something so he could keep it. Of course, Bubba immediately wanted one, too! Monica had laughed a little shyly, explaining she’d left her sketchbook back at the motel but that she’d be happy to draw them both something and bring it back? That seemed to make them both over the moon happy. She thought it was simply the promise of a drawing, but the fact of the matter was...it meant she’d be coming back to see them again.

“But...what would you like me to draw?”

Tommy and Bubba had exchanged glances, before Tommy reached out, pointing at Monica’s chest. She furrowed her brow, as Bubba seemed to nod and agree.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t--”

“They want a drawing of you, honey.” Luda Mae offered, her elbows resting on the table as she smiled. “Probably wanna hang it up in their room.”

Monica blushed prettily. “A-Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded once; Bubba hadn’t stopped nodding since he started. Monica could draw herself, she’d done it a few times before, but shyness was making her a little self-conscious--and in that moment, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was.

“How...How about I take a picture with you two? And I’ll draw it, and you can hang that up?”

Neither Tommy nor Bubba had had their photos taken since they were in diapers; at least, not willingly. Some mean tourists had snapped some photos of the pair when they were pre-teens, but that was the very last time. Bubba lowered his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously, and Tommy was staring at his plate. Monica’s assumption had been right; their self-esteem issues were through the roof, but she knew this could be helpful! And she didn’t know why, but some part of her wanted to help them.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You can leave your masks on.” Monica gave Tommy’s hand an encouraging pat, turning to Bubba. “Your make-up looks so pretty, don’t you want to see what it looks like?”

Bubba nodded, blubbering quietly. He would have agreed to anything she said, really, and Tommy may seem stoic but he was in the same boat.

“Well lookit that.” Charlie whistled lowly, replacing the toothpick in his mouth with a fresh one. “Boys ain’t taken a picture in years.”

“They just ain’t had a good reason to.” Luda Mae gestured with a smile. “Why don’t y’all take it out on the porch? It’s quieter out there, and it’ll give us time to clear and get the dessert on the table.”

Monica nodded, and Tommy pulled her chair out for her, both men standing as she did; she hadn’t forgotten how tall they were, was difficult to when she’d been sitting beside them all evening, but they all but towered over her the moment they straightened up. It gave a curious stirring of butterflies in her tummy all over again, and she nearly forgot to grab her phone from her purse before stepping away from the table, following Bubba toward the front door, Tommy lumbering at her back. She didn’t pull away when he reached over to take her hand--whether or not it was forward, or appropriate, Monica found she couldn’t care about that. There was something about these two that seemed to subvert social norms; she wasn’t in a big city, she wasn’t needing to put on airs or worry about what was right or what was wrong. Tommy held her hand like one would a glass figurine, as if she were breakable, and there was something so sweet about that she just couldn’t care why he wanted to hold it in the first place.

Out on the porch, the Texas night was a blanket of darkness littered with starlight, and the full moon cast the plains in an ethereal gloom. The sun was long gone and took with it it’s warmth and Monica immediately shivered, unable to believe she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket--

Immediately, Bubba shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipping it around her shoulders with a soft, caring noise. His large, roughly calloused hands gave her arms a rub--a little roughly, as if he wasn’t used to being gentle, but Tommy grunted at him and his touch softened.

Monica gave him a smile. “Thank you, Bubba. It’s very warm.”

It smelled like him, too; like a home-cooked meal, still hot and ready, and it warmed her even as her skin lost some of it’s chill. Monica unlocked her phone, and was immediately aware of Tommy and Bubba curiously crowding close--she should have realized they...probably have never seen a smartphone before. She couldn’t be sure, she’d only caught a glimpse, but she was pretty sure the TV in the living room still had rabbit ears.

“Oh, my phone? Do you boys have a phone?”

Bubba immediately shook his head, babbling as he did so. Tommy was silent as he shook his, too.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll get one!” Monica couldn’t help saying that; she wasn’t...sure they could even read, but the way their eyes both lit up was worth telling them anything was possible. They were the biggest men she’d ever seen, but there was something so sweet and innocent about them, as if they were little boys wrapped up in a very tough, scary exterior.

Monica was so new, she had no way of knowing this was solely because of her. These two boys, while their family treated them well enough, most days, had never really known kindness. They’d been bullied out of school at a young age, so no they weren’t able to read or really write. They couldn’t talk, so most assumed they were retarded, slow--and their appearance made them ugly. Hideous monsters that hid out in their family’s basement, preying on passersby with chainsaws and gnashing teeth. They had their fair share of violence and death, they knew all of life’s hardships and had eaten at the table of suffering with seconds and some might even say thirds. What they needed now was exactly what every monster in a fairy tale needs--a princess. Someone soft, beautiful, angelic and kind, to chase away bad dreams from childhood torment and to make the monster in the mirror a little easier to look at. Neither Tommy nor Bubba were comfortable with the idea of showing Monica who they really were beneath their masks, not yet--but it wasn’t because they didn’t want to. She was the nicest person they’d ever met, and they’d gladly do just about anything she asked--they just couldn’t imagine she’d look at them the same way once she saw their faces. No one ever had, but these two were suffering from the same problem all monsters in fairy tales suffer from; a lack of hope from being let down time and time again. It had taken time to sow those terrible wounds, and it would take time to undo them. The boys were convinced Monica would be the one to do that...perhaps, sadly for her, she’d never have another choice. The moment they’d laid eyes on her it sealed her fate. The boys may not be slow, but they ain’t all there upstairs, either. Now that they were convinced she was the princess from their fairy tales, she’d never truly be away from them again.

But...maybe that wasn’t so bad?

As Tommy and Bubba bent their spines, resting their cheeks against Monica’s for a picture, Monica didn’t feel the least bit worried or scared. The picture came out beautifully; her smile was something neither of the boys could look away from, but all she could see was that, beneath their masks, Tommy and Bubba were smiling, too.

All fairy tales have to start somewhere, and not all of them are going to start, or even end, the same. That story, with the handsome prince on his faithful steed, that’s been done to death. Maybe it’s finally the monsters’ turn to get the girl of their dreams.

Yeah, that’s not so bad, after all.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : january 2019 #{character} : bubba sawyer #{character} : thomas hewitt #{ this came out way longer than i'd anticipated }#{ but it was so much fun to write }

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othercat2 · 6 years ago

Text

fic: the heroes of the imperium and the av club 1/?

Crooked Little House Part Two, in which Karkat is on a mission to make sure no kills anyone else, the Disciple counts heads and gets the heroes ready for their fifteen minutes of fame, and Gamzee...isn’t doing too well.

==>Karkat: wake the hell up

In your dream, Aradia is very earnestly explaining something to you, while you’re standing in front of a door. You nod, not really listening because you’re experiencing a terrifying amount of déjà vu. You are the definition of hesitation, expecting Jack to appear at any moment. “Go for it dude,” Dave urges you.

“Carpe noctem!” Jade says with a grin.

“What about you guys?” you can’t help but ask.

“We have a ways to go yet, don’t worry about it,” Dave says, and pats your shoulder.

“‘Ways to go yet?’” John asks.

“That is a surprisingly down home turn of phrase,” Rose agrees.

“Wow, fuck you guys,” Dave says. “Here I am trying to reassure my nubby bro here and you have to ruin our Moment. Moments are sacred, okay?”

“I will do approximately all of the worrying,” you say, ignoring the exchange. “If you can’t come with, what’s going to happen to you guys?”

“We got our own doors, dude,” Dave says. “We’re a bit further out than you guys.” He doesn’t mention that this is most likely what Aradia had been telling you, that you hadn’t been paying attention to. You can hear it in his voice though. Smug asshole.

You clamp your mouth shut against the wigglerish wail of, but I’ll never see you again! Instead, you nod. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

“You’re making it happen,” Dave says.

You snort and open the door. Eleven of you head through the door. You turn back for a moment before following your friends. Dave’s smiling at you, and behind him Jade is giving you double pistols and a wink. Dork. John and Rose are waving at you, and their Dancestors are looking on with polite interest. You smile back and wave before heading through the door and everything vanishes and reassembles.

You wake up to a persistent ping from a husktop that is too shiny and new to be yours. Everything in the room you’re in is too shiny and new to be yours, the room included. You can smell paint; it’s that kind of new. You work your way out of the recuperacoon, scraping off slime that you can tell doesn’t have a whole lot of sopor in it, and head over to the new husktop. A Trollian window is blinking at you.

[circesCalamity (CC) is trolling carcinoGeneticist (CG) !]

CC: You up yet sprat?

CC: Wake up already time’s wasting.

CC: There’s shit that needs doing.

CC: Wake the shell up.

CC: Wake up.

CC: Your Empress requests and requires you to stop wasting her time.

[carcinoGenetcist (CG) is staring at the screen!]

CC: Finally. Thought y’all were going to sleep a hundred sweeps like some dumbass bowling with fairies.

[carcinoGeneticist (CG) is not typing!]

CC: What you’re supposed to say right here, sprat is, “forgive me, your majesty,” and then some kind of bullshit about being at my service.

CG: …

CG: FORGIVE ME YOUR MAJESTY… I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA OF WHAT TO SAY.

CC: Not much like your Ancestor then. Basshole never shuts up and he’s fucking dead.

[carcinoGeneticist (CG) is not typing!]

[carcinoGeneticist (CG) has resumed staring at the screen!]

CC: Okay, shit. First things first. I am not the beach from your timeline, but I have a general idea of how shit went down. I got the download of what the hell’s going on as a result of this being a restart iteration of our universe, and you sprats arriving from the Game.

CC: Are you following me so far?

CG: …

CG: YES YOUR MAJESTY.

CC: Aight. This universe more or less follows your universe’s timeline except for the following: A) I have never had a lusus and there ain’t any hosts, excellent or otherwise on the green moon. B) Y’all got inserted into this timeline at about the point you left it for the game. C) There ain’t any game from this point, and there won’t be one. D) A whole bunch of history happened here that didn’t happen the way it did in your timeline, so y’all are going to be retaking a whole fuckload of history modules. E) Your hemotype is not a death sentence.

CC: You got all that, nubs the younger?

CG: YES YOUR MAJESTY.

CC: Your job right now is to see about getting everyone up and ready to meet your Pouncelor. Also you’re going to be doing some media appearances and shit like that. Y’all have done a Great and Entirely Classified Service to the Empire. We got speeches and everything prepared for all y’all, so don’t worry about it.

CG: OKAY. I’LL GET RIGHT ON THAT.

CC: Awesome.

[circesCalamity (CC) is no longer trolling carcinoGeneticist (CG)]

You stare at the conversation a moment, not quite believing what you’re reading. You’re a little worried about the mention of a “pouncelor” and “media appearances.” You’re even more worried about where you are and everyone being alive again. It’s not that you’re unhappy your friends are alive again, it’s just…you’re worried. Really worried.

You dress and venture out of the block and into a hallway that slants slightly and creaks. There’s four doors spaced unevenly down the hallway, which ends in another hallway on one end, and a flight of stairs going down at the other. The second hallway turns around a corner. There’s four more doors and another set of stairs on one end, this one going up, and some kind of glassed in balcony/green house on the other. It’s full of plants and the glass is tinted. There’s a long window seat, a couple of chairs, miniature fountains, and a little pool full of fish.

Outside, there’s a huge fenced in lawnring with a swimming pool. There are also trees and flowerbeds. Beyond the fence is forest, and above the trees are the green and pink moons.

Past the balcony is another staircase that has two landings going down. At the bottom is a kind of cul de sac with three doors. You go back up the staircase to the greenhouse, and from there go back to the stair case going up. There are three doors and a half circle stained glass window in the hallway. There’s another staircase going up, that you think might go to the roof or an attic. You don’t test it just yet.

So, you’re supposed to be waking people up, not just exploring the house. You knock on the nearest door, not sure who to expect. (Highest floor, so maybe one of the highbloods?) There’s a protest noise on the other side of the door. “Rise and conquer, this is your leader speaking!” You shout, and knock a little louder.

“Why are you in my hive?” The voice--Vriska’s-- on the other side of the door is muffled and outraged. “Wait, am I actually in your hive? What the hell?”

“It’s no body’s hive,” you say. “Maybe everyone’s hive, I have no fucking clue. Just get up.”

“Uuuuuuuugh,” Vriska says. “Fine.” She emerges wearing a blue fuzzy ablution block robe decorated with little gold spiders, and matching slippers. Her hair’s been shaved along the sides, with a long strip in the middle. “Dibs on the bathroom,” she says.

“There’s probably more than one ablution block,” you tell her.

“Don’t care,” she says with an almost familiar toss of her mane. “I get dibs on the first one.”

The next room turns out to be Nepeta’s, and the last is Equius’. Both are kind of confused and want to know what’s going on. “Let’s get everyone together first,” you tell them. “I only have the very vaguest of an inkling of what the fuck and I don’t want to repeat myself over and over.”

You’re all about to head down to the next floor when there’s some thumping from the ceiling. It turns out that the house does have an attic, which is accessible by a hatch and a very narrow stair case that drops down, not the staircase at the end of the hall. It takes Eridan about five minutes to both find the hatch, and get it descend, which it does with extreme creakiness. (Equius says something about repairing it.) Eridan comes down in striped pajama bottoms and a violet ablution block robe. “Kar,” he says with quiet wariness. “You still mad at me?”

“I have every reason to be,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” Eridan says, and looks away. “S’long as you don’t want to cut me in half,” he says, almost humorously. “God,” he says, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Me and Fef, we got most of our mad out,” he says. “Maybe. Might be better to stay upstairs because of Kan, though.”

He means, you realize, he and Feferi talked it out in the dream bubbles. “Yeah, no,” you tell him. “I will protect you from the chainsaw of fuck you, get moving.” You herd everyone down to the next floor. The first occupant of this floor you find is Tavros. He’s already awake and singing to himself in one of the two bathrooms on this level. Vriska immediately disappears into the second one.

You yell at Tavros to hurry up. The next occupants you find are Aradia and Sollux. The door to what you’re pretty sure is her room is open, and they’re both sitting on the bed, sharing a husktop. “Hello, Karkat!” Aradia says cheerfully. Sollux gives you a very tiny, completely annoying glance over his shades and waves. “Pouncelor Leijon says she’ll be here in about an hour.”

“Great,” you say. “Wait, you talked to her?”

“Leijon?” Nepeta asks with great curiousity.

“Meulin Leijon, your Ancestor,” Aradia says. “Yep! She says she’s bringing breakfast, and wants to introduce herself and familiarize us with school feeding and something called juvenile care and socialization?”

“She’s like some kind of troll lusus or cavern tendant,” Sollux says.

“Tendants?” Eridan mutters, incensed. “Like we’re little grubs?”

“If she’s Nepeta’s ancestor, she’s an olive, not a jade,” Equius says uncomfortably.

“No, really?” Sollux says, scoffing. “Apparently this job doesn’t require that you be a jade,” Sollux says.

“But jades are the only adults permitted to be on the planet,” Equius says. “I am not sure we are equipped to meet an adult.”

“Surprised I didn’t hear an ‘even if olive,’ there, EQ,” Sollux says.

Equius frowns at Sollux. “And you won’t,” he says. “If Nepeta is strong willed and appallingly murderous, her Ancestor could be no less.”

Nepeta hugs Equius’ arm. “You say the sweetest things, Equi-hiss,” she says. “Anyhow, it sounds like she’s supposed to be here to help? Not attack us.”

“Everyone should be on the alert anyway,” you say. “This whole situation is weird.”

You continue your mission, only Eridan and Sollux following you while everyone else chats with Aradia and each other. There is something really weird going on with them and you’re not sure what the hell it is. The biggest thing is that they aren’t arguing with each other, which is weird. (And you have really clear memories of their stupid fucking arguments all the time on the meteor, just before Eridan completely lost his mind and decided throwing in with Jack could be a thing.) The second thing is that they are moving in fucking step with each other. “So, you guys also talk your mad out in the bubbles?” you ask.

“Something like that,” Eridan says.

“Fucking bullshit is what it was,” Sollux says. “Goddamn Hope players.”

“Says the Doom player who wouldn’t fucking let go,” Eridan says. Despite the words, he sounds almost chipper about it.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you’re talking about?” You ask.

“We got dumped into a sprite,” Sollux and Eridan say in unison. “Obviously.”

“Shit,” you say. “Are you um. All right?”

“Think so,” Eridan says. Sollux shrugs.

“Who was your player?”

“Jake,” Sollux says. “Tally ho what old egg let me impersonate Troll Bertie fucking Wooster, only it wasn’t’ an impersonation, he really talked like that.”

“Feferi an’ Nepeta really would have been a better sprite combo than me and Sol. Which is probably what Gamz wanted,” Eridan says.

“We wouldn’t have been any better with that Roxy chick,” Sol disagrees. “Or with Dirk.”

“Coulda spilled all the legumes about Princes so he could fix his shit,” Eridan says.

“Except we also wouldn’t’ve given a fuck because of our own shit,” Sol says.

Eridan sighs. “Point.”

Your digestion bladder meanwhile does a slow flip, knowing Gamzee was probably going to be here too. You don’t know how you feel about that, so you focus on finding everyone else. Next is Feferi who comes out of her room wearing dark shades and a head wrap covering her ears, looking spooked, not wearing even a bit of fuchsia. “Carp-cat!” She says, brightening at the sight of you. She wraps you up in a tight, startling hug. “You won’t believe who I got done talking to!” She goes on to give hugs to Eridan and Sollux. “Holy crappie! I’m so glad to see you all, even though I knew you’d be alewife,” she says.

“The Empress?” You guess.

Feferi gives a quick nod, looking spooked again.

“New look, Fef?” Eridan asks. Her hug attacks have ended on him, somehow. It’s kind of jarring, and pretty far from what you remember. It’s obvious though that Eridan hadn’t been exaggerating about making up in the dream bubbles.

“Whale see, apparently trolls react certain ways to certain colors,” Feferi says. “It’s all instinct right, how you respond to those colors. Fuchsia’s attack each other. Like instant black rom or somefin. The instinct is reely, reely strong in Fuchsia bloods, and even though it mostly shows up in my fins because my eyes haven’t come in yet I gotta get used to covering up my fins and eyes because she’s coming here for a visit!”

Eridan immediately wants to know more about color reactions for obviously casteist reasons. Sollux and Feferi whack him into a sulky but somehow satisfied silence. You do not want to know. You do not care. You are kind of panicked by the idea of a visit from the Empress. At the same time, you kind of remember Meenah, and it seems like this Empress is pretty much like her, in a lot of ways. “We’ll blow up that bridge when we get to it. Right now we apparently have Nepeta’s Ancestor incoming and we still need to find Terezi, Kanaya…and Gamzee.”

You find Terezi coming upstairs, having apparently done her own bout of exploring on the ground floor of the house. Kanaya has joined the group hanging out by Aradia’s room. Her room is apparently one of the rooms on the sub floor past the garden.

The one you don’t find is Gamzee. You find what was apparently supposed to be his room though, on the same level that Kanaya’s room is on. (This definitely seems like a good idea that wouldn’t go wrong in any sense, yeah.) The window is open, and a mid-season breeze is bringing in the smell of wet trees and leaves.

#homestuck #fan fic #karkat vantas #crooked little house

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btsinspirationtakesme · 7 years ago

Text

BTS Reaction to you being scared during a scary movie

It’s nearly Halloween and this was in my drafts since last April so I thought what better way that to light a Jack-O-Lantern than publish this.

Jin

You were okay with movies, scary included. This one was about a haunted child coming out from the shadows and stalking some campers. You chewed on your popcorn happily until Jin let out his running commentary.

“What? THAT GUY SERIOUSLY LOOKS LIKE A GHOST HOW CAN THEY NOT SEE HE’S THE BAD ONE!” He yelled, grabbing a fistful of popcorn and chewing.

Little did you know, this was his coping mechanism as the frightening parts built up. Jin’s first scream just before the moment of truth when the haunted child was supposed to come out of the shadows and creep up on the camper scared the living daylights out of you.

“AHHHHH!” His short screams started. “AHH! WHAT THE HELL!”

You clutched your heart in fear because you weren’t expecting him to scream moments before as anticipation was building.

“What the fuck-” You were cut off by his arms wrapping you in closer.

“It’s okay baby, I know you’re scared but I’ll protect you.” He said, as if you were the one frightened.

You gave him the look.

Yoongi

You were a cool, calm and collected person. You had to be for the guy next to you to put up with. There was no way something like a movie about a stalker on facebook was going to make you scared. That was, until the main character started logging onto facebook compulsively and someone different started typing every time she was on messenger.

“Shit shit shit.” You said under your breath.

You were getting scared, and this movie was known to make people feel uncomfortable. You looked at Yoongi, who you should have expected nothing less for: he was asleep. Of course.

“Yoon-” You were cut off by his arm dragging you onto him.

“Stay here and turn it off I’m going to protect you in my arms.” His sleepy voice said as he tightened his grip on you.

Hoseok

The mother in the movie was about to be killed by her ex husband, and the anticipation was building up fast. You and Hobi were both holding each other, but when the moment came it was like a battle between who could scream the loudest.

“AHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“AHHHHH!!!!!!”

“CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT?!” You were both broken from your screaming contest by Yoongi calling from the other room.

Namjoon

You were totally acting like everything was okay. You were a sophisticated, intelligent girl and some stupid guy with a horse for a head going around killing people in their dreams was not about to scare you.

Namjoon who was otherwise engrossed in the movie sensed something was wrong though an hour into the movie when your body was shaking.

“Should I turn up the heating, are you cold baby?” He asked, feeling your goosebumps on your arm. Busted, you thought. Namjoon and you had been dating for nearly a month now, but you didn’t want to give your little fear away so soon.

“I’m fine.” You said in a small voice, focusing in on the TV as the horse head devoured a woman.

Namjoon wasn’t buying your excuse as he scanned your worried features before breaking out into a smile as your secret got out of the bag when you jumped seeing the horse head guy come out the blue again.

“What planet is this director on for wanting to give people a heart attack like that!” You yelled, nuzzling yourself into Namjoon’s neck as you spread your arms around his chest.

“Are you scared, babygirl?” Namjoon asked in your ear this time, sending shivers down your spine.

“N-no, just really annoyed at the level of cinematographic ass this movie has.” You lied.

You felt Namjoon smile even more into your hair. “Oh. We can watch Chainsaw Redemption, someone nearly died because it was so frightening. I heard the movie was filmed really well too.” He said in a whisper, tracing his hands down your arms.

Safe to say, you really dug yourself a hole there.

Taehyung

The movie itself wasn’t scary, or frightening. No, you were coping fine with a movie about a killer boyband and part of you found it funny. What was scary was Taehyung pointing out better ways the members could kill each other.

“T-Taehyung-ah are you, feeling okay?” You asked, worried by Taehyung’s exact precision.

“Yeah, fine. I love you baby.” He said with a soft smile, tucking a trand of hair behind your ear.

Your boyfriend certainly had his personality switches.

Jimin

Jimin didn’t like scary movies, and you really hated them yourself but there was nothing else that was interesting on TV.

You were both under a warm duvet on the sofa, and the movie was starting to bore you both.

“Don’t you get scared?” Jimin asked, a shy smile on his face.

“Why, so you can protect me?” You said back, looking into his eyes with a shy smile on your face too as you laid your head in the crook of his neck.

The scream coming from the TV made you jolt though, because it was unexpected.

“Yes, you spoke to soon.” Jimin said smirking as he brought your head back down to his neck again.

Jungkook

You were trying to really stay calm as you saw the creepy clown about to come out from the shadows. You peeked out the corner of your eye to see Jungkook engrossed in the movie, looking curious but not fearing for his life that a creepy death like clown could jump out of the TV and stalk him at night. No, that's what you were convinced would happen to you. The intense music built up, and you were on absolute edge that you grabbed Jungkook as soon as you heard the cackle of the clown. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and Jungkook smirked.

'I thought you said you didn't mind horror movies.'

'Shut up, Jeon Jungkook and make me feel loved. You better not go anywhere out at night today I don't wanna be home alone'. You warned glaring up at him from under his neck. He found your eyes doe like and endearing looking down at you.

'Ahhhhh, don't look at me like that, baby because that means I can't say no.'

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts

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sovinly · 7 years ago

Note

Okay okay i have one: Taakitz, Fake Relationship? Like to make a relative happy or to piss odd a crotchety homophobe. Ofc they had Feelings the whole time

Oh man, okay! Thank you for the excellent choice of prompt! I am not entirely sure on the mechanics of this AU - is it an always!Faerun au? A two-suns planet non-Hunger au? WHO KNOWS, but we’re rolling with it! Oh my god this got long.

“You can’t borrow Barry, I’m using him,” Lup tells Taako mercilessly. “Barry is a babe who doesn’t mind looking pretty while I do the heavy lifting. Drag along one of the others.”

Taako scoffs. “Please. Half of them are chucklefucks who’d throw off my game and the other half would drink the cooking wine and bitch about its vintage. Who the fuck decided this class had to be a couple’s only gig? That’s fuckin’ bullshit, my dude.”

Lup shrugs, tosses a grape in her mouth. “You open a cooking school, you can prohibit couple’s classes. Y’wanna borrow Kravitz? Bet we could bill it as workplace bonding time.”

Despite himself, Taako considers it.

“Oh!” Kravitz says, flustered and faintly red. “Uh, I’m no good in the kitchen, but uh, sure, if it would help. I’ll go.”

“Rad,” Taako replies and throws in a wink for good measure, and ignores the faint flutter in his chest.

Cooking isn’t fucking romantic. It can be, Taako is no stranger to wooing people with food, but it’s a goddamn crime to act like that’s a good way to learn it.

Take Lup and Barry, the next bench over, where Barry stands with perpetual hearts in his eyes while Lup tosses through the drawer with an expert eye. They’ve got their vibe figured out, but it’d be a disaster if they were actually here to get Barry some mad cooking skills.

So yeah, Taako’d rather be doing this alone. Or hell, even with Lup, because they still work in perfect, unconscious synchronicity.

Instead, he’s working with Kravitz, who admittedly seems pretty chill and pretty fuckin’ handsome, all dark dreadlocks and crisp shirtsleeves. Awkward and anxious, too, cutting Taako occasional glances like he’s worried he’ll upset their cooking station if he leans on it.

Not that he’d mind, really, going on a date with Kravitz, checking out the maybe-vibe Taako thinks he’s picking up, but he’s thinking that’s more of a wine-and-pottery dealio, not a fucking cooking workshop. But Taako wants those good good Halfling pastry secrets, so they’re doing this.

“You ready, my fellow?” Taako asks him, glancing up from testing the edges of the knives.

“Bit late if I’m not, isn’t it?” Kravitz replies with a crooked, charming smile - it could be the edge of flirtatious, but Taako doesn’t want to read too much into it, not yet.

“Would you like me to chop the coriander for you?” Kravitz offers, two nights in.

“Hell yeah,” Taako agrees, flashing a brief, sparkling smile, and then, because the instructor is glancing at them, tacks on, “babe.”

It’s always been Lup’s endearment more than his, and it feels awkward on Taako’s tongue, strange to apply to this co-worker of hers that Taako finds devastatingly attractive.

Kravitz just smiles back, red and a little bashful, and holds his hand out so Taako can hand him the right knife.

Barry and Lup have gone rogue and are no longer even pretending they’re equally invested in the class. Barry sits perched on a stool, elbows on the bench, and chatters about optimal angles in necromantic magic arrays while Lup hums sounds of interest and applies her wicked knife skills to a fatty cut of chicken.

It’s fuckin’ adorable is what it is.

Taako thinks about asking Kravitz if he’s elbowing in on some romantic opportunities, asking this favor, but Kravitz doesn’t seem wistful when he glances over, just amused.

“If cooking’s not your jam, what is?” Taako asks instead, a normal get-to-know you question. A normal new-relationship question.

“Jamming,” Kravitz says, a little dryly and a little too self-amused. He’s trying to slice nuts like a tomato, but he’s trying to be helpful, and Taako is more amused than disdainful. “I, uh, I play a couple instruments. Also card games.”

“Cool, cool.” Taako nods, wondering how long it’ll take Lup to find that out and rope Kravitz into Music Time. He shifts absently into Kravitz’s space and sets his hand on top of Kravitz’s, tilting the angle of his knife. “Oh boy. Boy howdy, that’s a clammy one. Look, uh, here’s the thing, you just rock the knife like this, yeah, you’re gonna chop ‘em with like, half the effort.”

Lup and Barry’s situation is so weird, Taako forgets sometimes, what death means. What dead means. But Kravitz doesn’t pull away, and Taako leaves his hand there for a moment more.

“Thank you.” Kravitz looks over and his smile is so soft.

“You, uh, don’t have to answer, obviously,” Kravitz prefaces, giving Taako plenty of space, and deftly brushes pastry with egg wash. “Taako, why do you do all this, uh, freelancing? It seems like you could do something, I don’t know, safer? Steadier?”

Taako is a fuckin’ master of Transmutation, let slip to Kravitz that he’s top of his field, has enough cooking cred that he could open a culinary academy, has a fucking PhD in philosophy while he’s at it. Flip wizard, hella combat expert, pretty damn good alchemist for not even minoring in the subject. Taako loves the spotlight, and Taako is good out here.

“I’m worried I’m gonna fuck it all up,” Taako says, easy as breathing, and transmutes the cinnamon to nutmeg, tastes it to be safe. “Like, fuck, y’know?”

Kravitz, incredibly, nods. “I’m, well, that’s a lot of honesty. But, yeah, I, uh, I get that. I mean...”

“I getcha, my dude.” Taako does, though. Taako knows Lup and Barry and the whole Raven Queen deal. It’s not easy stuff. Lup and Taako are still always ready to go off the grid, and Barry doesn’t seem to think it’s weird - they’re fucked up people, Kravitz probably has some fucked up shit, too. “We’re just doin’ what we can to get by, like jugglin’ fuckin’ chainsaws or some shit. That’s a Taako original, don’t wear it out.”

“I won’t,” Kravitz replies, laughing.

“Don’t get so distracted you don’t get to finish your dish,” the instructor chirps from behind them, but she’s smiling and gives them a wink, like they’re a legit couple, and it’s only then that Taako realizes how close they’re standing.

“So, my guy,” Taako says, out in the cold behind the community center, last class over.

“Mmn, yes?” Kravitz, wrapped up in black wool, a faintly shiny purple handknit scarf peeking through the collar, hands shoved in his pockets even though he can’t really be cold.

Taako could just walk away with a thanks and head home with his Best People, squishing in on Barry’s other side and giving him and Lup shit about all their PDA. He could just see Kravitz next time he dropped by after work, or at some weird metaphysical reaper work party. Fuck that, though.

“Y’wanna hit up the Chug’n’Squeeze next weekend?” Taako asks, slouching further into his own coat, left open over about five layers of cardigans and scarves. With Kravitz, there’s no real temptation to tilt his ostentatious wizard’s hat to shade his face, which is weird, but cool. It’s good. “Just pleasure, this time.”

Kravitz lights up, a warm smile crossing his face, sincere and sweet. “I’d love that. I had, um, I had a lovely evening, you know. Even if it wasn’t, uh, strictly pleasure this time.”

“S’cool, ch’boy did too,” Taako says, and leans up to kiss Kravitz’s cheek. “Listen, it’s cold as fuck, so Taako is not good out here, for once, but, uh. Hey, I’ll catch you this weekend?”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Kravitz promises, and catches Taako’s hand, pressing a cool, soft kiss to his palm before turning to slash open an interdimensional portal.

Taako rocks back on his heels to watch him go, warm.

#sovin writes things #taakitz #taz #so many aus so little time #taako is such a blast to write #thank you for the prompt darling! <3 #soupdrag0n

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seekthemist · 7 years ago

Text

Day 2 ~ Superhero AU

It wouldn’t be a @pynchweek if I didn’t end up publishing at unholy hours of the night, would it? Also, I’m a Very Dramatic Writer and I will prove myself as such all over again even within one shot ficlet, or so help me God.

Paging: @cabeswaterlovesthem, @picapicae and @actuallymollyweasley, let me know who else wants to be kept updated! The fill (T-Rated!) is mostly under the cut to avoid the wall-of-text effect.

You can also read this on Ao3!

Sometimes, in the hecticness that characterizes Adam’s days, he would really like to tell himself that he didn’t asked for any of this. Instead, he knows he kind of did, he let himself go through the rabbit holes of fever dreams, he listened to an omnipotent forest over and over again.

Cabeswater asked, at the end, “What role do you want in all this, child, now that you know?”

Adam only had one answer, “I will be your hands, I will be your eyes.”

And thus it all began.

****

It would be so much easier if Adam could be college student by day, superhero by night, but as a general rule of thumb Adam’s life is never easy, and the Greenmantels are not nocturnal enough for their plans to be disrupted only after dark. As a result, Adam routinely juggles two jobs, college work, some highly magical shenanigans and tries to get some sleep when he can.

And, more importantly, he tries to leave his group of friend and his boyfriend happily oblivious of everything, because he trusts them with his life and needs to keep them safe at the same time.

Every step he took, he chose. He keeps choosing it every day. They didn’t, so it’s not their burden to take.

Sometimes, though, Adam wishes it were easier, with everything out in the open. It would be possible, then, to admit that Cabeswater is overwhelming, that having a sixth sense without always being able to interpret it is confusing. That he doesn’t know what he’s doing. That he’s tired, so tired.

His friends just thinks he’s overworked, and in some sense he is, but nothing of what they tried would really help. Still, it’s endearing when Gansey always makes sure he has all the right books around to study on, when Blue constantly comes over with leftovers, when Henry provides a virtually unlimited supply of coffee exactly when Adam feels he really needs it. Ronan, inexplicably, always manages to be there exactly when Adam needs him, when the ice he’s walking on is at its thinnest, and never really makes him feel like he’s losing it.

He’s lucky, to have so many anchors. Adam says it to himself over and over again, soaking in the comfort Ronan’s fingers caressing along his naked back in a late spring night. Sleep is proving difficult to catch, in a background rustling of countless leaves that are not really in the room with them, and Ronan’s chest raises and fall rhythmically in his sleep.

Adam doesn't know how he’s managing to cuddle him and sleep at the same time, but his bones still ache from the crazy chase for displaces magical artifacts and four double shifts during the weeks, so he just wants more. He shuffle even closer, hooking one leg around Ronan’s and hiding his face in the familiar crook of his neck.

Ronan turns his head in his sleep and kisses an indefinite point on Adam’s hair before stilling again. Heat spreads through Adam’s nerves like a wave, and if he weren’t so damn drained he would maybe wake Ronan up, get himself a proper kiss, maybe even another round of sex.

His own limbs flip him off at the sheer thought of moving, though, so he stays put and lets himself slumber. It’s easier, with Ronan’s mindless touches anchoring Adam in this place, in this moment.

Cabeswater is already tended for, after all. Adam can sleep, and be rested for tomorrow. He will have his first day off in months and go with Ronan to see the old train station, open only for a day before they start the renewals.

It will be all right.

****

Except that it wasn’t.

If the ground weren’t shaking under his feet, the ceiling crumbling above his head while he tries to find cover with Ronan under an old ticket counter, Adam would scream in frustration.

He tried so hard to have everything in order for today, so hard that he managed to ignore whatever fuss Cabeswater has been having, so hard that he had been having unadulterated fun, for once.

So of course hell is raining down. He only has himself to blame.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Ronan’s voice itches in lungs. Adam has never felt him so panicked.

“The building is falling. The exit is blocked.” Adam doesn't like his own voice, detached and overly-clinical.

Cabeswater murmurs of current criticalities and damage control. The building will fall within ten minutes. The artifact that is wreaking havoc on the fundations is planted within one of the water mains with one of the Greenmantles devices — so much for thinking that he has neutralised them all.

Adam needs to do what he must. Even though Ronan is looking at him like he doesn’t know him, even though Adam might make him realize that he really doesn’t, even though this might be the end of his life like he knows it. He just does. So he gets up.

“Adam what the fuck are you doing?! Stay down!” Ronan scrambles to grab him, hands trembling.

Adam twines their fingers together. Just a bit, just two seconds, if this is the last time.

“You know it has been happening a lot, recently, right? And you know how it usually stops, don’t you?” He murmurs, barely audible above the rumbling of the constant, supernaturally localised earthquake that is shaking the world under their feet.

“I don’t see the fucking Magician here, though. Stay down, for fuck’s sake! Down!” Ronan is chalk white with terror, and still manages to munch through words just to try and get Adam to safety.

He cares, and Adam doesn’t know why it’s always so surprising. Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t deserve it.

Adam yanks his hands out of Ronan’s grip. “I’ll fix it. You’ll go back to your brothers, and the others, and Chainsaw. It’ll be okay.”

“Adam, please, what the fuck—”

“Ronan,” Adam murmurs, getting up. His eyes are burning, but maybe it’s just because Cabeswater is surging through his veins, making his fingers tingle with power. He strokes with one finger along Ronan’s cheek and retracts when his hands starts to cover in thorns. “I’m the Magician.”

He takes several steps away while Ronan looks at him, breathless and wordless.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam smiles, self-deprecating, and has the distinct sensation that the curve of his face is as disembodied as every other part of him, when it’s like this.

He spreads his arms. Vines jumps through the floor, along the walls, all the way up to the ceilings, his to use and his to command. Every colour is replaced by some shade of green in his eyes.

Somewhere in an impossible, echoing distance, Ronan screams.

****

“Adam! Adam, come on…”

Adam open his eyes and the sky is blue above him, between the towering heights of two buildings, too close together. Ronan is looking at him and the pavement of the alley is coarse under his back.

Honestly, he must be hallucinating.

“Mary Mother of Jesus, shit...can you see me? Can you hear me?” Ronan’s voice is earnest and conceited, too many question as once. Adam would call it a Gansey moment, in another situation.

“Yes,” he croaks out, voice broken. “I’m...where are we?” He’s confused. It’s never a good sign when he’s confused.

“Fuck. Oh my God,” Ronan combs his hair backwards. This can’t be true, this must be a trick of his mind in a terrible state. No one would touch him after seeing what full access to Cabeswater’s power do to him, how he’s barely even human anymore. “Away from there. You...I don’t know, you crushed this weird shiny stone and the building stopped shaking, but you went down like a brick. I had to bring you out.”

Ambulance and police sirens scream in the distance. Adam confusedly turns his head to follow them. Maybe they are not safe, here. Real or not, damage control is always his top priority, apparently.

“Quit it, for fuck’s sake, look at me,” Ronan sounds remarkably like Ronan, turning Adam’s head back to watch him. “Are you okay? Come on, Adam, talk to me.”

“I...I think I’m okay.” The struggle to avoid Ronan’s eyes is so real and urgent that Adam even forces himself to sit up. The ground sways underneath him. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

“You’re what?” Ronan snarls, rightfully angry and somehow still touching him, holding Adam by his shoulders when he sways. “Adam, I swear to God the moment you don’t look like you’re passing out I’m gonna kick your ass so hard…”

“I’m sorry,” Adam murmurs, miserably and yet confused. By the wording, by the sentiment, by the general way this scene is playing out. It doesn’t sound or look like he imagined Ronan after finding out.

“You didn’t tell me anything!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck sorry!” Ronan roars, and then tries to tune it down, possibly for the sake of not being heard. “You could have died, today! You could have died so many times! And you didn’t tell me anything!”

Adam finds himself looking up, looking at Ronan and his strange, unpredicted worries. It’s impossible not to sense the I’ve would have helped you that sits between the lines, but it’s disconcerting for Adam to realize that it’s true — that Ronan would have been there like he is now, that Ronan would have helped.

If his head weren’t pounding so badly maybe he would be able to say that he doesn’t need help, but at the moment he doesn’t have the strength. Not even to be self-denying, and that’s saying a lot.

“I didn’t want you to leave me,” Adam admits, shocking even himself one he hears his own voice.

“Fuck all the way off!” Ronan snaps, and yet hugs him tightly. “I’m not leaving you. I’m gonna fucking kill you, but I’m not leaving you.”

The lump in his throat expands so quickly that Adam can’t talk, tears swimming in his already burning eyes. He hides his head on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan, impossibly, lets him.

“We’re going home, now. So you can rest. And tell me everything, shit, like, really everything.”

Cabeswater has the audacity to bubble happily among his shattered thoughts.

Adam close his eyes, and nods.

#The Raven Cycle #My Writing #Pynch #Pynchweek17 #Superhero AU #Adam is a bit an overdramatic brooding superhero and I hope no one is really surprised by this

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hopesoldcomicblog · 8 years ago

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Fuck me gently with a chainsaw

A.N. Jason's significant other finds out Jason is back from the dead. hilarity ensues. inspired by an ask on @uncpanda

“well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.”

That was all you could say when faced with the person in front of you eating the banana bread you had made earlier that night. You heard Alfred yell at you from the other room. Something about being ladylike and swearing, you loved the guy you’d think he’d be more forgiving considering your dead boyfriend, your un-dead boyfriend was eating your food.

“sorry Alfred.” You called. You stared at the person in front of you, he was leaning against the (expensive, custom made, Italian) granite counter top shoveling the remainder of your baked good into his mouth. Crumbs dribbled down his now strong jawline, his more green than blue eyes stared into your (e/C) orbs with a mix of fear, nervousness, happiness and sheer confusion. You put your hand on your hips looking up at the taller man who had just been a boy when he ha been taken away. A smirk found it’s way to his face and he reached out to pull you into hug. You accepted the hug.

“Oh hay bab-“ he was trying to press his lips against your jawline, you placed your hands in between you and his lips as a barrier.

“don’t ‘Hey babe’ me Jason Peter Todd. You faked your death for five years, didn’t tell me, ate all of my banana bread and you told literally everyone else in the family except your romantic partner. Oh excuse me former significant other and ex-fiance. Couldn’t you at least have had the decency to warn me? Or tell me? Why did you tell him and not me.” Your finger jabbed at his chest as your venomous words poured out. Each question grew in coldness. You pulled off your simple engagement ring and through it at his chest. It bounced off and rolled to the floor. After you were done there was a silence shared between the two of you as the iciness of your words and actions settled

“(y/n) I ca-“ before he could explain you spun on your heels. He followed you out of the kitchen and into the living room attempting to explain himself. He grabbed your wrist, you spun around and grabbed the nearest item. Which happened to be a vase filled with lilies and water and dumped the contents on you on him. you then flung the vase at a the wall (narrowly) missing Jason’s head as it smashed against the wall.

“that’s for my banana bread you bastard.” You yelled as you stormed away leaving the black haired man in a puddle of water and trampled flowers.

Bruce found you in the batcave reading photo albums in a pile of used tissues and chocolate wrappers. He sat down next to you and carefully moved the stack of photo albums next to him.

“so Alfred told you.” You sniffled as you pulled your legs up to your chest.

“actually no, the shouting, broken ming dynasty vase and a wet Jason lead me into the direction that you had.”

“sorry about the vase.” You murmured into your knees not meeting your mentor’s gaze.

“it’s okay, I can get another one. Its one of the perks of being a multi-billionaire.” He winked at you in a succeeded attempt to cheer you up. “you know he actually did die, he was actually dead. The joker did murder him and we did bury Jason. It was Ra’s who brought him back using the pit.” You sat up straight, stared at him your hands balled up taking your shirt in your hands in an attempt to keep your fists from shaking. Tears began to well up in your eyes threatening to pool over your (s/t) cheeks.

“How long?”

“what?”

“how long have you known?” your voice was slipping into the same cold tone from before.

“Three months.” Bruce said sheepishly refusing to meet your gaze. You let out a small chuckle.

“looks like everyone in this family knew that my boyfriend has been alive for three months except me.”

“if it helps Barbara slapped him.”

“it doesn’t but thanks for the sentiment. How did you find out?” you had a small smile on your face as you stared at your father figure.

“You know the Red Hood?” Bruce asked as he rested his hands in his lap.”Well, while you were away in Europe three months ago on that mission for Barbara we caught him red handed-“

“pun intended?” you asked grinning. He nodded and continued with his story.

“he told us not to tell you because he wanted to do it himself. He wanted to apologize and woo you, his words not mine. I was so overwhelmed by having him back I never questioned it. I loved having my son back, I should have understood that you would want to have his lover back too. (y/n), Jason loves you, so please give him a chance to redeem himself. Please give me a chance to redeem myself.” Bruce’s words were gentle as he took your hand and placed your ring in the palm of your hand.

“Thanks Bruce” you said as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The two of you stood up and parted ways. Him to wherever the hell Bruce spends his free time that wasn’t the bat cave and you to Jason’s room. You opened the door to the room that had been left in almost museum-esque condition after his death. There you found Jason asleep on the almost bed that had been too large for sixteen year old Jason and now seemed like a doll bed for the new man. There were tear marks on his cheeks and a few new scars. His face seemed older, more worn, more scarred. You ran your fingers through his hair playing with the new white streak that according to Bruce had been a product of the Lazarus pit. He needed to touch up his roots, the strawberry blonde was sticking out from underneath the dark hair. You ran your fingers down his forehead, down his face, you touched his jaw. His stubble stabbed your soft thumbs.

Your hands ran down his neck, down his chest to the ‘Y’ shaped scar across his bare chest. You gently touched the white scar tissue, he stirred before his eyes flashed open. He grabbed your wrist before he was able to register who it was.

“(y/n)”. you nodded. You stared at him, he loosed the grip on your wrist not meeting your gaze. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Tears pricked your vision as both of you sat there gripping each other like you could be ripped apart at any moment.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” And then he kissed you. It was a slow Hollywood kiss, corny and gentle. He pulled away and then nestled his nose into your (color) hair.”you changed your shampoo.” He murdered as he breathed in, you nodded.

“hey babe, I’m sor-“ you cut him off with a feverish kiss. It was rough and passionate, you straddled him as you carefully held his hand in yours. You pulled away breathing heavily.

“Shush, Bruce explained everything.” You kissed him again, it was slower but still passionate. And then suddenly clothes were coming off and kisses were being shared under the covers.

He held you in his scar littered arms, your breathing matched eachother’s. your arms wrapped around his well defined waist as you both stared at each other (e/c) meeting aqua eyes. Both of you were smiling like idiots, like nothing was wrong.

“you kept the ring.”

“yeah, it felt wrong to get rid of it, to love someone else. To finally let you go, to finally except that you were actually gone.” He pulled you closer.

“I’m sorry I had to leave. But I’m back now and that’s what matters.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” You nudged your nose against his chest.”so Red Hood?” you teased.

“Yeah.” He grinned back.” I thought it was ironic. You know? Taking on the mantle of the man who killed me. Also aren’t you a little young to be making 80s chic flick references” He said with a wink.

“We’re literally the same fucking age Todd, also Heathers is a cinematic masterpiece. But seriously this explains the flirting. I was honestly starting to get freaked out that murderous, mentally unhinged, vigilante actually had a thing for me.” You said with a smirk.

“He does” Jason pressed a sloppy, wet kiss against your cheek.

“you know what I mean.” You teased back playfully swatting at him.” but I guess you can’t resist me”

“what can I say I’m a sucker for (h/c) haired cuties in skintight costumes with daddy issues and a thing for orphans” You said as he rubbed his freckled nose against your neck affectionately.

“You’re supposed to be my lover, not an asshole”

”I can be both. Ready for round two?” he said with a smirk his green-y blue eyes clouded over with lust.

“only if you bake me a replacement banana bread. I needed that for a meeting I have tomorrow.”

“don’t talk about work when I’m about to make love to you, you moron. Also consider it done” Jason said as he kissed you.

#mine #jason todd x reader #fic #red hood #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #batfamxreader #red hoodxreader #batfam x reader #jason todd

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