#I won’t mention this again probably but that’s grass and not hay

[higgs-da-rat]

Entity...................

#I won’t mention this again probably but that’s grass and not hay #so it’s softer and much less of a chance of them eating it rather than chew #ratblr #rats #my rats #higgs the rat #KISSES HIM A LOT

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

idk if you’re taking mad thomas requests but if you are can i request i’ve where he likes reader because she’s the only one who doesn’t treat him like a outcast and isn’t repulsed by him like the other townsfolk

This ask was so sweet here you go :)

Kind Gestures (Mad Thomas x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, developing relationship, confessions, mentions of drinking, partying and taking the berries, outcast!Thomas,

Word Count: 1.6k

"Good day, Thomas. Rough night?" You asked, looking down at where he laid on the hay covered ground.

Thomas, or Mad Thomas as the townspeople called him, was a man who was drunk more often than not. And, when he wasn't, it was usually because he had just woken up.

You were in your father's chicken coup, ready to finish your morning chores, but a familiar man was sleeping in it. He blinked up at you, and reached to rub his eyes. Silently, you were relieved. When you'd walked in and a chicken had been pecking at him, you'd almost thought him dead. From the way he shielded his eyes, you guessed the streams of sunlight were probably too much for the headache he had, and you watched as he smacked his lips. You asked,

"Thirsty?" And he squinted his eyes up at you and said a simple,

"Aye." You gave him a smile, and reached for your pouch. He sat up, groaning as he did, before he took it from you. You watched as he took a swig, and silently you wondered when the last time he drank any water was. You didn't say a word as he finished the pouch, and you took it back as you said,

"I don't mind you sleeping here, but I'm sure my father would." You started, walking away to begin checking each of the baskets to see if they had anything for you this morning. "There's some breakfast left if you're hungry." You offered, hoping that would stir him enough to get up.

You smiled to yourself when you heard the rustle of clothes, and you glanced over to watch him as he stood. Finally, he said,

"I don't need your charity." And your smile only grew. After all the years of you offering things to him, it was almost a tradition now. A routine. You placed the eggs in your basket, and looked over at him as you said,

"Think of it as a kind gesture." And you watched the corner of his lips turn up.

***

Your head turned when you heard someone clear their throat, and your eyes glanced down first to the wildflower someone was holding out for you. Quickly, your eyes flicked up, and, to your surprise, it was Thomas that was offering it to you.

"Yes, Thomas?" You asked him, a flicker of confusion went through your face, before you placed your bucket on the well. You took the flower, and watched as his shoulders relaxed. It was a strange sight, a sight that made you wonder.

"Just- For you." He said, waving at the thing. You smiled, quickly guessing that it was a repayment for this morning. You gave him a nod in thanks, and he turned away. You watched him stumble, and, immediately, you wrote it off. It made you smile to yourself a bit at the gesture, and you placed it in the strap of your apron as you went back to drawing water from the well.

You weren't alone for long. Couldn't be, in a town as small as Union. Lizzie was quick to come up to you, to grab your arm and whisper,

"What was that?" And you gave her a look. She was the towns gossip, and one of your friends. You knew she'd seen Thomas give you the flower, but, as you reached down to touch it, you couldn't find a thing wrong with the gesture.

"He was just giving me a gift, Lizzie. Nothing more." You told her, but you watched the way disgust clouded her face. You frowned, watching as she glanced over at the man. You loved her, dearly, but you wished the people of Union weren't so plagued with distaste for him.

"Looks as if he was trying to court you." She commented, and the idea- Well, it struck you. You glanced down at the flower, then at Thomas. He had been strange, hadn't he? You thought to yourself, but quickly discarded the idea. He wouldn't. The idea was preposterous. "Next, you'll be inviting him to the full moon." She said, and you lifted a brow at her, at the idea. It wasn't a bad one. And, maybe it was what everyone needed to finally understand him. You looked over at her, giving her a small smile. You watched how her face fell, watched the small shake she gave you. "No." But you continued to stare. "No!" She shout-whispered, but all you did was tilt your head and look away. "Tell me you won't!" She demanded, her voice hushed. You could feel her stare, even as you made the plans to invite him before nightfall. You didn't say a word as you untied your bucket.

***

All of the children were celebrating on the full moon. Or, well, the ones caught between youth and adulthood. And, well, only the ones that were invited.

You all went to a clearing in the woods, where you could drink, eat, and have fun without the watchful eyes of your parents, or those that would tell your parents.

You liked to think that that was the only reason Thomas had never been invited.

"Don't you know they won't want me there, girl?" Thomas asked as he followed you through the forest. It'd been easy to find him, but surprisingly hard to convince him. He trailed behind you as if he had other things he'd rather attend. You couldn't imagine he'd get much conversation from your chickens. The pair of you were already late just from having him trail behind, and you walked through the dark forest with only your lantern to guide you.

"That's not true, Thomas." You said, glancing behind you. You watched as he walked, as slow as a snake through the grass. He climbed past one of the trees, his hand on it as he stepped closer. He gave you a look, and you could already guess the words that were going to come out of his mouth.

"Liar." He said, pointing at you. His tone made you smile. You paused, giving him a look back as you waited for him to catch up. You stared at him as he did, watching him as he said, "Lying's a sin, you know." He said, and you scoffed a laugh. You hadn't realized how close he'd come until you felt his hand on your chin, and you were quick to look back to him. He was close, barely a step away, and, even in the dark, you could see his clear blue eyes staring straight at you. Practically as if they could look straight into your soul. "What is the truth then, girl?" He asked, and you stared up at him. You gulped, pushing away the flutter of nervousness the touch brought. The flutter in your stomach with him being so close. You looked away from him again, and took a step towards the trail. You didn't look at him as you said,

"I'd like you to be there." You said, and the words felt too honest on your tongue. Especially when you could see the gathering in this distance. Quickly, you added, "You can protect me from Caleb." To soften your admittance. You smiled when you heard him laugh, and you glanced behind you to see it on his face.

"If you wish to be protected, then why go? Why not stay home?" He said, and you felt his hand, large and warm, reach to hold your wrist. It was a bold gesture, and the pair of you paused. You could hear the sounds of music, see the firelight in the distance. You were only a little bit away from the party, and yet you felt as though there was a whole world between you when you looked back to him. His eyes were on you again, and you practically shrunk under their weight. Finally, you asked,

"Why follow me if you don't you want to go, Thomas?" It was a fair question, one you hadn't asked yet that night. Thomas didn't say anything for a moment, and you sucked in a small breath when he reached to brush your hair from your face. His hand was slow and gentle, his fingers brushing against your cheek as they did.

"You asked me." He said, and, for a moment, you didn't get his meaning. Then, you did. You thought maybe it was the drink, but you'd seen him drunk. You knew he was barely tipsy, sober enough to get through the forest. You opened your mouth to say something, but words escaped you. The only thing you could think of were Lizzie's words from earlier. Looks as if he was trying to court you. Finally, you asked,

"Why did you give me that flower?" It was the top of a list of things you'd never truly thought about. Why did he always find his sleep on your property? In places you'd find him? Why did he have breakfast with you more mornings than not? Why, whenever you looked for him, was he always there? And, with an amount of honesty you could never possess, he said,

"I like you." And your mouth fell for just a moment, just the tiniest bit. He continued, "You're kind to me. No one else is." And you were silenced by his confession. You stared at him, feelings roaring in your chest but your voice was missing. Thomas didn't seem to mind. He laughed a bit at your stunned face, before he glanced at the fire-light. Thomas let your wrist slip from his hand. "Come." He said, nodding towards the light. "They've already seen the lantern." He gestured for you to follow him towards the full moon celebration. And, for the first time, you truly didn't understand him.

#fear street #fear street 1666 #mad thomas x reader #mad thomas fear street #mad thomas #fear street mad thomas

[disgruntledspacedad]

Save a Horse 

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: (fluff, slice of life) You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. 

words: 2kish

warnings: language. Utter ignorance of ranch life, but Ears is enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic.

a/n: unbeta’d.

It was Pop’s idea to start with. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” he breaks the easy morning silence suddenly, resting his empty mug on the counter and shooting you an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly, thinking wryly that Pop certainly knows how to catch your attention. 

Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. He’s been a little jumpy ever since he’d got you back, and with good reason, really. You rest a reassuring hand on his thigh and squeeze, receiving just as much comfort from the gesture as you’re offering.

This man is your rock.

Pop is still watching you expectantly, and you feel your lips tug upward. It’s so easy to smile at Chucho Peña. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Pop grins, and Javi blusters a deep sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being early November, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Pop leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that you don’t understand in the slightest. Javi follows silently, catching your fingers in a vice grip. His jaw is tense, his brow furrowed in that little frown that seems to be permanently affixed to his face ever since Colombia.

Your heart flip flops, and you stop, pulling him close enough to rest your head on his chest. Automatically, Javi’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and he sighs deeply into your hair. 

“Freaking out,” you remind him gently. 

He huffs a tiny laugh. “I know.”

You lift your lips for a quick kiss, and Javi obliges eagerly. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” you murmur as you pull away. 

“I know,” he repeats softly, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t. 

“Come on.” You tug at him, noticing Pop carefully not watching you in the distance. “It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that,” Javi mutters darkly, but he follows anyway.

“This is Caballo,” Pop announces, stopping in front of a freakishly huge black stallion.

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to keep that favorable impression you’ve made.

As if sensing your thought, Pop winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Caballo is all yours.

Pop declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Es una pequeña perra.”

Together, you laugh. You’ve picked up on enough Spanish curses during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Pop offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Pop. “Can I make him go faster?”

Pop tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like Javi doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say in your most dignified voice, nudging Caballo with your feet like Pop had told you. Caballo jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a questioning glance back at Javi. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Pop is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

 Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Caballo reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

Exasperated, you decide that Javier Peña is far more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Caballo shouldn’t be a problem. 

You square your shoulders, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi kind of girl - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

“Hyah!”

Caballo is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Caballo. You’re not begging, you’re not.

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Caballo is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Caballo’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. Grip with your knees, some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you think he might be chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Caballo’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of where, not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Ears! Ears! Ears!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your hair wild in the wind and your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your way to your feet again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Ears, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you stutter, breathless. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My feet, Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths puffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “I saw.”

You try to stagger upright and don’t quite manage it. You’re feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk, but before you can stumble again, Javi is right there, hauling you to your feet and catching your lips in a deep, gentle kiss.

“You.” Javi breathes into you, his mustache tickling at your lip, and you lean heavily against him, allowing him to do most of the work of holding you up. “Ridiculous girl,” more kisses, “What do you have against me, huh?” a soft nip at the corner of your mouth, “It’s like you just try to scare the life out of me, Ears.”

“Dunno.” Your voice trembles, and you’re unsure whether that’s leftover adrenaline or the way Javi’s gigantic hands are stroking possessively at your ribcage. The flannel he’s wearing is worn soft with age, and you nuzzle into it, sighing. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“I can think of better hobbies,” Javi growls at the skin of your neck.

“Not right here,” you laugh, suddenly aware of Pop approaching. Javi whines like a puppy as you push him away gently, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and your heart swells in your chest.

Christ, sometimes you still cannot believe how fucking lucky you are. 

“Besides.” You can’t resist stealing one last kiss from his chin. “You know you love it.”

Javi’s breath catches. His eyes darken. One thumb strokes softly at your cheek, tucking back a stray hair. “Querida,” he starts -

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you, and both you and Javi jump back as if burned. Pop has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, his dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Pop reaches to grip Caballo by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Pop asks, holding out the reigns in your direction. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Pop’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life. 

Caballo takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’s sensed your intent and wholeheartedly does not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest, bumping shoulders with Javi in a gentle reminder that you’re here, you’re okay. “I know there’s still some beer in the fridge.” 

Pop nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Caballo on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your almost father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

#Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal fandom #javi x reader #javi x you #narcos netflix #Javier Peña imagine #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #reader insert #I don't know where this came from but here you go merry Christmas #ears is pure chaotic energy and really it's javi who slows her down not the other way around #ears is basically a blatant self insert character and i'm not even sorry #drops this and runs to wrap last minute presents #javi is so much like a fucking horse i swear #huffing and snorting all the time

[milasartblog]

Yasoll: Galactic thief (part 2)

As soon as the flashlight looked at me, I quickly jumped off and landed on my feet, looking around for any hide spot. My attention locked on the stack of hay that was outside of the house’s yard. Without any hesitation, I dived into it and sat quitely. Meanwhile the owner of the house rushed out from their home and started to look around. I couldn’t see anything through the haystack, so I could only pray that they won’t find me here. My hands were on my mouth, my ears listened closely to any footstep coming towards me.

???: There is an intruder here!!

Their scream woke up other citizens. This is bad, if I don’t move fast, they will find me sooner or later. The worst thing is that my stomach still growls. 

Yasoll: Quiet! You will uncover us!

I tried to hide the sound, tho it didn’t help much. Great, fucking great, my own stomach betrays me. To shut it up somehow, I had to eat some hay before doing something. Steps sound waved from closer to further, which it was hard to predict the moment. Then suddenly a strange and anxious sensation covered me. You know, like a spider sense or so. It was a bad sign. Villagers probably decided to look into every corner, even haystacks. My thought was proved by sudden appearance of the spade fork right in front of me. I tried not to scream, which it was hard. One more step and it would sure stab me. But it was not over, another one appeared and this time I had to dodge it and at the same time not let them find me.

Fortunately, they realised that I was “not here”, and moved to other place, which gave me opportunity to sneakly run away. Of course not with empty hands. I took some hay into my bag, where there was a piece of the roof lying. Yes, I still managed to take a piece of it, don’t judge my hunger. Suddenly I could hear barks around the village. Not just usual barks. These ones I recognise from afar. Slime hounds. 

Yasoll: No no no no no, not these dogs again!

I immediately regreted to enter this place. If only I knew that they had THESE creatures, I would not dare to intrude. At first glance they seem like useless creatures that could melt at any moment, but for capturing criminals like me they’re perfect choice: they can swallow the criminal and keep inside them for a good long time until police arrives and takes them from crime scene. I was once in their stomach, it was gross. Unfortunately for that dog, I infected it with the virus on my hand and managed to get out and run away. I swear, I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t let myself be captured. And now they’re back. My head shook around for an escape route, and the only one was deep into the forest.

Yasoll: Ugh, not the forest. Thank you, destiny, for giving me such choice.

Mumbling, I rushed towards the forest, hearing how sounds become weaker and weaker with each step I did. When I made sure that I was in a safe distance, I took out some hay and began to eat. From the side I probably looked like a space goat eating a grass. At least my stomach calmed down a bit. 

Yasoll: Phew, I’m safe. Now I need to get to the nearest station and get to another city. 

I opened my map to check the coordinations of my next destination. Did I mention that I’m still looking for the cure from my virus? Probably not. Anyways, I heard that in Brata City there is a local doctor that is “specialised in viruses”. I have my doubts as previous two didn’t give me any results. But I had to give it a try, no matter what. Looking at the map, I noticed that the next station is very far away from me.

Yasoll: Shitta, I have to walk ALL the way up there?? Na’ah, I need to find a transport. But first, need to get out of this forest.

And with such thoughts I kept moving. Those who have zero experience in walking along the dark forests, sure will get lost easily. I managed to do it seven times, jumping from every crack, every drop, every squeak, every whistle - all different sounds that could exist. After two hours of wandering, I finally managed to get to the road. The morning arrived together with a promised rain. Good that I have a hood. Before looking for any “free” transport, I searched inside my bag for some pieces of fabric to cover my left arm. No one should see it unless I’m either alone or I have no choice. After finding some fabric and bandaging my arm, I could look for any fool that would agree to transport me to the station. To my luck, one hipster car was approaching to me. I showed my sign and they stopped. It was a dog-looking specie, as I noticed. They were smoking something for sure, car smelled like shit.

Hipster: Yo, dude, what are ya doin’ here, wakin’ all alone?

Yasoll: I need to get to the station immediately. Can you help me, please?

Hipster: Ha, it’s easy. We’re just driving there. Hop on, dude~

I swallowed nervously after he smiled to me, but still got inside the car on the back seat. He was not alone, two females were sitting next to me, being probably drunk to hell, which made me nervous even more. Then we started to move, and that’s how my little adventure to the station began.

-------------------------------

And here is another story with my adventurous thief. Hope you will like it^^

Yasoll belongs to @wildstarfan and @milasartblog (both me)

#my art #oc #oc character #yasoll #sci-fi #new story #alien

[strawbunniiee]

A Girl and a Ghost Ch. 3: The King’s Revenge

SOOOOO this is the part where the plot thickens :)

if anybody else wants me to tag them in these chapters so you know when they come out i will gladly do so andksnkfs

hope you enjoy! ive had tons of fun with writing these :D

dont mind me, just lettin my frendos know that this is a thing skfnkdjf

@salamifuposey @monsterbride99 aaAAA when i initially posted this i COMPLETELY forgot to do this a a a a a sorry

King Boo was furious.

How could that peasant, that foul impure abomination of a Boo do this to his beloved crown? It contained his power, it was so incredibly important to him...

And that filthy little purple haired brat! How could she so carelessly throw a rock at him like that?

He plopped his body down in a chair and marinated in his own rage for a few minutes.

After a few moments of enraged silence, he spoke.

"...I have got to get my revenge on those two. But... how will I do it?"

King Boo began to brainstorm a way to get the ghost Rabbid and his little idiot friend in hot water.

"Torture? No, no... one of them is a ghost. It wouldn't hurt him... Torture could be done with the little nuisance however. Perhaps a bit of childhood trauma will teach her not to mess with the wrong people." he thought aloud.

He spent almost fifteen whole minutes thinking of gruesome ways to get back at them, until it finally struck him.

"...Oooh, I know. I know exactly what to do now. It'll mostly affect that bloated rabbit, but I can still do some damage to his moronic pipsqueak pal."

He grinned maliciously and floated towards the doors of his manor.

"I'm about to open up some old wounds of yours, Tommy." he said to himself.

———

Meanwhile, Phantom was racing through the sky with Jawaii in his arms, panicking. He would never let King Boo lay his foul hands on her.

They were both absolutely dead silent the whole time until Jawaii opened her mouth.

"...Do you know that guy?"

Phantom halted for a moment and looked down at the young alien he held. "...Yes, I do, but I don't think I would like to go into detail at the moment. We have a very... rough history, I will say."

"Oh... I get it. It's okay, I won't pry. I understand." Jawaii said.

"Just remember that if King Boo ever tries to hurt us, I'll make sure he will regret it for the rest of his days." promised the Rabbid ghost. "I swear on it."

Phantom resumed his flight and soared down to the ground safely. He gently set her down in the grass.

"That was actually really fun! We should do that again sometime! ...without being scared off by an evil ghost, obviously. That would just make it less fun." said Jawaii.

"I'm glad you were entertained, I suppose... King Boo is quite intimidating. And rude." said Phantom.

Jawaii put her hands on her hips. "Well, yeah! I mean, he made fun of your weight! No friend of mine is getting made fun of like that!"

Phantom laughed a bit. "Oh, don't worry, I wasn't that harmed by that statement. I er, get that all the time."

She frowned. "Why do people tease you about that, that's dumb! Besides, I think you're perfect just the way you are!" She gave him a hug.

He hugged back and smiled. "Awww... thank you. I was born like this, I can't help it you see."

"You're a giant fluffy singing ghost bunny with a mustache, I have no idea how anybody could hate THAT! Cuz I don't."

"Oh, don't make me blush from all of these compliments!" said Phantom, smiling.

Jawaii jokingly grinned evilly. "Never. I'm gonna shower you in compliments 'til you DROWN!"

She cackled maniacally as she began relentlessly saying nice things about him with Phantom begging her to stop. Soon, it became a full-on flattery war to see who could out-compliment the other. They had a grand old time.

Eventually, the sun began to set.

"Oh yikes, I better get home. I had no idea we stayed out here for so long! Mom is probably having a heart attack as we speak!" said Jawaii.

Phantom was quite alarmed, his ears sprung up in worry and concern. "She's having a what?! Oh, poor child, I hope your mother is all right..."

She burst out laughing hysterically.

"Wh-what's so funny? I thought your mother was dying!"

"No, dummy! That was an exaggeration, I meant that she's probably WORRIED about me!" Jawaii continued giggling like a maniac.

"Ah. I see now... Thank you for correcting me!" Phantom joined in on the laughter.

They got themselves together after a moment.

"Oh yeah, mind if you could fly me over to my house..? We're kinda far away from home." said Jawaii.

"Of course!" Phantom replied happily.

Jawaii climbed on his back and the two flew home.

———

After flying back to town, Phantom gently set Jawaii down in front of her home.

"See you soon, my friend. I enjoyed showing you around Spooky Trails today!" said Phantom.

"Cya tomorrow Phantom! I had a good day today too!" She ran up to him and gave him one last hug.

She walked up to her door and waved goodbye to Phantom. He waved back.

"Moooom! I'm hoooome!"

Jawaii's stepmother Stella ran in.

"Oh, Jawaii! Thank goodness you're all right! I was so worried, where were you?"

"Sorry I came home late! But I spent today with a friend of mine."

Stella had a look of pleasant surprise on her face. "You made a friend? That's so wonderful! I know you haven't really ever had any friends, honey, I'm so happy to hear that you finally made one!" She smiled.

Jawaii grinned. "Yeah! I'll tell you allllll about him! He's the best."

They sat down at the dinner table with the food Stella made.

Jawaii dug into her mashed potatoes and ate it like a wild animal that had nothing to eat for the past 3 weeks.

"Honey, chew slowly. I don't want you choking!" said Stella.

"Sorry, Mom..." Jawaii said, frowning.

"It's okay. I don't want you in the hospital or anything, especially after you just made a new friend!"

"Oh, I've known him for a while, actually. We've been hanging out together a lot!" she smiled, her mouth still full of food.

"...Jawaii, sweetie, don't talk with food in your mouth.“

"Oh yeah! Sorry again Mom.."

"Anyways, that's why you've been out so much lately? I'm so happy for you, Jawaii!" Stella smiled.

Jawaii gulped down some water. "Yep! I'm glad I'm his friend too!"

They spent dinner talking about all of the fun adventures she and Phantom had gone on.

Jawaii however, conveniently left out any mention of them being in danger, she wouldn't want to worry her stepmother of course!

"Oh yeah! I meant to ask you this, but I got totally sidetracked but where's Dad? And where's Hakai?" asked Jawaii.

"Your father is out destroying planets again, and your sister is having a sleepover with some friends of hers." said Stella.

"Ohhhh. Wonder why Dad's out so late. Hope he's alright."

"I'm sure he's fine, hon."

Jawaii had another sister though, and her name was Roe. She went to a boarding school and wasn't home most of the time.

She stretched and yawned. "Hey Mom, I think I'm gonna hit the hay today."

Stella gave her a small look of surprise. "Oh! You are? Usually you're quite a night owl. Maybe you're just tired from all your little adventures with Phantom."

Jawaii smiled. "Yeah. Maybe. Anyways, g'night Mom! Love ya, don't let the bed bugs bite."

Stella gave Jawaii a hug. "Aww, good night sweetie. Love you too.”

Jawaii ran upstairs, changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth and jumped into bed, quickly falling asleep after her long, tiring but fun day.

———

That same night, the Mushroom Kingdom was as quiet as ever when it was nighttime. The once colorful, cheerful inviting land was deathly silent, almost hauntingly so.

Princess Peach was safely tucked in her bed, sleeping peacefully.

But little did the sleeping princess know, this would not remain for long.

King Boo had finally made it to the castle after venturing there to exact his revenge. He knew how dearly Phantom loved Peach. Breaking them apart forever would be the ultimate punishment for stepping on his turf. He knew that either way, the plan would work. If Phantom didn't come to the manor, him and Peach would be separated forever. If he did, however, it would give the vengeful king the chance to trap him and Jawaii in his manor, to torture them and possibly even kill them somehow.

He knew he could kill Jawaii, that was no problem, but Phantom...? Could he possibly do it again? ...No, he's a ghost now. He can't be killed again. But the king knew that even if he couldn't die, he could still make him suffer for as long as he wanted. Possibly even for eternity.

He phased through the castle walls, not having any of the guards notice him. Then, he finally found her room. There Peach slept, defenseless, ready for the taking.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched her from her bed.

Peach immediately woke up and let out a shrill scream of horror, alerting the Toads guarding her door.

But it was too late. He had already burst out her window with her and was headed straight towards his mansion.

———

Tap, tap, tap.

Jawaii woke up very late that night to a tapping sound she heard at her window. She went over to it to find one of the Peek-A-Boos she had met in Spooky Trails, tapping away at her window.

"Hey... aren't you that kid who Phantom is friends with?"

Jawaii rubbed her eye and yawned. "Yeah. Why do you ask? And how are you at my house anyway?"

The Peek-A-Boo had a somber expression on his face. "Well... I have to tell you some... bad news."

Jawaii was horrified of what was about to come out of his mouth next. Did something terrible happen to Phantom?

"His love, Princess Peach was kidnapped by King Boo. And... Phantom is gone. He went off to go save her. Knowing King Boo, Phantom may not come back in one piece. ...The other Rabbids told me it was best to go tell you. That way, you would know where he is. You deserve to know..."

Jawaii was devastated. How could this happen?

She knew she had to save him. And if she couldn't save him... then she wouldn't let him suffer alone.

"...No. I'm not going to let this happen to him."

The Peek-A-Boo was taken aback in surprise by Jawaii's response. "...I dunno if you should go. You're only a kid. You could get seriously hu-"

"I don't care." said Jawaii.

She jumped into her closet and changed into her usual clothes, grabbed a lantern and ran out of the house and into the black, haunted forest that she met Phantom in.

#jawaiis cheesy fics #mario rabbids #mario + rabbids #mario + rabbids kingdom battle #phantom of the bwahpera #tom phan #rabbids #fanfic #fanfiction

[salandition]

hello I would like a MiloxReader story please. (we need more milo content in this world) Maybe reader is helping Milo out on the farm, it starts to thunderstorm, so they take shelter in a barn. There's some hay, they figure they could be there a while, where it goes is up to you 😎

A/N: milo is so pretty and i love milo very much so I'm very glad to write him........... thank u .,,, also i hate this i wrote it terribly but take it anyway

--- --- ---

As you lift another bale of hay, the hook sunk deep into the soft straws and helping you heave and carry it over your shoulder, you look up at the sky and start to think that there are more clouds than you remember when you last looked. 

“Milo!” You call out, and from the other end of the field, Milo’s head raises to attention as he looks over. The two of you are surrounded by the vast fields of long grass and various crops, and beyond that is a fenced area with an abandoned barn that you and Milo are in the middle of trying to clear out. It’s old and dingy and needs several things fixed with the foundation and whatnot. “There’s only a few bales of hay left. Is there anything else that needs help?” 

Milo smiles, “nice work!” And then he stands up straight, hands on his hips and under his chin as he ponders. “I think that’s the most of it. Maybe look for any stray Pokémon hiding around and tell them it’s time to move out if you can?”

You give him a thumbs up. “On it!” You shout, and you let the hay fall off your shoulder and onto the pile with the others you had moved out of the barn. 

It was too much work to fix up something that’s old and moldy, Milo had decided. It was best to just clear it all out, get the materials that were still useful, and build a new barn somewhere nearby. It was a lot of work, so you (eagerly) decided to help him out. And it definitely was needed- with just the two of you, it’s already been several hours, and the sun that was blaring earlier made you sweat right through your shirt. The clouds that shifted by the past hour provided nice shade, though, so that was nice.

As you wander back into the barn, you swear you felt something drop on your neck and your eyebrows furrow as you look around, but you don’t see anything around you. So you shrug it off, walk in the barn and towards the few bales left sitting inside. Right as you sink the hay hook into the bale with a firm slash, a rumbling clap rings out in the air. 

Your eyebrows furrow once again, lips pulling into a frown. When you look at the open barn doors, you gasp- 

Because it’s raining in sheets outside, the clouds from earlier now an angry dark grey as they encompass the sky completely. How could the weather change so quick? You suppose the sun had disappeared a bit ago, but this was a bit excessive. You drop the hook and dash toward the doors, into the rain- “Milo!” 

Your voice can hardly be heard over the sudden rush of storm, thunder clapping and thunder echoing as the rain pours, but you can see a flash of pink from ahead. And sure enough, it’s Milo- looking just as shocked as you as he runs toward the barn. Nervous laughter bubbles out of him once he makes it to your side and you quickly wrap your arms around his back, quickly leading him inside before you move to shut the barn doors so the storm doesn’t make it’s way inside. 

But as the building creaks and sways, you have a feeling it’s really up to fate if you’re going to stay dry or not. You, at least- because Milo is already looking like a drowned Rattata as he stands in the corner and wrings out his sun hat. “Gosh, Milo,” you walk over to him and bite your lip as you take in just how drenched he is. 

The Gym Leader meets your gaze and simply shrugs with a smile. “Pretty out of nowhere, huh?”

Another rumble of thunder with a bolt of lightning rings nearby, and both of you jump. You nervously laugh.

“My mom always told me to expect something unexpected every day,” you take Milo’s hat from his hands, moving to hang it up on one of the hooks in the wall meant for horses water buckets, but none are around, so it works just as fine as a hat rack. “So I guess this counts as today’s unexpected event.”

“Wise words,” Milo nods, crossing his arms at his chest. He looks like he’s probably trying to get comfortable, but it’s not really working. You can only be so comfortable when you’re in heavy, wet clothes. 

Averting your gaze, you look at the dripping ceiling. “Do you know how long these storms usually last?” 

“Considering how we weren’t supposed to have a storm today... It shouldn’t be that long. An hour or two at most,” Milo sighs. You trust his intuition and nod- an hour isn’t really that long, but at the same time, it kind of is. 

Because it’s just you. And Milo. Alone in a barn. And did you ever mention how cute Milo is and how he’s really nice and you like him a lot?

Hm. A feeling like dread settles in your stomach as you cough. 

“At least we still have some hay bales in here,” Milo breaks through your thoughts as he heads toward them, but hesitates to sit on it as he looks at his situation. You hum. 

“You should probably- uh. You don’t want to get sick.” 

Milo looks at you, but you’re too busy looking at the floor and kicking the dirt. 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, and your head quickly snaps up.

“I wouldn’t be uncomfortable!” You quickly tell him, “plus, that hardly matters. You’re soaked to the bone and I doubt it feels very good.” Milo averts his own eyes now, hardly looking convinced as he furrows his eyebrows. It’s definitely not ideal to strip yourself in front of someone else... How can you make this better..? “I bet there’s an old blanket or something like that in here. I can look around for one- but. Seriously. While I look around, you should at least take off your shirt. You don’t want to get a cold,” you give him a concerned look- definitely not blushing as you tell him to remove his clothes, because why would you be blushing- and then quickly turn around to look around the barn. 

Since the entire building was in the process of being cleaned out, you doubt you’ll find much. But you have to at least try, for Milo’s sake and for yours. The first thing you do is climb the creaky ladder to the area up above. There was various items laying around, none looking promising. 

But as you scout around, you find a chest that’s been shoved into the corner and hidden away. You quickly trot over to it and, crossing your fingers, dust off the latch and open it. 

Laying inside is a bunch of old, miscellaneous items like candle sticks and even some pokeballs (all empty), and farming equipment too. It’s not until you get to the very bottom of the chest that you find- yes- a blanket! 

“Milo!” You call out in glee as you take the old cloth out, standing tall and letting it unfold as you whip it through the air several times to get all the dust off. You cough as some of it gets in your face. “I found one!” 

“Really?” Milo asks from below. “Where was it?” 

“In some chest up here. So I guess I found some more stuff to move,” you quickly move down the stairs- as quick as you can, actually, without fearing that you’re going to break it from how loudly it groans under your weight. As soon as you’re back on the bottom floor with Milo, you open your arms proudly with an end to the blanket in each hand as you showcase your find. 

Milo is very much not wearing a shirt, but you don’t focus on that part. Instead you focus on how Milo’s green eyes light up. “Oh! Would you look at that- I haven’t seen that blanket in years!” 

“You recognize it?” You ask as you wrap the cover around his shoulders. Your fingers brush against each other for a second as he grabs the ends and tugs it around him. The simple action surely didn’t make your heart skip a beat- not at all. 

Now that his shirt is discarded and he’s at least a fraction more dry, Milo sits on the hay bale and you take a place next to him. In the back of your mind, you’re grateful that it’s hay and not straw- straw is a lot more uncomfortable than hay is. 

“The barn’s been around for awhile,” Milo comments as he gets comfortable. “And so have I. I’m pretty sure this used to be the old gym leaders, I’ve seen it once or twice as a child. What else did you find?” 

“Some empty pokeballs, old candlesticks... a bunch of random stuff, honestly,”

“Sounds like him,” Milo huffs a laugh through his nose. “He was a bit of a hoarder. Not bad, though, considering it’s helping me now.”

You nod in agreement. Another strike of thunder and lightning is heard above- you and Milo both warily looking up at the ceiling as the building sways unsteadily against the harsh wind, and you unconsciously shiver, which doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Kind of cold...” 

“Yeah,” you shrug, and you meet Milo’s gaze. He’s smiling awkwardly, tilting his head in such a way that- “No,” you quickly shake your head. “That completely defeats the purpose of the blanket. It’s yours, I’ll be fine!” 

“Are you sure? It’s- not too big a deal,” Milo says, and you almost laugh. 

“What happened to you? You were just as mortified as I was earlier,” 

His face heats up a cute pink. “If it- if you’re uncomfortable- then I won’t push you! I just don’t want you to be cold!” The farmer shrinks a bit under his blanket. 

“You’re sweet,” you try your best to give him a reassuring smile. “Do you really not mind?” 

He quickly shakes his head. You’re not sure how to feel about how sure he is to ensure your comfort- offering you a blanket because you shivered even though he’s the one who’s still wet and shivering himself. You’re not sure how to feel about all of this, really- about Milo. And how kind he is.  Biting your lip, you hum for a long time before it turns into a defeated sigh. “Fine. Open up,” you wiggle closer to him and Milo smiles as he lets you wiggle next to him, handing you the end of the blanket to wrap around yourself. Immediately, you feel the wet press of his skin against your clothes, but he’s surprisingly warm despite that. 

Warm, wet, shirtless Milo... Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I first caught a fire-type?” 

Milo breaks the silence, and your head raises in interest as you look at him. “Really?” You ask, a bit surprised. “I didn’t know you had any.” 

He nods. “It was actually because of a situation like this, actually. Believe it or not, I’ve been caught in a few storms. So, I thought- it sure would be handy to have someone who could help me in these situations, or at least help me stay warm!” 

Milo proceeds to tell you a long and entertaining story about how he was a teenager, caught in a storm, and how he barely found a shed to hide in. He probably dragged the story on longer than it needed to be, and he did a lot of cute voices for the Pokemon and what he thought they were telling him when he was a kid, but it was appreciated how he completely caught your attention and whisked you away into his story. It didn’t feel as awkward to be pressed against him and it didn’t feel as worrisome whenever the wind blew on the barn again. 

Instead it was just the two of you, sitting together on a pile of hay as you exchanged various stories from your lives. Laughing at the wild things that happened to you both. You should have expected this out of Milo- he always had a talent for turning an unsavory moment into a good one. 

Though you’re having a feeling it’ll be awkward all over again when the storm finally settles and the two of you will have to untangle from your little warm hub beneath the blanket. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. 

#Anonymous #cries a lot #milo you deserved better than this #im so sorry #i should have written u better i suck #milo x reader #gym leader milo x reader #pokemon milo x reader #milo x you #gym leader milo x you #milo #pokemon milo #pokemon x reader #reader insert #imagines #pokemon imagines #swsh x reader #pokemon swsh imagines #pokemon swsh x reader #pokemon sword and shield imagines #pokemon sword and shield x reader

[debu-neko-kun]

Brand New Moo

A brand new story, idea courtesy of the ever-excellent commissioner (https://www.deviantart.com/doom7951) I really really liked working on this for ideas that may be obvious! Stay tuned for more flubby boys soon-ish! Contains: male weight gain, ssbhm, male lactation, human to boy-cow, cute fat gay stuff

James slumped down in the seat. It felt so wrong to be waiting here, he thought, thinking about what his boss would say if he saw him sitting here… he tapped his foot on the floor, hoping that would make him feel busy, but it just earned him a dirty look from the receptionist, so he opted to just slump deeper into his chair.

“James Rode?”

He sat up, smoothing out his button-up shirt. “Yes?”

“The doctor is available to see you now. Please enter the door to the left.”

James entered the office, expecting to see a sterile hospital room with gurneys and little jars of tongue depressors… Instead, he found himself in a carpeted room, the walls all wood paneling and decorated with diplomas and woodsy paraphernalia like bundles of herbs and wooden carvings.

Perhaps he knew less about this therapy stuff than he thought.

“Hello, Mr. Rode. I’m pleased to see you’ve made it; have a seat, if you’d like.”

James hesitated by the door. ‘I would *like* to go home…’ he mumbled, but stepped his way to the wide couch situated in front of the desk. He gently lowered himself into it, feeling more than a little small with his slender frame surrounded by so much empty seat.

“A little introduction, if I may.” the therapist smiled, tapping the plaque on his desk. “Dr. Maxwell Sweet. I used to own Sweet Farm Dairy, if you can believe it.”

“Never heard of it.” James spoke.

“Ah, well, can’t impress every time.” he chuckled, continuing on about his schooling, but James was already zoning out, sizing him up in his head. Dr. Sweet was slim, pale, well-dressed… probably didn’t spend too much time outside anymore, if the dairy story was to be believed. He wore glasses, making him seem bookish, and the clean-shaven face and well-kempt part in his smoothly combed brown hair made him seem concerned with appearances… not much to go on yet, but James felt like he’d make a respectable adversary in the boardroom regardless.

“…but I felt genetics wasn’t as fulfilling by itself. Are you okay, Mr. Rode?”

“Hmm?” James snapped out of his focused expression, taking a moment to rub his sharp blue eyes. “Sorry, a little tired. Late meeting yesterday…”

“Do you have a lot of late meetings, Mr. Rode?”

“James,” he corrected, “But yeah, I suppose I do. It’s the only way to stay ahead out there, you know?”

“I understand.” Dr. Sweet smiled, scribbling something on a pad on his desk. “Would you say this is the main source of your stress? The pressure to succeed, that is.”

“I, uh-” James stammered. “Are we starting already? I thought you would say when we were starting.”

“Just building a picture, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let you know when we get into the real stuff, if you’d like.”

“Okay, well… thanks.” James wilted a little. He wasn’t used to this, showing his cards so openly…

“Stress is the main reason you’re here, correct?”

“Yes… I mean, well, I’m here because of my boyfriend… I didn’t notice anything, but my boyfriend Kriss says I’ve been acting stressed.”

“Stressed in what way?”

“Distant… angry, sad, stuff like that. He says I haven’t been eating either, but I mean, when do I have the time? There’s just a lot to do, and nobody gets that. Nobody understands how hard it is to keep doing the same damn thing day after day, never getting a moment to just stop and relax. It’s not my fault I have to stay a few hours over every day, it’s not my fault I miss the train, it’s not my fault I have to stay with this job or else-”

James stopped, noticing the psychologist watching him intently, a furrowed-brow intensity in his expression.

“Sorry.” James sighed, folding his arms over his ribs, his gaze drifting back to the dried lavender on the wall. “Yeah. Just stressed.”

“I see,” Dr. Sweet said, underlining something on the pad with a quick scratch. “Well, I’m very glad you came to see us, James. I think this treatment will be very helpful in getting you into a better state of mind.”

“Yeah… that’s what Kriss said, too. What is this treatment, anyway? Are you just going to ask me about my past and… give advice, or something?”

“Oh, nothing like that, no. You see, I specialize in a sort of blended treatment. It’s quite ahead of its field, really. Good for people with a lot of stress and little time on their hands.”

Dr. Sweet drew a pile of papers out of his desk, dozens of forms and documents all neatly compiled into a novella of legalese. He set it gently on the desk, in front of James, and extended a pen out for him.

“…Provided you’re willing to participate, that is.”

James took the pen and the papers, sitting back to read over the front page. It was mostly filled out with his insurance information and medical history, employment information from his company, current address… everything except his name. He flipped it over, just finding more information about liability and “understanding patient responsibilities.” Just thinking about pouring over fifty sheets of legal information outside of the office, and for free, made him flip back to the front.

“Alright… well, whatever gets me out of here faster, I guess.” he murmured, scribbling his name at the bottom of the paper.

“Excellent! If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started immediately.”

Dr. Sweet’s drawer slid open, and out he pulled a small bottle of milky white fluid and a syringe.

“W-What is that for?” James asked, shocked at the sudden development. The therapy scenes in movies certainly hadn’t mentioned needles.

“Just something to help you become a little more pliable. We need you like putty for the hypnotherapy to take hold; don’t worry, it only lasts for a few minutes, and it’ll keep you relaxed for the rest of the day. That’s not so bad, is it? I promise you won’t have to keep up with any medication from here on out.”

Despite the cold sweat forming on his brow, James rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. Dr. Sweet drew some of the liquid from the bottle with a casual precision, stood up, and slowly approached the nervous patient.

“Hold still, and…” James felt a small pinch, followed by the dull ache of the injection. “That’s it. You’ve done wonderfully already, James.”

“Hmm… thank you, I guess.” he grumbled, letting out a heavy sigh.

“The medication should activate momentarily. While we wait, why don’t we pass the time with a bit of word association?”

The room around them was already starting to feel a bit… warmer. Familiar, even. He adjusted his collar a bit, leaning back against the couch.

“Do you know how this works, James?”

“I just say the first thing that comes to my head?” he asked, stifling a yawn with his palm.

“Correct. Alright now… your first word is “barn.””

“Tractor.”

“Good.” Sweet smiled. “Your second word is ‘pasture.’”

“Uh… grass. No, hay.” He muttered hazily. He felt like laying himself down on a soft patch of land, sunlight warming his pale flesh,,,

“Very good, James. Don’t think too hard about them. Now, your third word… ‘milk’.”

“Moo…” he spoke dreamily, still thinking about the sunlight and the field. A bubble of lucidity popped to the surface suddenly, bringing a blush to his face. “N-No, I, uh, I mean cow. Cow, that’s it.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Sweet continued, scribbling more notes on his pad. “And when you think of cows, what are some words you think of?”

“Big… u-uh, soft? I don’t really know…”

“That’s fine, James. Imagine a cow standing in a field… what do you think it’s thinking about?”

A warm, electric tingle trickled down from the top of his head, flowing into his spine and down his back. He tried to focus on the words… what does a cow really think about?

“Uhm… eating? How nice the sun is on its back?…”

“And how do you think it feels when it’s warm and fed? Do you think that would make a cow happy, James?”

The tingle turned into an odd, pulsing sensation, coming from somewhere in his core… or maybe deeper than that. A warmth in his cells.

“Y-Yeah… doctor, this feels… weird…”

“The medication can be a little strong, especially the first time. But just focus on my words… would that make you happy, James? Softness, warmth, food… nothing to think about but being tended to? I like to think so.”

“Hmf… y-yeah, that’d be nice…”

Soft… warm… hungry…

“Good,” Sweet began, suddenly dropping his pen. James jolted upright, forced free from his mental drift as quickly as the pen hit the desk. “That’ll conclude our session. Remember what we’ve talked about today; it’s always good to stay in touch with that simple, wholesome part of yourself. Try and slow down a little, and indulge it; I think you’ll be feeling a lot better if you do. See you again in a week?”

“Y-Yeah… yes, that’d be fine.”

“I look forward to it. Be well, James.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was just beginning to set by the time James arrived home. Warm wafts of sweet and savory air swept around him as he shuffled through the threshold, inviting him straight through the living room and into the kitchen. There, a tall, clean-shaven man with swept back blonde hair stood, whistling to himself. The creak of the floor alerted him to James’s entrance, the apron-clad gentlemen turning to greet him.

“Oh, hey! I thought for sure you’d be running a little late, I’m not totally done with dinner yet. How did your appointment go?”

“Mm, that smells wonderful…” James murmured, slumping into one of the dining chairs. “God, I’m starving….”

“Here,” Kriss, his boyfriend of two years, spoke, setting a dish of buttered buns in front of him. “But don’t fill up before you get to the ham. I worked really hard on it as a nice reward for you finally going to that clinic. Speaking of…”

Kriss sat down in front of him as he stuffed a bun into his mouth, propping his face up on his hand. “You didn’t say how it went.”

“The appointment? Right, sorry… it was okay. Good, actually. It was good. It was kind of weird, and I didn’t think I’d need a shot for psychotherapy, but… it was nice. I feel all calm and… gooey? I can’t really explain it… really hungry, too. Mostly hungry, actually.”

James reached for another bun, nibbling on it gently. 

“Well, I guess it’s working already. I haven’t seen you eat like that in… well, ever. It’s nice, honestly.” 

The oven alarm beeped as James polished off a third bun, absentmindedly chewing while Kriss got up to retrieve the ham. 

Soft… warm… hungry… the words bounced around his brainstem, burying themselves somewhere in the middle of sub and thoughtful consciousness. He remembered saying them, but the meaning was mostly detached… regardless, they just sounded so right. 

His ruminations were interrupted by a loaded plate being placed in front of him, also interrupting his roll supply. He breathed in the delicious scents of brown sugar in the ham, cinnamon in sweet potatoes. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before; it was comfort, it was calm. It was… “Mmf, Kriss, this is incredible. Is this a new recipe? I could eat this forever!” he lit up, happily nibbling on the ham slice with gusto. 

“Oh, uh… we had it last week, actually. Whatever they gave you sure made you hungry, huh?” he chuckled, looking a little confused, but relieved at the new development. After all, it was healthier than watching him starve himself on coffee and the occasional stick of gum. In only a few moments, James had the entire plate polished off, and returned to munching on bread rolls. “Want some more? I made extra in case you wanted to take some to work, but-” “There’s more?” 

Kriss hadn’t seen him this happy since he’d said yes to their first date. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“A-Ah, Kriss-!” 

“Shh, we’re almost there.” Kriss cooed, shouldering the bedroom door open, his boyfriend carried bridal-style in his arms. Normally, this would be like carrying a bag of flour, but after his uncharacteristic gorging, James felt more like a sack of potatoes. Or, perhaps, one large sack filled with one very large, round, painfully full potato in the center. 

“I’ve never eaten so much in my life…” James whispered as he laid out on the bed. He immediately curled onto his side, holding his stomach in his hands. “I can tell… are you sure you’re okay, babe? You can tell me anything, you know.” “I-I’m fine, honestly… just ate too much.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A familiar silence crept out of the dark now, cutting into the dim room between them. Finally, James spoke, “Kriss, I just- well, I’m not good at this, I haven’t… been there, like I should have. We’ve been together for a long time now and I still haven’t really… opened up.” Kriss sat down on the bed next to him, looking at the sheets next to James. James reached out, grabbing Kriss by the hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ve been too into my job and I want to spend more time with moo-”

He hiccupped, covering his mouth in sudden embarrassment. “You! God, I’ve had cows on the brain lately…” 

“You certainly eat like one.” Kriss smiled gently, poking his stomach. “H-Heh… so, uhm,” James said, “Will you give me another chance? To show you the real me… not the work me. Actually me?” Kriss leaned over, brushing the tousled hair out of James’s face. “Of course, sweetpea. You know I’ll give you all the time you need to get back in your own head again. And while you’re still trying…” 

Kriss cupped his cheek, and leaned in to plant a little kiss on his soft lips. “Maybe I can do something to keep you motivated.” 

“C-Careful, my belly’s still sensitive…!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kriss woke before James-- given his “work early, work late” schedule, this was an uncommon occurrence, but not an unwelcome one. He liked the way James looked peacefully slumbering; it reminded him that he could still stop and relax, that at least he wasn’t hard-wired to run until he dropped. That the hamster wheel didn’t spin forever. He snuggled up closer to his slumbering partner’s back, looping his arm around his side in a gentle embrace. Kriss’s fingers brushed his chest, expecting to feel cool, taut flesh on ribs… instead, his hand touched soft, plush breast. 

“H-Huh?” he muttered, startled, his hand recoiling instantly. He knew James, and had never known him to be any more than twiggy at best. Panic rising, he threw off the sheets and flipped on the bedside lamp, exposing the tubby imposter. There, on the bed, was James-- or, at least, he thought it was… same messy black hair, same little blotchy brown birthmark on his shoulder, same pink underwear. This James would have been a perfect replica, if it weren’t for one big thing: 

This James was fat. 

Well, fat was pushing it, but he definitely had a lot more of it than when he went to bed. His back, once a bony map of shoulder blades and ribs, was now a padded mat of pale pudge, the vaguest hint of love handles forming at his sides. Butt fat pulled his briefs tight, the waistband receding back to squish the tops of his cheeks into two blubbery cupcake tops. His thighs, once slender and toned from his constant jogging around the office building, smooshed together like gently dimpled bags of thick jelly. 

“Mmmn?...” he stirred, sitting up. His round face squinted against the harsh light, and he raised a chubby hand to shield himself from it. Kriss’s green eyes darted up to his rounded arm, down to his puffy chest, back up to his cutely dimpled chin, back down to the subtle dome of his belly. 

“Kriss?... Oh no, did I oversleep?”

The words clogged in Kriss’s head; what could he say? James was nervous, prone to panic at the slightest change… “You’re… you-” he choked quietly, staring in disbelief. James, following his line of sight to his belly, let out a little yelp of surprise. 

“W-What happened to me? I-I didn’t eat that much, did I?...” he stammered, poking the peachy flesh of his abdomen gingerly. 

“Impossible…” Kriss whispered, stepping back towards his boyfriend. “Maybe it’s just… water weight? Temporary swelling? Are you allergic to anything?” 

Pressing the gentle swell of his arm, it was impossible to think this could just be temporary. “I don’t think so…”

“Well, in any case, I think we should call a doctor.” Kriss said, stepping over to the dresser. “If I can find my phone…” 

“Just… use mine.” It took a moment to tear his eyes away from his freshly-plush body long enough to reach for his cell, thumb tapping the home screen. The time-- 5:55 am-- appeared on the screen.

“Oh! No no no, I’m going to be late!” 

“James, the doctor-” 

“I’ll go after work! I need to get ready; how did I forget the early meeting? I never forget!” 

James scrambled to his feet, butt bouncing in his underwear as he bounded into the bathroom, the door shutting quickly behind him. “Kriss, can you find a white shirt for me, please? And my good watch!” 

“If they still fit…” Kriss mumbled with a sigh, shuffling to find his clothes. So much for the fast-track relaxation therapy. 

‘Give it time,’ he thought, ‘Nobody changes overnight.’

But as he pulled out the obviously too-small button-up from the closet, he suddenly began to doubt these words. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James rushed into the office, speed-walking his way through the lobby to the elevator. He barely managed to squeeze by in time for the doors to shut, his belly bumping against the metal as he slipped in. 

“Ouch…” he murmured, regarding his sensitive new softness with a little rub. It was only with this did he notice how stressed the buttons were on the shirt, or how a thin sliver of belly fat was drooping out of the bottom. He quickly pulled his pants higher to disguise it, tucking in the shirt like he wasn’t covering for a freak medical condition. Not like it helped much… the fabric was still ungodly tight against his chest, outlining his newly-blossomed moobs like half-filled water balloons in cloth, and similarly highlighted the uncharacteristically pudgy belly beneath. At least his pants had always been a little big for him… they, at least, did a little better at preserving his modesty. 

He waited impatiently for the ding, and squeezed through the doors before they’d fully opened, managing to narrowly avoid two coworkers on his way to the meeting room. They said something he didn’t quite hear, but he heard the word “wide”, which was enough to make him flush gently. No time for that, he thought, walking as fast as he could muster with what felt like fifty extra pounds bouncing on his frame. Sweating lightly, he finally arrived at the meeting room, slipping in just before the last coworker. They scoffed at his speedy entrance, but upon seeing his unusually rounded face, decided that it wasn’t worth starting a fight over-- he was clearly suffering enough if he looked like *that* after just one day. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…” James’s boss began, addressing the crowd. And so it was, James thought, letting the voices around him whisper out into the back of his mind. He’d wait until his name was called, he’d give his report, and then he’d be back to hammering out the numbers until home time. The daily routine… though, there was nothing ‘routine’ about today, as the chair was quick to remind him. Where he used to sit at the edge of the seat, he now filled it out plentifully; so much so that the chair arms touched his sides if he fidgeted an inch or so in either direction. It was an alien feeling, being so plump- he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, but the words hung there in his mind. 

Round. Chubby. Soft. Thick. *Fat.* 

He grabbed his thigh amidst his anxious ruminating, fingers squishing pliable blubber beneath the trouser fabric. The sensation sent warm, pleasing tingles across his flesh, rumbling deep into his core. It felt… nice? 

He scanned the room, making sure nobody could read the feelings passing through his mind and body, but everyone else seemed to be knee-deep in their own happy places too; zoning out to cope was half of the job, after all. A sudden, deep gurgle bubbled in his belly, his hand shooting up to grab at his belly. Where his thigh had been plush, his belly was absolutely pillowy… the silky smooth glob of fat oozed around his fingers where he pressed, sending out another wave of delight across his body. As if to respond to his pressing, another gurgle rumbled against his palm, and he could feel his stomach rising like slow baked dough with his breaths. In, out… warm, soft. He couldn’t help but smile, sucked into the world of squishy comfort. Even as his belly rose in the *out* breath. Even as the chair began to press into his sides ever so softly. Even as the buttons stressed and strained, struggling to keep up with his widening form until- 

*PING* The first button on his shirt reflected off a steel mug, snapping everybody out of their stupor with a jolt. 

“What was that?” the boss asked. Everybody looked around, but thankfully James’s airy belly was covered by the desk. 

“Hmm… well, in any case, that’s the long and short of it.” the boss shrugged, shuffling some papers in his hands. “James, you’re up.” 

James looked up, half-lidded in a relaxed daze. “Huh?...” 

“Your numbers. You *do* have your report, don’t you?” 

Like an apple in a cauldron of caramel, the thought of the report slowly bobbed back to the top of his focus. 

“O-Oh, right, yes sir, I uh…”

He reached for his briefcase, grasping at air beneath the desk. 

“Is everything alright, James?” 

Everybody in the room shuffled, slumped, retreated back to the comfort of the sounds and sights of desert islands and snowy cabins. Meanwhile, he was out in the open, and floundering. 

“They’re, uh… late. Late client.” he smiled nervously. The boss looked at him, eyes narrowed in confusion, but simply shook it off. 

“Just have them on my desk by tomorrow, okay? Now, who’s next?” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at his desk, (and with his pants hiked higher than ever) James let out a deep sigh, wincing as his buckle pinched sensitive belly fat. 

“Just keep it together, James....” he whispered to himself. He tried to bounce his leg, but found that it just made the rest of him bounce too, and stopped. He logged into his computer with one hand, the other squeezing the stress ball on his desk, but it only reminded him of how much softer he was… 

Throwing the ball in the trash can by his foot, he decided his best bet was to focus on his work. Not on the fat ass threatening to blow out the seat of his pants, not on the small overhang his belly would surely be creating if he wore his pants correctly. And not on the strange warmth rushing to his head… just financial information, market watches, and emails. 

Five minutes later, and he was still staring at his home screen, unable to bring himself to start working. There was just something at the back of his mind, something creeping up on him; a deep hunger that swelled up inside of him like a consumptive balloon. 

“That’s it… just hungry is all…” he assured himself, pushing away from his desk. All he needed was an early lunch, and it would be back to work as usual. Something light…

Before he knew it, he was sitting down at the cafeteria with three hefty cheeseburgers and a heaping plate of thin fries drowned in cheese. 

James took a thick, mouth-filling bite of a burger, losing himself in bliss. 

“Mmf, so good…” he moaned to himself, prompting a blushing intern to speedwalk to the exit. One hefty gulp down, he sucked down a glob of sugary vanilla milkshake, chasing it with a handful of fries and another bite of burger. Not only did it chip away at the hunger, but his worry too. Suddenly he felt okay; eating like this felt *right*. He absentmindedly rubbed his belly, the gentle touch enough to rip away another button and rub cheese onto his shirt. He didn’t care; why should he? The belly beneath his hand was soft, fat, and jiggly, and it was fun to pat and wobble. And the more he ate, the more he was able to wobble it. One burger down-- and another button popped-- he felt twice as comfortable. Arm fat billowed out in his shirt, small rips forming that pushed dollops of fat through. Pant fibre finally reached capacity, pulling back from his pudgy calves as his thighs claimed ever more real estate within them. Fingers and toes chubbed into cute little sausages. Wrists, ankles, and neck slowly became less defined. Cheeks chubbed, chin flubbed; his masculinity was smudged by the heaps of fat, androgyny taking the wheel. 

But still he munched, a happy grin on his face as he grazed the haystack of fries. The warm feeling in his head turned hot, two points burning the warmest… but two points on his chest gained his attention the most. His chest-- rather, his breasts-- ached terribly, prompting a whine from the freshly cherubic gentleman. Pudgy fingers pawed at the last button left on his shirt, but it was simply too tight to be undone. Instead, he opted to just rub at his moobs beneath the fabric, gulping his shake heartily. Finally, the button popped, and he let out a sigh of relief as his fat breasts plapped onto his belly. The sudden motion forced milk out of the little pink nipples in small rivulets, drops running down the curve of the swollen mounds and dripping onto his belly. 

“G-Guh…” he groaned, scooping the last of the food into his maw just as his belt buckle burst off. He was exhausted, but sated… for now. Already, his mind was feeling clearer, and already he was starting to regret the sudden gorging… he was huge! And was that… milk?! “Sir, if you’re going to be in here, you need to put on some clothes-” 

The security guard looked taken aback as James turned and unsteadily rose, his pants open and his shirt hanging free. His ass fat rose behind him like two fat pumpkins squeezed into a pair of briefs, rising up with plentiful flesh visible. 

“A-Are you okay?...” 

James huffed, wobbling on his feet as he attempted to center himself. “I’m- *bruuuarp* o-oh, sorry…” 

The guard just stood, watching him slowly lumber out of the cafeteria and off towards the elevator. 

“They don’t pay me enough for this…” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The slow drive was filled with a quiet anxiety, wondering if Kriss was right: what if he had just gone to the doctor in the first place? Why didn’t he just go to a real hospital to see why he was dripping milk all over the upholstery? That was it, though. He knew why he was like this… where else could it have come from? 

Doctor Sweet. 

Sweat dripped from his apron of a belly as he squeezed in through the front door. The receptionist simply buzzed him through, and he waddled straight into the pastoral office. 

“Aha, James! Right on schedule. Please, have a seat.” 

James panted heavily, taking the time to rest on the doorway before he entered. 

“What… did you do?” he huffed, continuing on towards the desk. “Look at me! This… has to be some kind of reaction… to that medicine!” 

The doctor smiled, unfazed by his bloated appearance. “I’ll say. I’d be more than willing to explain it, if you’d just have a seat.” 

James stopped, the exhaustion he felt quickly overtaking his urges towards aggression. “F-Fine…” 

The massive boy collapsed in the seat like a falling boulder, nearly taking up the whole couch with his bulk. 

“Excellent. Now then… you said there was a reaction, yes?” 

James gestured to his body. 

“So… chills, fever…?” 

“I’m fat! I’m huge! I’m… l-leaking!” he burst out, wobbling in anger. Try as he might to seem imposing, he felt like a bowl of pudding. 

“Oh. Oh dear, I see the problem… you must’ve skipped the waiver.” Dr. Sweet sighed, shaking his head.  “Well, too late for take backs now, I’m afraid.” 

James put his hands on his belly in worry. “W-What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’d read the waiver… you’d see that this therapy involves a permanent genetic alteration.”

“G-Genetic?...”

“Yes. We force a mutation-- I won’t get too deep into it now, there’s really no use-- to shave off the rough edges, essentially. I felt it would be important in your case to emphasize the potential for softness, and it seems your body agreed. Surround yourself with soft, and become soft.”

“That… that’s-” James struggled, trailing away quietly. 

The doctor continued. “You see, I was like you at a time. Angry, frustrated, stressed, upset at life… but my time as a dairy worker gave me new insight. Being surrounded by gentle docility at all hours of the day taught me to be gentle and caring myself. But this process took years... once I started in medicine, I spent endless hours trying to find how to distill this process into a formula, to turn the experience into a chemical.” 

James watched him with confusion, hands gently kneading his fat to keep himself calm. 

“Well, I discovered it alright. It’s a bit unwieldy, but with a little guided thinking, it works wonders. Really brings the farm experience home, wouldn't you agree?”

James looked down at his belly, at his nipples streaming milk onto his bellybutton. “Y-You’re saying I’m turning into…”

“A cow, yes. You’re well on your way, in fact. Here, take a look.” 

The doctor withdrew a handheld mirror from his desk, and held it up for James to see. He felt like he was staring into a barber mirror, only instead of finding himself with a new haircut, it was fuzzy cow ears and a set of tiny, nubby horns on his head. And somehow, it didn’t feel wrong… in fact, he felt pretty cute.

“Oh… woah…” he murmured, poking the ear gently. 

“See? Nothing to worry about! And just as stated in the forms, you’ll be paid a weekly sum for participating in this new therapy. I doubt a cow would be acceptable in an office building, aha.”

James patted his cheeks, a smile forming on his face. 

 “And if you’ll allow me…” 

The doctor set down the mirror, and withdrew a familiar milky white bottle. 

“...I’d like to finish what we started.” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kriss waited in the kitchen, checking his watch every few minutes, waiting for James to get off of work so he could take him to the hospital. He shouldn’t have even let him go to work… what if he was more sick than he thought? What if it wasn’t just swelling? What if-

*Thud* The front door shut, and Kriss sprang up from his chair, scrambling into the living room. 

“James-” 

The breath caught in his chest as he took in the full scope of his boyfriend. The 200-and-change chubster who had left that morning had blossomed into a wide, easily 600 lb. wall of blubber. He stared up at his polished, nubby horns, at his furry ears, down at his absolutely shirt-shredding tits… blood rushed into his face so fast he stumbled, nearly falling forward. 

“Oh no, are you okay?” James asked, bright blue eyes full of worry. He waddled forward, belly rippling against the front of each knee as he slowly walked like he was wading through waist-high waters.  His chest swayed back and forth, barely contained by a tiny stretched-out tee. Despite being more than three inches taller than him, Kriss suddenly found himself pressed face first into warm boy cleavage, peachy flesh enveloping him. James’s flabby, pillowy arms pressed around his back as he cuddled him in an embrace. 

“What… happened?” he breathed, head spinning as he tried to process the changes in his boyfriend. 

“O-Oh! Right… it’s part of the therapy! Dr. Sweet made me into a big cuddly cow, and I really like it!” he smiled, clasping his chubby hands together. “Though, we may need to get some new clothes… these shorts are kinda tight on my butt.” 

For added emphasis, he slowly turned around, revealing the skin-tight shorts had all but retreated into his huge, bare ass, the rolls of his back flab sagging down to nearly meet the top of them. 

“A-Aha... “ Kriss said, woozy once more. He clutched the wall to keep from falling over. 

“Do… do you not like it?” James asked, timidly pushing his fat thighs together. His ears twitched gently, sending an arrow straight through Kriss’s heart. 

“When I read the waiver, I didn’t expect it to be like, well… all of this. Babe… you’re so adorable my head is going to explode. ”

A happy smile brightened his face once more, and James let out a little laugh. “G-Gosh, don’t scare me like that!” 

Headrush fleeting, Kriss managed to push off the wall and back into the arms of his lover. He pecked at his blubbery neck, giving him gentle kisses up and across his cheek. 

“O-Ooh, these are nice…” Kriss murmured, squeezing his arms around his chest. “You’re like a big stress ball, I love it.” 

“H-Hey, careful, they’re still a little full…”

Kriss moved in for a kiss on the lips, pulling away to give his chest another little squeeze. “Full? Like… with milk?” 

James nodded. “You’ll have to milk me until the pump arrives, otherwise they’ll get too full and I’ll start to ache… that is, if you want to. I can still just go to the clinic-” 

Kriss tugged at his shirt, freeing one of his blubbery boobs. His thumb traced the nipple gently, practically melting James into a puddle. 

“A-Ah, god, have you done this before?...” 

“No…” Kriss said, bringing the breast to his mouth. Sweet, creamy milk flowed onto his tongue, which he swallowed down. “But I can learn.”

#male weight gain #fat male #male lactation #ssbhm #boycow #moo

[ddproductionsw77]

At The Kissing Bridge

Fandom: IT (Muschietti Films)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier and (Mentioned) the rest of the Losers

Rating: T (Strong language)

Description: Richie takes Eddie to the Kissing Bridge to show him something to ease his doubts about the future.

Author’s Note: So, this kind of just came to me while I was working on another one shot for the Losers and I just went with it. I hope you like it and I apologize to the people who’s requests I have yet to get to for my easily distracted brain. 

Oh QUICK QUESTION: Would you guys be interested in me writing up some of my headcanons for the Losers and the Next Generation Losers?

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A warm summer breeze swept across the tall grasses of the Hanlon property, causing Eddie to pull the hoodie he was wearing, which did not belong to him, closer.

It felt odd, he reflected, looking over his shoulder at the barn glowing from dozens of strings of lights hung carefully across all the rafters by himself and Beverly. Mike had provided the space, Bill’s parents the decorations, he and Beverly the manual labor.

It was odd to know it was the end of something important. To feel like you were standing at a precipice, knowing the only way forward with straight down into something entirely unknown. He had to admit that, sure, high school hadn’t exactly been all rainbows and sunshine but it had been a devil that he’d grown familiar with. College... the future... that was an entirely new monster.

Biting his lip and running his thumb over the raised scar on his palm in the hoodie pocket, Eddie reminded himself that, compared to his past, the future could only get easier. Anything would be better than some of the terrors lurking in his past.

Still, he found himself, sitting alone on a log outside of the Hanlon’s barn the night of his graduation party, scared shitless. Because it was easier to fear what you’re facing rather than something you still can’t explain, perhaps. Maybe because it was just the way he was wired... to be a fucking coward.

At that moment, his friends were feet away, laughing and drinking and dancing to Janet Jackson without a care in the world, but it felt like he couldn’t join them. Like he couldn’t chance infecting them with his damned anxiety. He wanted to be like them, carefree like them, in love with life and possibility like them... it just wasn’t who he was.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the footsteps approaching through the grass behind him until his guest spoke.

“What are you doing all by your lonesome out here, Eddie?”

Nibbling at his lip, Eddie shrugged, turning his head once again to meet the dark, warm eyes of his boyfriend, “Dunno...”

Richie rolled his eyes, not in a mean way or a teasing way, Eddie could tell, but in a bemused, endeared sort of gesture. A rare moment of genuine emotion from the boy, honestly, one of the moment generally reserved for Eddie alone. Sitting beside him, Richie nudged him with his shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get rid of me, Eds.”

Eddie chuckled, quite humorlessly and looked back at the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Richie asked and though Eddie couldn’t see him, he could see in his mind’s eye that cute eyebrow quirk that he always did. “You been steppin’ out on me, lovey dovey?”

Eddie shot Richie a look, adding monotonously, “Ha. Ha.”

“Come on,” Richie reached over, wrapping his arms around Eddie and bring him close. The chill Eddie had been feeling since leaving the barn’s warmth instantly faded away and he felt himself, despite himself, responding to Richie’s touch by snuggling closer. Richie rested his stupidly taller chin on the crown of Eddie’s head, running a hand up on of the hoodie’s sleeves. “I thought you hated this hoodie? You always lecture when I wear it.”

“Smells like you,” Eddie mumbled, slightly abashed, snuggling into the hole-y, monstrosity of a hoodie

“Goddammit,” Richie sighed, hugged his boyfriend closer, “You are so fucking cute, Eds, I can’t stand it.”

Eddie pulled away to glare at him before leaning back in to rest his head of Richie’s shoulder, “Rich?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you scared?”

“Of?”

“The future? Any of it... all of it?” Eddie sounded serious and unsure, leaving Richie little choice but to respond as close to in kind as possible.

“Shit, Eds, I don’t know. I don’t think like you.”

Eddie knew the remark wasn’t meant as a critique, just a simple truth. Part of his love for Richie was born from them not thinking alike, after all. He didn’t snap back, like he might have if they were having a more normal, casual conversation. Now, he didn’t need that. He needed a bit more.

“What if... what if college changes things? Changes us?” Eddie asked, quietly.

“‘Us’ like the Losers?” Richie asked, “Or ‘us’ like you and me?”

“Either... Both.”

Richie shrugged, smiling teasingly when Eddie took his head off his shoulder to shoot him a half hearted glare in response. As his boyfriend returned to his previous position, Richie sighed, “Well, then we change. Fuck, I think that’s kind of the point of college to an extent, Eds. So, sure, something things will probably change but there are somethings that never will.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked, unconvinced, “Like what?”

“Like the fact that all of us belong together, like some shitty, fucked-up mosaic. No one’s ever get any of us like we get each other. It’s just never gonna happen. Losers gotta stick together.” Richie eyed Eddie’s head on his shoulder and raised it ever so slightly to gesture between them, “And as for you and me... I mean, I guess I can only speak for myself but I’m pretty fucking obsessed with you. Pretty sure that won’t burn out anytime soon.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie quipped, sitting up and picking at a sleeve of the frayed black hoodie.

Richie cocked his head to the side, watching Eddie for a moment before jumping to his feet, “I got something to show you.”

“What?” Eddie looked at him, confusedly.

“Yup, come on and get your cute ass up, we’re going somewhere,” Richie ordered, pulling Eddie up now. “Give me your keys.”

“No! Tell me where you plan on going at one in the morning!” Eddie argued, looking over his shoulder at the barn, where Madonna was now playing, “Besides, if we’re leaving, we should go say goodbye.”

Richie followed Eddie’s gaze to the barn and shrugged, taking advantage of Eddie’s distractedness to reach into his front pocket and grab the keys to the car, “They’ll just assume we’re rolling around in the hay or something.”

“That’s disgusting, Trashmouth,” Eddie chased after his boyfriend, trying to snatch at the keys as they approached the car. “Richie, I’m serious! Fucking give me my keys! You’re not on my insurance!”

“I’ve driven your car a million times, smartass, but cute try.” Richie got into the front seat and started the engine, looking across the car to where Eddie stood stubbornly outside of the passenger’s side door, “Get in, my love.”

“Tell me where we’re going,” Eddie snapped back, arms crossed over his chest.

Richie replied easily, “The Kissing Bridge.”

“Oh, ha ha, Richard,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “When was your last drink?”

“An hour and a half ago, I’m seriously good, Eds. I wouldn’t drive you if I weren’t. Now, get in.” Richie answered, waving Eddie in.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie muttered darkly before finally giving in and climbing into the passenger’s seat. “Where are we going? For real.”

“Told you,” Richie shot him a smirk, “Kissing Bridge.”

“And what does that have to do exactly with what we were discussing before, idiot?” Eddie asked as Richie pulled out of Mike’s long driveway.

Richie laughed and shook his head, “Can you just trust me for once, Eddie Spaghetti?”

He received another cool glare before his boyfriend answered, “I’m in the fucking car, aren’t I?”

“That you are.”

They drove through the night and Eddie tried his best to keep his mind open. He’d wanted a real conversation with his boyfriend, not some stupid goose chase or whatever it was Richie had planned. Sighing, he watched out the window and was surprised to realize that they were indeed driving toward Derry’s notorious Kissing Bridge.

“Okay, what are we doing, Richie?” Eddie asked, “Because I am not hooking up with you on the fucking Kissing Bridge, okay? And besides, that doesn’t prove anything about what will happen in the future—“

Richie pulled to the shoulder right before the bridge and reached over Eddie’s lap to grab a flashlight from the glove compartment, “Eddie, shut the fuck up and follow me, okay? We can save the hooking up for later, if you’re desperate.”

“Me, desperate? Very funny, Richie.” Eddie shot back, following Richie from the car. “You’re the one who get a boner every time I so much as yawn.”

Richie turned to point the flashlight back as him, “Okay, first of all, you know you stretch all sexily when you yawn and you do it on fucking purpose so fuck off, Eddie. And second of all, it was one time! Like right after we’d started having sex, might I add.”

Eddie slapped the flashlight away from his face and shoved Richie gently while smirking to himself. So, maybe sometimes he did stretch when he yawned of purpose... so what?

“Why the fuck are we out here, Trashmouth?”

“Well, if you’d stop distracting me, I’d show you, wouldn’t I?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll just shut up then. A lesson you could take notes on.”

Richie chuckled at his boyfriend and raised the flashlight to the wooden planks of the bridge, glancing from carving to carving. Finally the beam landed on one that caused him to pause and pull Eddie gently toward him by the wrist.

“What?” Eddie asked, turning toward where the beam of light shove of against the white, chipped paint of the bridge. He scanned the area and stopped short upon seeing a pair of initials carved into the wood. “Is that—?”

But the letters were unmistakeable.

R + E

He stepped forward, running his fingers over the clumsily engraved letters, feeling his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry. Turning his head back to Richie, who was watching him, he just barely managed to find his voice, “Did you—?”

Richie nodded, stepping forward and cocking his head to the side as he inspected the carved letters.

Looking between the letters, which appeared worn and old, and his boyfriend, who looked nearly bashful, Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, “But... when?”

Richie sighed and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck, “Uhh... Summer after seventh grade.”

Eddie whirled around time stare at him, eyes wide. “Summer after... but that’s the summer that... we were only 13 that summer.”

“I know,” Richie shrugged and chuckled a little, “I told you before, Eds, I’m kind of obsessed with you. That didn’t just start when we started dating. Look, a lot of shit went down that summer, I know, but figuring out how I felt about you... that’s always been at least one good thing to come out of all of it. I didn’t completely get it then but... Look, Eddie, what I’m saying, in a sort of fucked-up, confusing way, is that I loved you then. I love you a hundred times more now. And I’ll love you even more in the future, college can change whatever else it wants to but it won’t change that. It wouldn’t be possible. You could tell me to fuck off tomorrow and I’d still feel that way.”

Eddie swallowed hard, looking back at the initials carved by a boy he’d once known, a boy who had grown into the man standing there with him now. That boy and his Richie now were different people, just like his Richie now and the one who graduated college four years from now would be different people.

But Richie was right, he’d loved the boy who’d carved their initials into the Kissing Bridge, he loved Richie as he was now and he’d always feel that way. An unknown future couldn’t change that, at least.

Shakily, Eddie looked back at Richie, “D-do you have your pocket knife?”

Richie did that cute eyebrow quirk but reached into his pocket and retrieved the knife, holding it out to Eddie.

Taking it, Eddie carefully butterflied the knife open and delicately went about crouching down before the worn initials. Slowly and taking extreme care, he gently traced over the letters until they were once again clear and plain to read before standing back up, closing the knife and stepping closer to Richie.

“So, you see, right, Eds? We’ll be okay and—“ Richie was silenced by Eddie gripping the front of his t-shirt and tanking him down into a heated kiss.

Barely remembering to keep his grip on the flashlight, Richie wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him closer, kissing him harder. Eddie, he’d long ago decided, was his favorite taste. Like spearmint toothpaste and chapstick but also so much more complex and wonderful than just that.

Pulling away for air, Richie gasped, “Fuck, I love you.”

“Shh,” Eddie rested a finger against his lips to silence him once again, leaning up on his tip toes to kiss up Richie’s jawline to his ear, “Do me a favor?”

“Hmmm?” Richie hummed, eyes drifting closed until Eddie bit lightly at his earlobe.

“Forget what I said earlier about hooking up on the Kissing Bridge,” Eddie pulled away and grabbed Richie’s arm, leading the way back to the car.

“Oh yeah?” Richie asked, half stupidly and half excitedly.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughed and took the flashlight from Richie, turning it off and opening the car door to the back seat to throw it and the closed pocket knife on the floor. He then climbed into the back seat and shot Richie a teasing, questioning look.

Richie did not hesitate to follow after him.

#reddie #richie tozier #richie x eddie #eddie kaspbrak #the losers of '89 #the losers of 89 #the losers club #The Losers #it (2017) #it chapter two

[quensty]

heyyy just saw the pairing/line of dialogue thing and wanted to ask for renison + "are you flirting with me" and/or a ship of your choice with "can we pretend i didnt just say that" (i probably got the wording of the lines wrong lol) if u feel like doing this then tysm!!

Allison taps an unsteady rhythm against the chipped, sticky countertop with the edge of her empty shot glass, watching Renee speak quietly with an off-duty bartender as they play billiards. She leans in too close as she answers a question Renee asks, her gaze sweeping too slow over Renee’s dirty boots and grass-stained pants. 

This is a bad habit left over from Allison’s teenage years. She never let wounds heal right, always scratched and worried at scabs until they bled. She picked at sore spots just to feel the sting, just to know how much she could take. Absently, she wonders if the bartender notices the smell of hay and horse on Renee’s clothes from that close. 

Dan comes marching in and slaps a thin stack of crumpled bills and a stolen wallet near Allison’s elbow. She knows they’re running low on money, but this is getting fucking sad. 

“Drinks?” Dan offers. “I’m buying.” 

“Even this shithole won’t sell you anything for that.” 

“I’m sorry. I thought you misplaced your tiara.” 

“The bitchiness is ingrained, I’m afraid.” 

Dan puts her back against the counter and glances toward Renee. Allison averts her eyes and adjusts her skirts angrily, pushing imaginary stray hairs out of her face even though she knows her pinned-up hair looks flawless. Dan likes to call her stupid and reckless when she still dresses like she’s an oil baron’s daughter, but Allison couldn’t fucking care less. She can still aim a goddamn gun. 

“You know,” Dan says, “she’s getting really good at that.” 

The bartender’s laugh echoes through the saloon, and Allison distinctly hears her ask, “Are you flirting with me?” with a voice like velvet. Renee’s soft voice says something in response, and the girl hums again. Allison doesn’t have to look to know if she’s smiling. 

“What do I have to do to get a fucking drink around here?” Allison snaps. 

“What are you—?” Dan starts then stops mid-sentence. She looks at Allison, then at Renee, and then—with raised eyebrows—back at Allison. “Wait. You don’t think—” 

“This place smells,” she cuts in. “I’ll be outside.” 

Allison stomps out the doors, off the porch, through the dusty evening and into the stables. Her horse fusses when Allison unties the reins too harshly, so Allison whispers into her fur until another pair of feet walks in behind her. 

A hand alights on her shoulder. “There’s enough here to get us back to the ranch,” Renee says. 

Allison counts out the money and hands it back to Renee. Her bandanna is crooked around her neck, exposing the hollow of her throat. “You’re welcome,” Allison says. “I wore her down for you.” 

Renee smiles and cups the side of Allison’s face. A part of Allison wants to fight her, pull away and be cruel, but she’s trying to remember she isn’t the person who pitches temper tantrums anymore, and Renee isn’t Seth. So Allison lets herself melt into it, press her lips against Renee’s wrist. 

“You’re getting good at that,” she admits. It’s not like it isn’t true, and letting the cat outta the bag is a lot easier than putting it back in. 

Renee smiles again, this time like she sees a secret on Allison’s face, but she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she curls two fingers into the waistband of Allison’s skirt, pulls her into her orbit, and kisses her. 

#one day i'll be over this au but that day is not today baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #thank u v!!!!!!!!!! i fucken love u to death!!!!!!!!!!!! #quen writes #quen gets a question

[besidemethewholedamntime]

those summer nights

For @precenna 

Here’s your prompt - finally! I’m really sorry it took me so long but I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for prompting me <3

Summary: Fitz and Simmons and a farm over the summer.

{Read on Ao3}

This is how the first meeting goes.

Fitz turns up to the door, which is the same shade of red as his shirt and his face is about to become. He knocks, once then another, afraid the first wasn’t loud enough. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, with the loose thread on the hem, and then eventually just his fingers when he runs out. There’s a significant wait before his knocks are answered, and it gives him enough time to get lost in his own head.

The door swings open. Without thinking, caught in a dream, he stumbles out, “Um, Mr-Mr Simmons?”

The girl, around his own age, dark haired, curious-eyed, bites back a giggle. “Well, no. Not quite.”

Fitz wishes the ground would swallow him whole. The redness starts nowhere, comes from everywhere until his whole face is on fire. “I meant to ask if, uh, if Mr Simmons is in. Yeah. That’s it.”

“Nice recovery.” The girl’s smile is pretty. If he looks at it too long it’s all he’ll see for days. “Yes, he’s in. You can come in and wait for him – he’s on the phone just now.” She opens the door wider and he steps in. She points to his shoes.

“You’ll have to take them off, I’m afraid. Mum hates shoes in the house.”

Obediently he tugs them off, wondering only moments too late if he should have bothered to actually undo the laces. The girl looks at him curiously and he wonders if she knows.

He coughs, resists the urge to run a hand through his hair. It’s one or two beats of uncomfortable silence before she takes pity on him.

“You must be Fitz,” she tells him, holding her hand out. He takes it. Surprisingly cold, unquestionably solid. “I’m Jemma.”

-x-

He is invited to stay for dinner. Mrs Simmons is making roast chicken. “I like to feed,” she says, as she mashes potatoes with a vigour that reminds him of his mum. “And my family like to eat. Sometimes I overcompensate. Please don’t feel shy about helping yourself to as much as you like.” She looks over at her husband and daughter, both grinning from their places at the table. “They never do.”

Over dinner, Fits learns that Jemma is twenty, like him. She’s a student, like him. A prodigy, like him. She studies biochemistry. Unlike him.

“I’m studying engineering,” he tells her, making sure to have swallowed the potatoes in his mouth before speaking.

“What type?” There’s the glitter in her eyes. “Engineering by itself is a rather broad topic.”

Her parents smile as he turns bright red and almost chokes on nothing but air. “Uh, Mechanical, really. But I- well I’m interested in more than that.”

“Jemma, don’t torture the poor lad,” her father laughs. “Otherwise he might change his mind about working here.”

And suddenly he remembers what he’s here for exactly. The Simmons’ farm. The work that needs doing over the long Summer break. The money that will be lovely for his advanced studies.

“I’m not torturing,” Jemma protests. “Only testing. You’re alright, aren’t you, Fitz?”

“Of course,” he mumbles, looking down at his chicken, not quite able to see it clearly because of the memory of the sparkles in her eyes.

-x-

The work, he finds, he actually likes.

It’s hard, there’s no getting away from it. Up early, only stopping for meals, he finds he’s crashed out in the converted garage bedroom that the Simmons have set up for him by ten pm. The hay smells nice, but it gets in his nostrils and he sneezes constantly. The tractor is unreliable, but fixing it provides soothing, his hands instinctively knowing things before his brain is able to catch up. The animals, however, are his favourite. They all clamour for his attention. They like the softness of his voice, the bulk of his pockets which means that he’s brought treats. Fitz enjoys their different personalities, the way they push their heads against his legs in greeting, but their soft noises of melancholy break his heart when he has to leave.

On the weekends, when she herself isn’t working, Jemma comes out to see him. At first, it’s just messages from her father that he’s too busy to bring himself. Then, an antihistamine when he had inhaled a little too much hay and she declared that she could hear his sneezing all the way from the house.

Today, it’s a glass of diluting juice.

“You didn’t have to bring me juice.” Though he takes it quickly enough from her proffered hand.

“Well next time I won’t then,” she huffs, but her eyes let him know she’s only teasing.

Rolling his eyes, he swipes his hand across the back of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

He gives her a small smile, and goes back to repairing the lock on the barn door. The lambs behind him make gentle noises. Jemma nods, impressed.

“They only do that when they like somebody.”

He tries not to look up at her, but can’t help the corners of his mouth pulling up. “Guess they must really like me, then.”

“I suppose they must.”

And because they’re alone, and because he’s feeling brave for once in his life, he asks, “And what about you? Do you like me, too?”

Jemma takes the glass back.

“You’re tolerable” she says, flashing him a grin before spinning on her heel and walking away.

-x-

It begins a pattern.

She comes out to see him wherever he’s working, even sitting next to him in the tractor, which proves to be quite a gymnastic feat. They talk of anything and everything, conversation never running dry in all the days and weeks that follow. He discovers that she has a boyfriend called Milton that doesn’t seem to be quite the Prince Charming. That she works in a bookshop in town during the summer; the work is the same but the stories never are. She likes the stories, the magic of it all.

“Of course, I know it’s not real,” she tells him, slurping from a carton of juice as Fitz varnishes the new stable door. “Magic is just science we don’t understand quite yet.”

She asks him questions, too, about where he’s from. He tells her of Glasgow, of the city that’s home. Of the Subway that rumbles and screeches beneath the streets and the gothic University building where he spends most of his days. He tells her about his mum, a woman that does everything for him and more, sacrificed so much. He tells her, albeit briefly, about his dad, and feels a weight that’s been there for ten years lift off his shoulders.

The weeks come faster and faster and the workload increases but Jemma is always the same. At night she’ll invite him to watch movies, compare notes about their respective principles. Sometimes he goes into the house, but mostly they stay in his little converted garage. It’s cosier, easier to pretend it’s just the two of them in the whole wide world.

The weeks come faster and Fitz finds he wishes they would slow down.

For the first time in his life, he’s falling in love.

-x-

“I’m single now.”

“Oh?” He tries to keep his face straight as he motions for Jemma to pass him another box of screws, which she does. “What happened?”

“Meh?” She does that shrug thing. “Milton. He was a bit too… impressionable.”

“Really? You don’t say.”

Fitz had met Milton once, when he had come to pick Jemma up after dinner. Untroubled by a single original thought, yet sadly burdened with a cabbage-shaped head, he hadn’t seemed rather the sort that Jemma would go after. Though Fitz had (except not really) done his very best not to voice his opinion on the matter. It might have been his own jealously speaking, after all.

“Ugh, Fitz!” She swots at his arm.

“I’m literally holding a screwdriver, Jemma. Probably not the best idea to hit me.” He sighs, but gives in and looks at her. “Are you alright, though?”

“Of course.” She smiles at him, completely genuine. “It was hardly like it would end in marriage anyway.”

The image of cabbage head Milton in a suit and tie, trying to stumble out vows he’d probably have to Google makes Fitz smile.

“Hardly.”

-x-

They’re sitting one night, out on the grass behind her house, notes spread open in front of them. They’re meant to be pre-reading for their respective courses, but instead they’re just looking at the stars.

“They’re so beautiful, aren’t they?” Jemma says, looking up.

“Very beautiful,” Fitz says, looking at her.

She meets his eyes. Smiles shyly. Tucks her hair behind her ears. “My dad used to take me out here all the time when I was younger.” She looks back up. “I had scoliosis surgery and I couldn’t move for ages afterwards. So, to stop me from being restless, dad brought me out here. Taught me everything about the stars.”

He can imagine a younger Jemma, probably much the same as she is now. Endlessly curious, with an insatiable hunger for knowledge, the stars filling her eyes.

“It was my mum who taught me about them.”

Fitz rarely mentions his mother, his life back home if not directly asked. It makes the ache bearable if he doesn’t talk about it. But tonight, with Jemma Simmons sitting next to him, the stars shining in her eyes and all around them… well, tonight he can be brave.

“She didn’t know a thing, apart from the basic stuff,” he laughs fondly. “But when I was five, I told her I wanted to learn. So, she went to the library and got all of these books with all of these pictures, and she taught herself so she could teach me.” The memory becomes real in his head, like he could almost live in it again if he wanted to. “She made it fun.”

Jemma reaches over and takes his hand. He didn’t know a touch could be so electric. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

He nods, unable to do more.

So instead they just sit, hand in hand, watching the stars.

-x-

It’s almost time for him to go back home.

Jemma’s almost unable to be pried from his side now, even as he still works the long hours from dawn until well after. They both don’t talk about the reason why.

Most of the time it’s the two of them squidged together in the tractor, the conversation prattling away as normal. It’s rhythmic, soothing, and Fitz thinks that this life could quite happily be his life for a very long time.

One evening, with the remains of the day bleeding out as he parks in the barn, Jemma presses her hand on his.

“How long is it now? Until you go?”

There is no hesitation to his answer. “Ten days.”

“And will you be back? You know, to visit?”

He sighs, heavier than he means. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but the cosmos would make it bloody hard. He wants to stay, but he has to go.

“Jemma,” he says softly and her eyes, the way they go heavy, tells him that she knows.

It appears they have a psychic connection. Something that cannot be erased.

And maybe it’s the moment. It’s romantic after all. There are charcoal streaks across the sky, fiery orange giving way to the dark. The farm is quiet but not silent; calm and not eerie. Jemma leans over and says, eyes glittering with all of the stars:

“Well, since we only have ten days…” and kisses him.

He’s taken aback for a moment. Just for one. Then he thinks this is what heaven must be like.

Reluctantly, they must break apart for air.

“That was nice,” Jemma says, hair slightly mussed. “Very nice.”

“Maybe we should do it again,” he murmurs.

She grins as she leans in. “Maybe we should.”

They stay there for a while. The sky turns to inky black and neither one of them notice for a very long while.

-x-

“I think I might be falling in love with you,” she tells him.

They’re both off for the loveliest afternoon of the late Summer and sit in the grass on a picnic blanket. Side by side (they way it feels it’s meant to be) they look up at the clouds, making the most ridiculous shapes they can find.

“You think you might be?” He laughs. “I already know I have.”

-x-

It’s a beautiful day when he leaves.

The September sunshine is warm on their faces, as Mrs and Mrs Simmons wish him well from the front door of the place he’s called home for several months now. The give him small gifts, tokens of their appreciation. Their smiles are knowing as Mrs Simmons says, “We’ll let Jemma see you off to the car. Good luck, Fitz. It was a pleasure having you here. Feel free to pop back anytime.”

Jemma isn’t crying. Her eyes are moist, but tears are not falling. Her bottom lip wobbles, but does not crumble. She holds his hand tightly as they walk to his car.

“I wish I didn’t have to go.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. “I know, but I have to go back to uni. And so do you.” Her smile takes a moment to break through, but it does. “We knew from the start this was a temporary thing.”

“I know, I know.” He thinks of the long drive back home, in his rusty car that squeaks and grinds no matter what he does. “Just sucks, you know.”

“I agree.” She pulls him in for a hug, so tightly that he thinks she won’t let go. Into his shoulder she murmurs, “It really does suck.”

She lets go reluctantly, checks her watch. “You better go. You don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

He doesn’t, and if he doesn’t leave now then he won’t be able to. “Goodbye, Jemma.”

Jemma’s eyes still sparkle. They will never leave his mind. She presses him gently into the car. “Goodbye, Fitz.”

-x-

The year that follows is the slowest of his life.

“Out of everyone in the world, it had to be you to go and fall in love with a lassie from down south,” his mum exclaims, when she sees him checking his phone over dinner. “Oh, Leo. You never fail to surprise me.”

But she’s happy for him, Fitz is sure. She always smiles whenever he talks about Jemma, always asks questions.

“Why would you even want to know that?” He exclaims one day, out of patience, when his mum asks what Jemma’s favourite ice cream flavour is.

“Well, you never know,” she says knowingly, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “That information could come in handy someday.”

-x-

He completes his Master’s the same day she completes hers.

Psychically linked, even right down to the exam timetable.

Her graduation is the same day as his. He contemplates skipping his own to attend hers. His mum, whose bought a new dress for the occasion, swots his head and calls him a lovesick fool.

-x-

The time comes around again.

He knocks on the door, dressed in his best casual shirt and trousers No nerves this time, his stomach is remarkably calm, no fingers playing with the edges of his shirt. In fact he has to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet. The wait has almost killed him, but no longer.

The door opens. The girl with the stars in her eyes answers and tries not very hard to hide her smile. “Yes?”

He cannot help his, either. “Is Mr Simmons here?”

Her eyes sparkle with glitter and her smile is the best thing he has ever seen.

“He’s on the phone.” Jemma takes his hand. “But come on in.”

#aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fic #aos fic #fanfic by moi #eep it's finally done! #i hope you like it!

[tamaraneanpacifist]

Wildfire’s RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: I go by Star or Starfire online. If we’re close, I might give you my real name upon asking - but if I do, please don’t ‘openly’ call me by it for others to see on this site. I’m very hesistant about RL things like that. OOC Contact: IMs and Asks are always open, I do have a not really used anymore Skype, and a Discord. I do have the right to decline giving one of these to you though, even when we’re mutuals. All listed here that isn’t asks is only for OOC communiation.

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

Assumed-dead prince of Tamaran, a far away planet. Was sent away to preserve the royal family line, but his ship was destroyed shortly after it started and everyone assumed he died. His capsule survived the destruction of the ship, and from another species called the Shallas he learned other values than what he knew from Tamaran. When his foster family was destroyed by someone in search for the lost prince, he decided to live isolated until enough time would have passed for him to return to Tamaran. Once that time came, he decided to first meet his sisters again, and thus reached Earth. He also took up most of the rules and beliefs of the Shallas, and he absolutely hates violence and tries everything to avoid any form of it.

Points of interest:

Most of the times, Wildfire is hidden inside a big purple hooded cloak, he only removes his hood or the cloak in general once he feels safer around someone. His skin is slightly orange but very light, due to him spending most of his time in hiding in caves. He has energy, commonly referred to as starbolts, that he can use to fight. He also is able to fly, is much stronger than any normal human, and can sustain many difficult circumstances like the nothingness of space or very cold or hot temperatures. He tends to slightly hover above the ground instead of walking, it is simply more common for him and he’s not used to walking. His eyes are blue in both sclera and pupil, the pupil is a bit darker. When he uses his energy his eyes often start glowing too. As mentioned above, he tries to avoid violence in any way possible. He is unable to learn languages by lip-contact, and had only found that out recently, so he tries his best to learn english manually, which takes him a bit of time. Thus, he often speaks with a lot of stuttering, and correcting himself after saying something that felt like it was wrong. He is rather shy, hesitating to say things, but he tries to approach others despite that as he very much likes to make new friends.

What they’ve been up to recently:

Wildfire has come to earth in search for his sister’s whereabouts, and quite literally walked into Hay Lin, an other earthen being. He couldn’t speak a word of the earthen languages then, and still she was kind and nice enough to offer him help. She has promised him help in finding his sister, and so he stayed close to his first earthen friend while he tries to learn more of the language, the people and the customs of earth in general. After a reunion with his sister, Ryand’r decided that he wanted to stay on earth for some more time. He doesn’t reside with the Titans, he wants to try and make his own connections and experiences with this world, preferrably while still being close to those that grew important to him.

Where to find them:

He doesn’t really have a home. He sleeps at friends’ houses when invited - he has a little storage place at the Tower where he can store things he gets gifted or exchange clothes or the likes - and if he currently isn’t asked to stay anywhere, he would totally just search for a cave or something, or once he is more used to earth and feels less… endangered, paranoid, hunted, however you may call it, he’d totally just lie down on some nice grass patch maybe in a park or somewhere and sleep there. If he notices any trouble around, he rushes in and tries to help. As much as he wants to avoid attention, he won’t accept any people to be hurt while he is around and could try to prevent it. He also spends a lot time just sitting on a bench or something and watch people being busy. And once he has met Starfire and the Titans, he also starts to meet her friends whenever she brings him to them or them to him; and he visits the Tower every now and then.

Current plans:

I don’t really do big story lines much. I had an AU thing once that I had running basically as a sort-of ‘event’ (Blackfire’s Final Trial was how I called it, searching for it will probably show you more info - or you need to ask me), and while similar might happen again if I ever get that spark of an idea again, nothing is really planned at the moment.

Desired interactions:

I’d be happy about anything at all that happens, to be honest. Having more chances in general to do something with him would be wonderful. Enemies, to-be-friends, any and all Titans, friends of Starfire or the Titans in general that he meets through them. People that teach him more about earth customs, ones that try to use him for something bad or even capture him or something like that, or ones that just make him happy. Anything, really! I love my “Bad Endings”- verse a lot, and would love to explore that more. Though that might only make sense to do with other Titans, and/or people that know him or Starfore or Blackfire already. Honestly, I think Wildfire needs a lot more fluff - touching, gentle gestures, the like - in his experience. So that too. I’d say ‘shipping’, but I have no idea if I can actually do that - personally I always feel like I can’t do shipping well so yeah.

And now the naming of specific characters I’d like him to have the chance to interact with: I think it’d be adorable to have him do things with Mar’i - but again, I have already mentioned her on Star so I keep the mention here short. Joey/Jericho! He’s just such a wonderful character, and I think Wildfire would be very amazed by him. Ry would first actually probably not be aware that there is a language for those unable to speak, and he wouldn’t know of that language then at first, but I’m sure they’d be able to communicate somewhat despite it and I see very big potential for a great connection here. Well, outside of that, I don’t really have the longing for a specific character, so that’s all here I guess.

Offered interactions:

Wildfire tries to stop any trouble from occuring, also he tries to save anyone from any harm at all, even if it is something as simple as falling down a few stairs. If he’s around, he’d catch/protect you (or get you out of the way of the danger even if he’d recieve it himself then) before you hurt yourself. He steps in when there’s a robbery, or someone gets beaten, or something like that, and tries to talk the criminals down from their intentions. He also watches the people being busy, and I can see it as very likely that someone might approach him while he does so and asks about why he sits there so alone.

Current open post/s:

Open Starters and Memes! Both always open, with no expiration date or number. Please don’t hesitate if something sparks your interested, I’ll be delighted for any new interaction!

Anything else?:

I will quite certainly love you if you start interacting with him. I have way too few options to write him, and I so much want to do more that I’d be grateful for anyone that shows interest in him. I’m in germany, so timezone differences are a thing. This is a Sideblog to Starfirechan. I’m also very very very very very very shy, I try to work on approaching others more though. I do have Wire-accounts for my muses, and you can either search for them on my blog or ask me about them, but I don’t know if I could/will ever do any good on those.

Tagging: Everyone that wants to do it!

#☮ Drifting in Space ☮ | OOC #☮ This is what I am ☮ | About Wildfire

[playeroneplayertwo]

The Ten: 5.19

It seems a good icebreaker, or as good an icebreaker as any, to lay bare my top 10 of all time. Clear the air, so to speak. Get to know each other. It’s fair to say that this may be a make or break moment for us. Hopefully, I won’t lose you. Let’s see.

This is a list I imagine I’ll update periodically (which is why it’s dated), as my wife Kathleen (Player Two) and I play a lot of games, and a lot of new games. I’m a notoriously curious and searching type, and I love trying new games, sometimes to my wife’s chagrin. More often than not, my spare change goes to new games for the house. New games that make a splash tend to spike pretty high and then slowly fade. It’s not a great trait to have, especially in someone who tries to speak or write critically about quality (ie write reviews). But being that I’m aware of this, I hope that tempers it at least somewhat.

Anyway, where’s the list, you say? Here we go:

1. Brass: Birmingham (2018)

Oh boy, it’s a new one. Cult of the new? To be fair, Kathleen and I have played this game fairly regularly for the last eight months. By our third play or so, I knew it had locked itself into my top spot. I’d done a fair bit of research on the OG Brass (now Brass: Lancashire) prior to purchasing Brass: Birmingham, and by the time I eventually took the dive and purchased Birmingham, I was as excited to try it as I was unsure we’d actually enjoy it. At the time, it was the heaviest game we’d played, and it also relies heavily on route building–it’s in fact one of the most important parts of the game. I mention this because tactical spacial elements are not Kathleen’s forte. In fact, it’s one of her least favorite mechanics.

This is a good time to tell you that Kathleen and I think (and play games) very differently. Kathleen is a strategic player, relying on long term planning and execution to maximize scoring/performance. I, on the other hand, do not make long term plans. I find it not only remarkably difficult, but also unenjoyable. I’m a short term/tactical player. On my turn, I’m more likely to look over the board, get a lay of the land, and make the best, most advantageous play available to me at that moment.

Brass: Birmingham remarkably manages to cater to both of our play styles, which is one reason it ranks so high. Birmingham presents a myriad options for players to pursue. You’ve got a whole pile of different factory tiles you can build, a whole mess of locations or regions to move into, and about as many different strategies to pursue on your way to the end game. I don’t think I’ve ever played the same game of Brass: Birmingham twice, nor have I ever pursued the same options. The card play means, for me, that I will go where the cards lead, and I find using these cards as a guide to build my engine incredibly satisfying.

2. Covert (2016)

Dice placement. For some reason, this mechanic sounds incredibly unappealing to me, and I think it’s because it’s literally a portmanteau mechanic consisting of the worker placement mechanic using dice, two individual mechanisms that I seem to enjoy less and less. Dice I tend to avoid for their randomness (yes, I know that’s the point), and Worker Placement, in it’s most stereotypical application, I find frustrating. Why can’t I just put my worker wherever I want and just run my engine? Being stymied in a worker placement game just annoys the hell out of me.

So why do I love Covert?

It’s a pretty straightforward points race built around mission cards that have specific requirements. And using the dice as workers seems a fairly typical euro mechanism, but what I like about Covert is how puzzly it is. When you place your dice workers, they’ll be placed on round tracks with spaces numbered 1-6, and you won’t be able to place a die unless it’s adjacent to another die. In this case, you can do anything you want, but only if you plan correctly and work well with the other players. It becomes an order of operations puzzle, which may frustrate some, but I love it.

Also, I can’t get enough of that spy theme. And the production is fantastic.

3. Eldritch Horror (2013)

Ah, Cthulhu. For being the spawn of such a troubled person (HP Lovecraft), I find Cthulhu’s mythos and surrounding universe positively enthralling. 

But dice! Ugh yes, this is a huge, sprawling, long, and [sorta] bloated game that is built all around a very simple dice rolling resolution system. I have no way of justifying why this doesn’t bug me, but it just doesn’t.

Maybe I’m just a sap for the theme (Indiana Jones + Cthulhu = Win). Or maybe it’s nostalgia, considering this is the game on my top ten that I’ve played the most and had the longest. But, if I try to dig into the real reasoning here, it’s probably because this game manages to give you a big, rich, story-based experience that feels like an event when it’s over. Yes, it’s the biggest, longest play session on this list. But I love every minute of it. Even those maddening bad dice rolls.

4. Lord of the Rings: The Card Game (2011)

A long time ago, Kathleen and I came to this hobby via Magic: The Gathering, the deep, long standing king of the collectible card game. Magic is a great game, but it brings out the worst in me as a gamer. Playing Magic makes me both a bad winner and bad loser. Frankly, that’s a terrible combination. Why would you want to play with me at all?

This obvious problem led us to cooperative board games. If I’m gonna lose, why don’t I just lose with you. That’s a refreshing change of pace!

And speaking of losing, hey let’s talk about Lord of the Rings: The Card Game. The word used most frequently when talking about this game–by me and pretty much anybody who’s ever played it–is PUNISHING. And yes, it’s punishing. Kathleen and I have played a few punishing euros at this point (feed those people), but this is something else. Get a few bad card flips from the encounter deck and you’re suddenly up to your eyeballs in LOTR baddies. Orcs and goblins? Oh hai. But your dwarves or hobbits or whatever are never really out of it. Smart deck building (and luck) definitely has carried us out of the tall grass on more than one occasion. And there’s something to be said for a game as well balanced as Lord of the Rings. More than once, a game has concluded on a turn where we either win or lose based on that single turn’s outcome.

The theme doesn’t really do much for me, but I took the dive on this game because it looked like a well-designed and well-supported cooperative card game (of which there really aren’t too many). It’s stood tall over the years, and I hope it continues for a while. When I first played Arkham Horror: The Card Game, I figured it would knock this down a peg or two. But the designers’ ingenuity in the LOTR quests and encounter deck designs has been (for me, at least) a much more rewarding experience.

And I appreciate a cooperative game where you actually lose more often than you win. It seems a rarity in the co-ops we have.

5. Great Western Trail (2016)

I’d heard and read so much about this game prior to purchasing it that I almost didn’t even want to get it (which is exactly how I feel about Concordia and Trajan, subsequently). I dig the cowboy theme, but beyond that, I’d pretty much phased out all the actual details on this game’s gameplay.

But yeah, it really is good. Ya’ll were right. I love games that are heavy but are built around simple gameplay, and Great Western Trail epitomizes that. One your turn you move your cowboy on the (effectively) huge rondel board and then take an action on the space where you stop. That’s it. 

The beauty of the game comes from the remarkable breadth of options you can pursue. Using cowboys to buy cows, hiring engineers to move your train and build stations, hiring carpenters to build buildings and busy up the board, and completing objectives are some of the main tasks you’ll be focusing on, and what really clicks for me with Great Western Trail is that it’s a tactical player’s dream. The board is constantly changing, and as it changes, so must your plans. The objective cards steer you somewhat, but you’ve really gotta cut your own path across the wilderness here.

Oh, and I love deckbuilding as a sort of side dish mechanic. It isn’t always enough to sustain a whole game, but it’s great as a single piece of a pie.

6. Gloomhaven (2017)

All right, so this big beast has moved all over my ranking in the year+ since my first game. I won’t lie, it sat at #1 for a while. Then it slid a little, then a little more. I mean, it’s still at #6, so it’s not exactly plummeting. It’s the Board Game Geek #1 game of all time (as of this writing), and it’s hard to say if it’s deserving of this (and if not, what deserves the spot instead). Again, this is so subjective, and games like this or Scythe tend to be lightning rods for people who want to take a shot at the new hotness.

But yes, it’s good. It���s very good. I’m not as enamored by the sprawling nature of it as I was, nor the campaign, but being a person who loves variety, it’s scope is certainly a nice bonus. But after you haven’t played it in a while, it becomes a HUGE box that takes up a whole shelf and is a bear to set back up. And even though the box is 20lbs and takes up a whole shelf and the game takes 20+ minutes just to set up, the card play in Gloomhaven is just stellar. I love that this is essentially a tactical minis game with a euro engine. Tactical minis games rank incredibly low on my chart o’ interest, but this game takes that standard tactical minis expectation and smashes the shit out of it. 

Despite its niggling flaws, it’s an excellent game.

7. The Exit Series (2017-?)

This is the last co-op game on my list, and I just looked back and saw that there are four on here. I was just talking to Kathleen about how much I’d rather play competitive games instead of co-ops, and apparently I said that in a moment completely lacking self-awareness. Also, this is a cheaty kind of entry considering we’ve played at least eight Exit games.

Remember when I said that I liked Eldritch Horror because it was an event game that provided a big, rich experience? Well, the Exit games give you a meaty, brainier experience in a slightly shorter time period. There’s not much story–despite the designers really trying to cram one in there–but I’ll always love Exit because it’s become our Date Night game. Kathleen and I will get some nice booze, take out food, and sit down with a new Exit after we put our son to bed. The experience can be frustrating–remember we think very differently, but each experience has always been something to remember (except the Secret Lab; what happened in that one?). Special props to Exit: Dead Man on the Orient Express, in particular.

The puzzles are really satisfying when you crack them, especially after working on them for a while. We take longer than average to do these because we resist those hint cards as much as possible, so our games can stretch. But Exit should be an event, and when savored like one, it doesn’t let you down.

Also, if you have concerns about the value of an Exit game, if you look at it as an event (like going to the movies or *cough cough* playing T.I.M.E. Stories), it’s actually a very good value. Recycle it!

And finally, yes, Exit trumps Unlock any day of the week.

8. Glory to Rome (2005)

That Glory to Rome is out of print is a cryin’ shame. Our copy isn’t even a real copy, I printed a crappy DIY version at Staples and then cut and sleeved them with old Magic commons. Our copy looks bad, is cut unevenly, and has eery MTG watermarks shining through the thin weight paper, and I couldn’t care less. This game is awesome. It’s got about a million different combos that are all seemingly game-breaking, but the fact that everything is so powerful is really what makes this game so exciting.

Multi-use cards are one of my favorite mechanic, and this game is completely built around them. And like any well-designed game that is build all around cards, the design of this never leaves you feeling hamstrung by bad card draw. If you’re doing badly at Glory to Rome, it’s your fault. Sorry. You haven’t found the combo that will win the game for you. I can say this because I’m terrible at Glory to Rome, and I know it. That’s not saying I’ve not won before. I have, but more likely than not it was because I accidentally stumbled onto something good. 

Like Brass: Birmingham, no two games of Glory to Rome are the same. There are so many cards in the box, and the subtle sense of humor that permeates some of the cards just tickles me (please see: latrine).

It’s fast and exciting, and giving you options on other players’ turns is also one of my favorite mechanics.  I’ll happily play and lose Glory to Rome anytime.

9. Nippon (2015)

Full disclosure, this is the newest edition to this list, and Kathleen and I have only played this a few times, but there’s something about this game that really fascinates me. 

At first blush, it feels like Brass, but it’s not. Like Brass, this is an economic engine, but it doesn’t allow the multi-turn build up to The Big Turn like Brass. Then I thought it was a little like Great Western Trail, but it’s not really like that either. Great Western Trail presents a ton of options, but by the end of the game, you really need to work on all of them, at least a little bit, or else your score will suffer. Nippon, however, doesn’t make you do a little bit of everything. There are a number of elements in Nippon (like trains), that can be all but ignored except for certain circumstances. It’s a game built around area control via slow burn engine building. A number of other elements to the game are very specific tools you can use to hone that engine, but could just as easily prove useless under the wrong conditions.

This may be misdirected musings by someone who hasn’t played the game enough, but it feels right to me. The last time we played, I came to the realization that the game felt so fraught because I was trying to do too much. The game presents you with a large amount of avenues to pursue because you don’t actually have to pursue them all; you can’t, there’s not enough time in the game (or money!). You need to choose your actions and build the best engine as quickly as possible.

Nippon is a cutthroat fight that feels both wickedly fast and frustratingly slow at the same time. Special bonuses for completely subverting the worker placement mechanic with its own implementation that runs the whole game. It’s a puzzle that I have relished greatly.

10. Star Wars: The Card Game (2012)

Two Fantasy Flight LCGs on the list? Sweet Christmas!

But yes, this is a great game. I’m not sure it ever got much love, and it saddens me that it’s now dead, but it’s such an interesting design. That it does a fine job of simplifying deck construction is just a bonus.

I appreciate that Star Wars feels like a game of high stakes gambling. The first few turns are slow and quiet as you work through your deck and build your forces, but once conflict erupts, everything tends to break wide open. Each decision you make has massive repercussions, as single large mistakes will lose you the game. Add in some actual bluffing and a ticking clock, and this is the simplified and streamlined (if safer and less wild) version of Doomtown: Reloaded, another card game that I absolutely love. 

But where I think Doomtown ultimately fails, Star Wars succeeds. The game doesn’t get bogged down in complexity, and instead feels relatively streamlined considering its medium weight. Every time I play this game, I’m impressed by how smart Eric Lang’s design is. I feel like he played a ton of Magic: The Gathering, and then he removed all the things that bothered him (and bothered me, too).

I think this game is overlooked and underplayed, and dare I say forgotten, but for my money, it’s absolutely worth revisiting. And played over and over again.

Please remember, this list will change. Check back occasionally to see how. If you have any questions or opinions of your own, let me know in the comments!

Thanks for reading!

Eric (Player One)

#top ten #board games #board game #great western trail #gloomhaven #brass birmingham #star wars card game #nippon #glory to rome #exit #eldritch horror #lord of the rings card game #covert game #covert

[gwens-fiction]

First Line Tag Game

Tagged by: @kd-holloman

As much as I’d love to do it for Tropical Storm, that still only has one chapter, so this time I’m going to do it for the first fic in my A Scientific Romance fanfic series: A Scientific Match.

Tagging: @catharticallysarcastic​ @drbibliophile​ @adie-dee​

First lines are under the cut because 30 chapters got a bit long.

Chapter 1:   "Test log number 5089. Love-U-Lator 6000. So last version of my perfect match invention did not appear to work and gave false positives. I've reworked my equations and built it again completely. I'm not going to get Marlene's hopes up again to test this, so instead I am running said test using my own DNA sample."

Chapter 2: When Kowalski came to, he found himself in a little cage. He groaned, rubbing his side and sat up, looking around. In the corner, was that--? Oh no. It is. The Diabologizer.

Chapter 3: Blowhole rolled into his planning room. He looked at the lobsters there as he gathered his thoughts. "Red One, open a new plan file. I think I'll call this one Firefly."

Chapter 4: Kowalski looked at the clock. Time simultaneously was moving too fast and too slow for his liking. He paced the lab again, pausing by a mirror to double check his bow tie.

Chapter 5: Now that was a close one.

Chapter 6: "Earth to Egghead."

Chapter 7: "Hey Doc?"

Chapter 8: Due to Kowalski's grounding, in the end they decide to wait a little longer than just that week for their next date, just to err on the side of caution. And so, one night a month later, Blowhole waited in the park for Kowalski to appear. They had decided on a new meeting spot that hopefully would be less visible by the zoo.

Chapter 9: Kowalski stood by one of the windows, his tail wagging enthusiastically. Blowhole watched him with a small smile. He had expected that the peng-u-in would find an aquatic adventure, where he wasn't the one driving or navigating, interesting, but he had underestimated just how interested he would be.

Chapter 10: So far, this date had felt far more comfortable than the first. Perhaps it was because he was less nervous about impressing Francis and more nervous about Skipper finding out he went against orders. And yet, he still wasn't too worried about that. They were leagues under the sea, after all. But also, he had to admit, going against orders put a whole new exciting spin to this experiment. The stakes were raised. A new challenge was added. It was exhilarating.

Chapter 11: "Kowaaaaalski. Kowalski, wake up."

Chapter 12: Blowhole checked the time on his phone while he listened to a lobster prattle on about his current stock position. All of this information could have been summarized in an email and he was ready to move on to other things that required his attention.

Chapter 13: A week later, Kowalski was driving to New Jersey. It was late in the afternoon. He had told Skipper he needed to go by a lab in Pennsylvania, which was roughly the same distance away, but in the complete opposite direction. At least he had managed to get out during the daylight.

Chapter 14: "Okay, so I'll look up places in New Jersey, and you can check New York," Blowhole said, already typing into the search bar. "Surely we'll find something, but if not, we can check Pennsylvania, too."

Chapter 15: "Careful with that. Knives are sharp you know." Kowalski quickly slid over to assist Private with a pumpkin he was carving.

Chapter 16: "And you're not concerned at all about them seeing us together? Won't my existence here pull your villain credibility into question?" Kowalski asked as he followed Blowhole.

Chapter 17: Kowalski watched out the window. He smiled slightly at all the children out in costumes out trick-or-treating. It felt weird not participating in the zoo's yearly Halloween party. He knew by now that they would have let the park children in for games and treats. Although he knew that everyone had it covered without him, part of him was disappointed with himself that he chose to do this instead.

Chapter 18: It was even darker within the woods than it was on the road between them, thanks to the leaves blocking the moonlight. Kowalski was thankful that he had remembered to bring his night-vision goggles. He could barely see with them as it was. Unlike certain dolphins, he couldn't click his way through the woods to judge tree from empty space. If only echolocation was teachable, with his night-blindness that would be a helpful skill to know.

Chapter 19: Really, the woods weren't too different from marine kelp forests. Sure, it was drier and darker than kelp forests, but it wasn't anything too unfamiliar. It had been years since he last had swam through a forest. He and Doris used to go on routine explorations just for kicks. Kelp hide and seek was always fun, especially if you snuck up behind the seeker and surprised them. Blowhole chuckled and shook his head. Those were good times…

Chapter 20: Once Blowhole had parked the car, Kowalski helped him with his segway before hopping out and dragging his duffle bag out behind him. As fun as it was investigating that old road, he was thankful to be back in fairly normal and probably not haunted territory.

Chapter 21: Blowhole rolled into the room. "Alright, Chrome Claw's back in his room. We can get back to—" He paused once he saw Kowalski. "Where did you get that?"

Chapter 22: Kowalski parked the coup inside the garage and got out with a groan. What he felt was regret. Fake your kidnapping, he said. It'll be easy, he said. He completely left out the part about it being painful. When Francis had mentioned "roughing him up" he did not expect that to entail a one on one surprise mini brawl with one of his on duty agents. He was going to feel this excuse for the next few days.

Chapter 23: "BRAHE'S BOXERS!" Kowalski shrieked as he ducked a sudden oncoming of paintball onslaught. He rolled underneath a shrub and used this moment to catch his breath.

Chapter 24: In the words of Henry David Thoreau, "there are moments when all anxiety and stated toil are becalmed in the infinite leisure and repose of nature." With this in mind, Kowalski found himself in the branches of one of the Central Park trees the following day. He needed to be somewhere alone for awhile and he needed to be away from his lab and the HQ...And Skipper. He needed calm and quiet.

Chapter 25: "Come on, don't drag your feet now." Marlene grunted as she pushed Kowalski across the ice flow. "You said that you wanted to do this. You can't back out now."

Chapter 26: After leaving the HQ, Kowalski slid out to the park. He wasn't surprised at how Skipper reacted. In fact, he had been expecting a worse reaction, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still angry with it. And what exactly did this resignation really entail? Was this just a resignation from the unit as his lieutenant, or was it simultaneously a cut off from them as a family unit as well?

Chapter 27: With a quiet moan, Kowalski opened his eyes and rubbed his head. He slowly sat up and blearily glanced around his surroundings. He was in a small cage and outside the cage there was straw, or perhaps hay? He was no grass expert and his head was pounding still.

Chapter 28: "Just...A few more…Pieces…" Kowalski grunted as he reached as far as he could from the cage for whatever hay he could reach. He bit his tongue as he barely managed to grab a few pieces of straw. He then sat up with a sigh and braided these strands into the short rope he had woven. "There." He held up the rope and tugged on the ends, checking its sturdiness. It wasn't as long or as strong as he would have preferred, but it would do. He then coiled it and hid it behind his back.

Chapter 29: "Step away from the Diabologizer, Blue."

Chapter 30: The door above slammed shut behind him as Blowhole descended the ramp to the room below. Dangling above a large pot of boiling oil was one Blue Hen in a cage. He rolled closer and looked at her. "Comfortable?"

#first line tag #tagged #a scientific romance #asr #a scientific match #asm

[lovemychinchilla]

Chinchilla Care 101: How Do You Care for a Pet Chinchilla?

Chinchillas are exotic pets. So, if you're a new owner, don't assume that your chinchilla will be easy to care for. It's certainly not like caring for other pets!

How to look after a chinchilla: chinchillas need food (hay) and water from a bottle. They should be kept in a tall cage that's well ventilated. They need companionship either from you or another chinchilla. Your pet should have frequent vet checkups to ensure that it's healthy. They need chew toys to stop tooth overgrowth, and the temperature in their cage needs to be strictly regulated.

If that sounds like a lot, well, that's not all there is to it! There's a lot more you need to know that could be the difference between neglecting your pet, and enjoying its company for years to come.

This guide is intended for complete beginners, so if you're somewhat familiar with chinchillas already, some of the points below may seem obvious or basic. We've also included lots of links to our more detailed guides if you need more information.

How to Care For a Chinchilla: The Basics

Chinchillas may be exotics, although they're not so exotic that they have bizarre, unheard-of care needs. But they're definitely delicate, and not meeting one of these needs will mean your pet becomes depressed or unhealthy.

So, what do chinchillas need? This is a quick list of the absolute basics.

A cage to live in safely

The right environment (humidity and temperature)

Access to unlimited hay, plus hay pellets

Access to unlimited water

A way of exercising

Companionship of some kind

Something to gnaw on safely

Occasional vet care

Cage Cleaning Supplies

These aren't unusual care requirements, so a chinchilla isn't much harder to look after than any other pet. In return for good care, most chinchillas will respond with affection, and can live to ripe old ages (twenty years or more is not unheard of).

1) Where Do You Keep a Chinchilla? (Chinchilla Cage Setup)

Pet chinchillas live in cages. They can be allowed out occasionally for exercise, handling and bonding, but shouldn't be allowed to free roam at all times. If it does, it could get hurt or try to escape.

This cage should have different levels to it that the chinchilla can hop to and from. That's because wild chinchillas hop between rocks, and pet chinchillas thrive if they can exhibit natural behaviors in captivity. Other things the cage needs include:

A hide. Chinchillas are naturally skittish and benefit from having somewhere to run to when frightened.

A water bottle. Chinchillas need water. Water dishes get dirty, so a bottle is a must. Distilled or filtered water is necessary, too.

A hay rack. This is a special thing you put your chinchilla's hay in. Again, food bowls get dirty so aren't suitable.

An exercise wheel or exercise saucer. Chinchillas cannot exercise in regular running wheels. They need extra large ones (16" at least). Exercise saucers are like flat wheels made especially for chinchillas.

Bedding and/or fleece lining. This catches any pee or poop. If you use bedding, use one that's safe for chinchillas like kiln-dried pine.

The cage itself should be kept in the right room. The room shouldn't be too humid (over 50% humidity is bad for a chinchilla's fur and can cause respiratory infections). The cage also shouldn't be in direct sunlight. The room should be kept at normal room temperatures year round: not too hot, not too cold. Chinchillas cannot be kept outside in hutches.

2) Chinchilla Temperature & Humidity Basics

Because chinchillas are from a cold place in the wild, they need to keep cool. The room your chinchillas live in should be between 50 and 70 degrees Fahrenheit, which is 10 to 21 degrees Celsius. Any higher and your chinchilla could overheat and pass away. The higher the temperature, the quicker that happens, so 72 degrees Fahrenheit/22 degrees Celsius will only cause issues gradually.

To ensure a correct temperature, you can either:

Run an air conditioner

Place the chinchilla cage in a cool room, e.g. a basement

Don't put the cage in direct sunlight

You also have to keep your pet at the right humidity. Humidity is the amount of moisture in the air. It should be below 50% at all times. Any higher and your chinchilla's fur can get damp and claggy, and can develop a fungal infection.

To measure temperature and humidity, you need gauges. A thermometer is for temperature while a hygrometer is for humidity. You can buy digital combination gauges which show both temp. and humidity levels.

3) What Should I Feed My Chinchilla? (Hay, Hay & More Hay)

This is a point of confusion for many new owners. Chinchillas only need to eat hay. Your pet's diet should consist of unlimited fresh hay and 1-2tbsp of hay pellets each day. No snacks are required, although occasional supplementation e.g. with a cuttle bone or fresh alfalfa may be required for calcium.

Most new owners find this unusual, because we're all told how important a varied diet is. Well, a varied diet is important to human health, but isn't necessarily important for other animals. Chinchillas get all of the carbohydrates, fat and protein they need from hay.

There are lots of different kinds of hay available. We recommend timothy hay, which is what most owners feed their chinchillas. You can mix this timothy hay with small amounts of orchard grass hay or meadow hay if your chinchilla doesn't like timothy on its own.

Many foods you may think are suitable actually aren't. Fruits and vegetables aren't chinchilla-safe because they contain too much water and too much sugar. The sugar in these foods causes bloating, which can be dangerous for chinchillas. Safe snacks include rosehips and flower petals (cute, right?)

You may have noticed that we mentioned unlimited hay above, and that's correct. Chinchillas should get as much hay as they want. Hay is low on calories per gram, so chinchillas have to eat lots of it. It's impossible for them to become overweight if all they have to eat is hay, so unlimited hay is fine. This also means you won't have to refill the hay as often.

Chinchillas need pellets, too, which are also made from hay. These may be fortified with certain minerals to keep your chinchilla healthy. Buy from a reputable brand like Oxbow that experienced chinchilla owners trust. Don't buy pellets that are intended for other small pets; only ones marketed for chinchillas are suitable. There's also no need to buy pellets or hay mixes that have seeds, nuts, dried fruit or anything else in them; plain hay and pellets are perfect.

4) Can Chinchillas Have Tap Water?

This is a point on which some owners disagree, but we recommend filtered water or distilled water for chinchillas rather than tap water.

Tap water can contain giardia, which is a kind of micro-parasite. While this has no major effect on people, it can cause diarrhea in chinchillas, so is best avoided.

Whether this is a problem depends on where you live and who supplies your water. Tap water in the U.S. is of a lower quality than in many other countries, which is why so many people have to have bottled water. So, if the water smells bad or tastes bad to you, you probably shouldn't give it to your chin either. But if you live in an area with fresh, pure tap water, it will likely be fine.

People also have concerns about things like fluoride, although this isn't a real problem. Distilled water is purer than filtered water, but regular filter water is OK too. You could also use bottled water although this would be very wasteful because of all the plastic you'd throw away.

5) Chinchilla Exercise & Play

Once a chinchilla has learned to trust you, it will enjoy spending time with you. If you keep your chinchilla alone, you must spend lots of time with it otherwise it will get lonely.

The easiest way to play with a chinchilla is to build it a play pen. A play pen is a safe area outside the cage that the chinchilla can run around and have fun in. When it does, it will run around fast, jumping up and kicking away from walls. Chinchillas can jump up to five feet in the air, so be prepared for this!

You can also handle chinchillas, although not all chinchillas enjoy this. They're naturally skittish, so they have to be very brave to let you hold them, and only will once they trust you. Light cuddling is okay so long as you don't squeeze your chinchilla. That's because they have delicate rib cages, with ribs that can easily snap.

Play will give your chinchilla some exercise, but it also needs a way to exercise on its own. A chinchilla-safe exercise wheel is best for this. The wheel has to be at least 16" in diameter to be big enough, otherwise your chinchilla will hurt its back running on it. It should also be made of metal or wood, not plastic, as plastic is unsuitable for chinchilla cages without exception. A wheel with bars or slats is unsuitable because chins can break their feet between them; you need a wheel of solid construction instead.

6) Do Chinchillas Need Companionship?

Wild chinchillas are social animals that live in herds. When they weren't endangered, these herds could number a hundred or more. As such, they thrive when they have companionship of some kind.

It is possible to keep a chinchilla alone only if you spend lots of time with it. Otherwise, it will get lonely and depressed. You can let your chinchilla out of its cage for exercise and spend time with it then; or, you can sit next to your pet's cage talking to it in a low voice. It might not understand what you're saying, but it will respond well all the same.

The better way to give your pet companionship is to keep it with another chinchilla. This is what most owners do. Chinchillas should live in same-sex pairs (male and male, female and female) unless you are an experienced owner and are prepared to look after kits (baby chinchillas).

You must introduce the chinchillas rather than putting them straight in their cage together. That's because they will fight otherwise. To introduce the pair, place them in two separate cages side by side four inches apart. This way they can smell each other but not fight. Eventually, they become friends.

7) Chinchilla Chew Toys

This is something non-negotiable that your chinchilla can't do without. For other pets, chew toys are just that: toys. But for chinchillas, chew toys serve a very important purpose.

Chinchillas have teeth that continually grow, the same way that fingernails do. All rodents' teeth do this. In the wild, your chinchilla would gnaw on natural plant materials and soft rocks to stop its teeth growing too long. That's because if they do, your chinchilla will get sick, develop mouth infections, and can stop eating.

Chew toys stop your pet from gnawing its cage furnishings. Perhaps the most common are apple wood sticks. These can be bought in bulk, and your chinchilla needs to have some at all times. Beware: they get through them quickly!

8) Can Chinchillas Get Sick? (Checkups & Surgery)

Chinchillas will occasionally get sick. Common issues include eye infections, respiratory infections and overgrown teeth. When it gets sick you should take it to the vet.

Unfortunately, chinchillas are good at hiding the fact that they're sick. It's thought that this is an adaptation from the wild, where showing weakness can mean you're targeted by a predator. This makes it all the more important to take your chinchilla to see a vet if you ever notice anything strange. Potential symptoms of sickness include:

Crusty, dry or closed eyes (eye infections)

Damp or wet fur

Difficulty moving or getting up

Not passing poop any more, or not eating (gastrointestinal stasis)

Big, bloated belly (bloat/stasis)

Vets offer checkups for the average price of around $30-50. We recommend seeing the vet once a year, unless there is something clearly wrong with your pet's health, in which case you should take it immediately.

Ideally, you should take your chinchilla to an exotics vet. Exotics vets are usually better with chinchillas than regular vets as they have more experience with them. However, you may find that your regular vet is experienced and competent enough.

9) Chinchilla Cage Cleaning Supplies

Your chinchilla can't keep its own cage clean. You have to do that for it. You won't need much that you don't already have:

A scrubbing brush

Soap and bleach

A rag for wiping the cage down

Rubber gloves

A handheld vacuum cleaner

There are two kinds of cleaning you'll have to do. These are spot cleaning and deep cleaning. Spot cleaning is where you clean a tiny bit each day to get rid of soiled bedding. That takes ten minutes a day, and includes sweeping up poop and hay, replacing soiled bedding, and changing the water in the water bottle.

Spot cleaning is when the handheld vacuum cleaner comes in handy. You can vacuum up poop and hay without having to touch it. If you don't have one, you can pick up hay/poop and soiled bedding with rubber gloves on (or no gloves, provided you wash your hands well afterwards).

The second kind of cleaning is deep cleaning. This doesn't need to be done as often; most owners do it every six months or yearly. This is where you take everything from the cage, clean it with soapy water, and then put it back. While you wait for everything to dry, you wipe the cage down with bleach. This kills any germs in the cage, stopping smell from building up or your pet's fur getting dirty.

What Can You Do With Chinchillas?

While chinchillas are lots of fun, they aren't as smart as a bigger pet. They can nevertheless be handled and even trained, to an extent.

Training involves using treats to get your chinchilla to display certain behaviors. An example is training your chinchilla to come to you when you call. What you do is hold a treat in your hand, and tap the floor next to you. You can also call your pet's name. When it comes to you, give it a treat: it's as simple as that. After a few times, your chinchilla will have learned to come when you call.

That being said, chinchillas can't learn to do complex things. They aren't as smart as bigger pets. There are a few 'don'ts' of chinchilla care, too. Doing these things would endanger your pet's health and well-being. So, for example:

Don't take your chinchilla outside. If you do, it may try to run away. It could also pick up parasites like fleas.

Don't squeeze and cuddle your chinchilla too hard. They have delicate rib cages that can easily break.

Don't let your chinchilla play with other pets. Even if your other pet is well-behaved now, it could attack your chinchilla when you don't expect it to.

Don't pester your chinchilla if it clearly wants to be left alone. All that will do is teach it that you're mean.

Stick to good care guidelines and you can't go wrong. Remember, your pet is like a little person with its own personality, wants and needs: you should respect them.

Do You Need to Groom Chinchillas?

Grooming is possible, but isn't typically necessary. You can brush your chinchilla with a special chinchilla grooming brush, or with a flea comb. Regular brushes and combs can't deal with how thick a chinchilla's fur coat is.

Chinchillas keep their own coats clean by shedding throughout the year. They should also take regular dust baths, twice a week, in Blue Cloud dust or similar. This keeps their coats in top condition so it doesn't need to be brushed.

Many chinchillas don't like being brushed. Whether because they find it painful or stressful, they'll squeal, sequirm and try to get away from you if you brush them. If yours does that, don't persist. Instead, try getting your hand damp and running it along your pet's back to pick up any loose hairs.

How to Keep a Chinchilla Happy

Chinchillas may be exotic, but they're simple creatures: if you meet their needs and treat them kindly, they'll be happy. The most common reasons why a chinchilla could be unhappy include:

If you fail to meet any basic need such as food, water or space

If your chinchilla doesn't get companionship, either from you or from another chinchilla

If your chinchilla gets sick

Part of keeping a chinchilla happy is learning how to tell if your chinchilla is happy. Chinchillas are social and communicative creatures, so you can instantly tell when one is annoyed with you, or is happy to see you. It shows what it feels through a mixture of body language and noises. The rest of this guide will tell you exactly what to look for.

Happy Noises & Angry Noises

Chinchillas communicate with each other through sound. There are lots of different noises they can make. Some you'll hear only when your pet is very happy; others when it's frightened.

When a chinchilla is happy, it will make low, gentle squeaking noises. This is as cute as you're likely imagining. You can contrast that with noises like barking, that they make when they're frightened. These noises are louder and more urgent sounding. You can learn how to tell the difference between these noises in time.

If your chinchilla doesn't want to spend time with you, it will let you know by making noises. These noises are best described as a kind of grunting or 'kacking' sound. Once you've heard them a few times, you'll be completely familiar with them. If your chinchilla makes them, leave it alone for a while before trying to handle it again.

You can also tell whether a chinchilla is in pain from observing its body language. A chinchilla that's in pain will hunch its back, tuck its forepaws in, and hold its ears back against its neck. If the pain is in its mouth, whether because of an ulcer or because of malocclusion, it might paw at its mouth as well.

Talk To a Vet

Chinchillas need veterinary care like any other pet does. Vets can identify common health issues, prescribe medications for them, perform surgeries, and lots more.

But just as importantly, they can tell whether your chinchilla is in generally good health or not. Just from a basic checkup (which should only cost $30-50) they can tell you whether your chinchilla is getting the right food, whether it's in pain, whether its cage is set up right, and lots more.

Sometimes the issue is something that you've accidentally caused, e.g. by feeding the wrong food. But other issues can occur out of nowhere, and aren't anybody's fault. That's why it's so important to get vet care.

While it's annoying to have to pay the vet money, they're your and your pet's best friend. If you care for your chinchilla correctly and get it prompt vet care when necessary, it could live up to twenty, even twenty-five years.

Besides that, there's still lots more to learn. But learning much of this comes with time and experience looking after chinchillas. If you'd like to take a shortcut—and learn more through accessible guides written for new owners like you—then use the search bar at the top of this page to find what you're looking for, or look through the latest posts on our homepage.

Below, you can find our chinchilla quiz, new posts for further reading, and a signup for our Chinchilla Newsletter!

#chinchillas #chinchillacare

[aelin-and-feyre]

Belladonna Farm (Part 1)

Yay! The first part of my new Nessian series! This will be a seven part fic and will have a couple aesthetic boards to go with it. 

Fun Fact: The setting for this fic is a real place that I have been to and took pictures of for the aesthetics. Everything about it is 100% true except for the mountains (which I added because Illyrians).

Please let me know what you guys think! 

Tagging: @aelinxfeyre @rowanismybae (let me know if you want to be added to this tag list!)

Aesthetic Board 1

‘belladonna’

noun

1. also called deadly nightshade. a poisonous plant, Atropa belladonna, or the nightshade family, having purplish-red flowers and blackberries

2. Italian for ‘beautiful lady’

...

Saturday

Nesta checks her phone again, squinting as she tries to understand the directions the stupid GPS app is telling her. She is pretty sure that it is completely wrong. After all, the last town is twenty miles back, and all around her are corn fields, with a small mountain range situated behind them. The road she is currently driving on is paved, but has many potholes, and the closest neighbors are several kilometers apart. Surely her late Aunt Ripleigh - who had loved to talk all day if she had an audience - wouldn’t want to live all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, that may as well have been Nesta’s city heart talking. She could never imagine staying in a place like this for a long period of time, corn fields surrounding you, the sun beating down constantly. As it is, she has the air conditioning blasting in her car and the humidity is still getting to her hair. Not that she has anyone to impress. Nesta briefly feels a bit grateful for a week with no one around. Maybe she won’t even do her makeup while she’s staying here. Wherever here is.

As she continues to drive down the dull, straight road, Nesta once again curses the circumstances that put her here. Of course, she has no one to blame, because she can’t very well blame her dead great aunt for naming her in her will. Although Nesta fiercely wants to be angry that Aunt Ripleigh had decided that she should be the one given the farm house at the base of a mountain.

Meanwhile, Nesta’s sisters, Elain and Feyre, had inherited money. Loads of it. Aunt Ripleigh had been exceptionally wealthy, and it turns out that the Archeron sisters were her only living relatives left. There had been a couple other names in the will as well, but none that Nesta had recognized. The only reason Nesta could think of for why the woman had left her the property in the middle of nowhere, was that one time Nesta had mentioned that she would be interested in seeing it. And that was just because she was being polite!

But now, with an absolute mess of a situation going on at her job, Nesta has to take a week off to settle the papers so that she can sell the house and wipe her hands of the whole matter. Elain and Feyre had briefly attempted to convince her to keep the land, but they all knew that it was a lost cause. The eldest Archeron sister is married to the city life, her job at the company, and the society that comes with neighbors right next to you and loud noises all through the night. And seeing how out of the way this place is, Nesta is all too sure that she is making the right choice.

Her GPS starts to recalibrate, shaking Nesta from her thoughts and forcing her attention back on the road. It is a good thing that no one else is around, or she might have very well crashed. The corn seems to grow taller with each passing mile, and the mountains in the background go on forever. Her phone beeps and Nesta glances over to see that it is directing her to turn left in a half mile. She must be close.

With less than half a mile to go, Nesta sees a inlet in the road ahead. She turns on her signal, even though there is no one to see, and swerves onto a white gravel road with a strip of grass down the center. A driveway. She pauses briefly to glance around. A mailbox sits at the edge of the driveway, empty. Fields of the same tall corn border either side of the long gravel path. A sort of archway made from two trees frame the entrance, two signs are posted to the tree on the right. One reads ‘15 mph’ and the other dictates how she is entering private property, and there is absolutely no trespassing.

With one last look at the road stretching behind her in either direction, Nesta takes her foot off the brake and rides up the driveway, doing the instructed speed limit. It is just like Aunt Ripleigh to tell her visitors how fast they can drive while approaching her house. There is a bend in the road a little while in, turning onto a perfectly paved driveway that goes around the back of one of the corn fields. Perhaps the white gravel was just for show. Nesta is not surprised when she finds a gate a little bit farther in, as Aunt Ripleigh was always strict about security. Although whomever would makes the trek all the way out here and then venture down the mile long driveway just to steal from a little old lady surely deserves to get something for his efforts.

She fishes through her phone for the passcode and leans out the window to push it into the small keypad along the side of the road. Automatically, the gate creaks open and Nesta ventures through.

The gate, and the tree line beside it, turn out to be hiding a wondrous property. Nesta slowly drives the last stretch of driveway to the enormous house standing in the center of the nine square acre piece of land. She gawks at her surroundings unabashedly. Nesta has never particularly liked nature, but the open space before her is just enough to slightly take her breath away.

A large meadow takes up about a third of the square, huge round bales of hay the size of her car dotted around it. She spots a small orchard of trees along the far edge, tiny specks of color betraying that they are bearers of fruit. A barn stands tall and large in one corner and Nesta can see the beginnings of a small lake as she drives. The sun high in the sky casts beautiful rays on light across the property. A soft breeze makes the flowers in the meadow sway.

Pulling up to the house, Nesta parks outside of the garage and slowly gets out. The humidity is awful and without the car’s air conditioning, her hair is frizzing in all sorts of directions. She’s already starting to feel sweat leak through her sheer blouse. Nesta thanks whatever gods are out there that no one can see her in this state.

As she walks further around the garage, the lake becomes clearer, positioned about a hundred meters from the house, it is shaped like an oval with a couple different openings to small rivers at the far end. A fish house and pier sit comfortably on the shore. Nesta decides that she will enjoy getting a nice tan while she’s here. As long as the bugs aren’t too bad, that is.

To say that she is shocked would be an understatement. Never in a million years would Nesta think that a place like this would exist in such a spot, surrounded by corn on all sides and mountains looming overhead. It truly is extraordinary. No wonder Aunt Ripleigh barely ever left.

Her great aunt was a sophisticated woman, who loved the outdoors and everything it had to offer. This place would fit her perfectly. Nesta can practically see her sitting at the small table on the pier, sipping sweet tea and enjoying the sun on her face.

Lost in her own thoughts, Nesta wanders through the gate that leads to an enclosed portion of the yard, surrounded on three sides by a white fence, the fourth side being the back of the house. Nesta is so deep in thought that it isn’t until he starts waving at her that she sees the man standing on the other side of the fence. A very shirtless, very sweaty man.

Nesta screams. She grapples for her purse, trying to find her pepper spray and realizes with unending dismay that she left it in the car. Backing away hurriedly and trying to ignore the confused expression that crosses the man’s face, Nesta’s breath quickens. Who is he? Why is he here? What does he want? Why is he without a shirt?

While attempting to open the damned gate again and get back through, she distantly hears her name being called. “Mrs Archeron! Mrs Archeron, please I didn’t mean to startle you!” A deep voice yells as the young man hops over the fence and starts walking rapidly towards her. He has is hands up in a nonthreatening manner but Nesta does not take that as a sign that he is indeed not a threat. In fact, after living in the city for so long, that almost guarantees that he is.

Finally, she gets through the gate and bolts back to her car, throwing the door open and grabbing her phone. She holds it up to him warningly. “Stop right there!” She says, trying not to let her fear taint her voice. The man stops with one foot outside the gate, breathing heavily. “Tell me who you are and why you are on this property this instant or I am calling the police.” No matter that they wouldn’t get here in time. This man could kill her five times over before any kind of law enforcement official could reach the house. Nesta focuses most of her attention at calming her breathing at that thought. If there is anything she learned in the city, it was to show no fear.

The man keeps his hands raised, palms towards her, demonstrating that he has absolutely nothing that may harm her. Although looking briefly at the corded muscle along his biceps and the six pack he sports reveals that he probably doesn’t need any tools to torment her. Nesta quickly averts her eyes back to his own gaze.

“I’m Cassian,” He states slowly, his voice rough and seemingly hewn with mountain air. It sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. It is impossible not to notice the swirling black tattoos that litter his chest and down his sides, disappearing over his shoulders and below his waistband. Nesta’s hand tightens on her phone as she concentrates on not ogling him and focusing on the matter at hand. “I’m the caretaker of this property,” Cassian continues, “I worked for your Aunt Ripleigh for more than a decade,” He takes a hesitant step towards her and Nesta tenses again. “Mrs Archeron, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Please just lower your phone and we might be able to talk in a more civilized manner.”

Without taking her eyes off of the stranger, Nesta clicks her phone off and slides it into her pocket, still in easy reach. “Miss,” She responds, crossing her arms.

Confusion once again mars his sweaty face. “Excuse me?”

“Miss Archeron,” Nesta corrects. “I’m not married.”

A devilish smirk spreads across his features. Cassian runs his hand through his long black hair and Nesta has a feeling that she is not going to like whatever he says next. “Well, Miss Archeron, lucky for you, I am not married either.” The sideways smile on his face makes her blood boil.

“Lucky for me?” She repeats, trying not to grit her teeth. “Why, Mr...”

His smirk widens slightly. “Just Cassian.” He supplies.

“Well, just Cassian,” She practically spits the name. “I have known you for barely thirty seconds and I already know that all women are lucky that you are not married yet, as we would feel obligated to end the torture of our fellow female who was unlucky enough to end up with you.”

Unfortunately, her biting comeback does not have the desired effect. The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitches a little in amusement, and he says nothing for a few seconds, surveying her from head to toe. Nesta resists the urge to fidget under his gaze.  

“Can I help you with your bags?” The man asks eventually, startling Nesta.

She sputters a few times as he walks past her towards the trunk. She can do it herself, she knows she can, but as long as he’s offering she’ll take him up on it. He’s a strange man in a property that now belongs to her, but he definitely does not seem like a serial killer. Cassian heaves the large suitcase from the back of her car and begins to lug it towards the garage door. “We can go through here, I’ll show you around the house.”

Nesta reluctantly follows him, only now realizing that her hair is still all out of sorts and she’s sure her blouse must be spotted with moisture. Staying behind him, she sneakily attempts to pat down the frizz and fan her underarms that the evidence of her sweating might not be visible. Of course, he is sweating like a pig. And rather dirty now that she looks at him. His jeans are caked with dirt and grass, patches of mud sticking to his sides. He’s also still shirtless, gracing Nesta with a view of his toned back.

However, as he opens the door into the house and she actually looks at the fine muscles and shoulder blades, Nesta is briefly taken aback by the two mottled scars that run on a slight diagonal down his back. She blinks at the image and quickly has to school her features into neutrality as he turns around to glance back at her, a mocking smile playing at his lips.

“Coming?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.

Questions swimming through her head, but also the knowledge that this man - this stranger - owes her no answers nor does she owe him any sympathy, Nesta nods once and steps over the threshold.

...

As they venture through the house, Cassian gestures towards doors, explaining how this one goes to a bathroom, or another to a laundry room, another to the pantry, another to the screen porch, and so on. Nesta is amazed at how modern everything is. The kitchen is large and spacious and the appliances are wonderful. Aunt Ripleigh was a fine cook, and so is Nesta. She is excited to try out the space this week.

There ends up being six bathrooms, three bedrooms, a sunroom, screen porch, wrap around porch, 4 fire places, two laundry rooms, and various gathering spaces. All this house for one person. Or two. Nesta still isn’t quite sure what Cassian’s deal is.

Dropping her suitcase down in the upstairs master bedroom, Cassian dusts his hands - which Nesta notices are rather grimy and cringes at how the handle of her bag must reflect that now - and looks at her. “So, when are the rest of your things getting here?”

Nesta blinks. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

His brows furrow. “Well this can't be all of your things. I mean, yeah this bag is heavy but I’m sure a respectable lady like you owns more than what can fit in a suitcase.”

“Of course,” she replies, “I have an apartment in the city. But all my stuff isn’t coming here.”

Cassian raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Oh, you’re going to maintain both of your properties then?”

Nesta just stares. What is he talking about? Then it clicks. “I’m... not keeping this house, Cassian. I’m selling it.”

The man’s mouth immediately forms a grim line. “I see.”

“I’m sorry if you were under the impression that I was moving in, but frankly, I’m not a nature person. I’m a city girl and a house in the middle of nowhere?” She gestures around herself vaguely. “Definitely not my thing.”

Cassian’s expression does not waver. His voice is devoid of it’s previous joking nature. “So, how long will you be staying here before you sell?”

“A week. I have some people coming in to investigate the territory. If they can find it, that is,” she adds quietly. “I only asked off of work for the next week and then I have to head back.”

The change in atmosphere is palpable and Nesta feels nervous all over again. She does not know how this man reacts to bad news. She suddenly chastises herself for entering an enclosed building with him in an area where no one can hear her scream nor does she know if she has cell coverage or not.

She also never even considered the possibility that someone else might be living here. So she has no idea what he will do when the house goes on the market. Not that it matters much to her as long as it doesn’t interfere with the sell. She doesn’t like to admit it, but Nesta kind of needs the money. Another reason why she’s mad at her aunt for leaving her this place instead of a cut of her fortune.

Cassian takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the action and drawing Nesta’s gaze. He is probably one of the most intimidating men she has encountered, excluding Tomas. She quickly blocks the thought before it goes too far. This week is supposed to clear her head, not force it in the wrong direction.

“Very well, Miss Archeron,” he says at last. “I didn’t finish in the garden yet, excuse me.” He brushes past her and out the door. She listens as his heavy gait descends the staircase, and the beep as the security system sounds through the house when he opens the door. Then the screen door slams shut and she’s alone.

Nesta runs a hand down her face, thoroughly irritated with the events that just unfolded. She has no obligation to this man whatsoever. He is inappropriate and odd and frankly, should definitely wear a shirt more often. Nesta hopes that he does not live on the property or she might die from the torture of having to spend the next week with him and his mood swings.

Fetching her phone from her pocket, Nesta checks to make sure that she has signal. She does. After sending a quick text to her sisters letting them know that she made it safely, Nesta begins to wander.

The bathroom connected to her room is wondrous, with a clawfoot bathtub, large shower, and a balcony coming off of it overlooking the lake. Curiosity getting the better of her, she steps out onto the small terrace and admires the grounds. The lake is much bigger than what she could see from the garage, multiple streams branching off and turning back, perfect for rowing through. A couple islands and peninsulas intersect the water as well. The barn stands two stories tall and takes up much of the southwestern corner of the property. She notices a track running around the lake that must be mowed regularly, and used by the golf cart she noticed when they passed through the garage.

Glancing almost directly down, Nesta finds a garden, two of them actually. A small house stands between them, Nesta hoping that it is just a garden shed and not Cassian’s abode. Said man is currently hacking away at some wood next to the shed, still shirtless. His long hair is pulled back into a bun and even from the balcony, Nesta can see the sweat glistening off his back, as well as the twin scars that run there.

She turns away from him and towards the meadow, which she can only just see from her position. It has an assortment of wild flowers in it, as well as tall grasses and brush. She notices that there is one flower though that pops up all over, both in the meadow, along the islands and peninsulas, on the sides of the driveway when she had been coming in, and even one in a vase on the nightstand beside her bed.

Nesta snaps a picture of the plant and sends it to Elain, knowing that the middle Archeron sister will know exactly what kind of flower it is. Elain’s answer is almost immediate. ‘That’s a hardy amaryllis,’ she says. It means nothing to Nesta so she shrugs, slipping her phone back in her pocket and cringing at herself in the mirror. Perhaps a soak in the tub or a nice shower would be a good idea after such a long drive.

Firmly shutting the door to the balcony and pulling down the shade on the window just to be sure, Nesta decides to do just that. It’s Saturday after all, and she has a week here before she has to head back. She might as well enjoy it.

Masterlist

#belladonna farm #bdf #nessian #modern au #nesta x cassian #caretaker!cassian #gardener!cassian #shirtless!cassian #nessian fanfic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of wings and ruin fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nesta x farmer!cassian #elain #elain archeron #feyre #feyre archeron #aunt ripleigh

[tooriu]

your hands and lips still know their way around

word count: 4.8k status: oneshot summary: 

it must be true about what they say about liquid courage, because kageyama suddenly speaks up. “why didn’t we work out? we were so good together, and then….and then nothing. why—” his voice cracks, and he takes a moment to focus on not breaking down. “why did you have to leave?”

or, the au where kageyama sees his hinata at daichi and sugawara’s wedding and decides that maybe he doesn't want to be hinata’s ex anymore.

ao3

The invitation to the wedding comes in a crème colored envelope edged with gold details, his name and address written across the front of it in calligraphy kanji so fancy that Kageyama barely recognizes it as his own. It’s classical and elegant, printed on a thick sheet of cardstock, and he thinks with an almost imperceptible smile that Sugawara-senpai must’ve been the one to choose it. A smaller sheet of paper falls out with the invite, and Kageyama hesitates for a moment before picking it up. It’s handwritten in black ink in a messy scrawl he hasn’t seen in a long time.

Hope you’ll be able to make it, Kageyama-kun! It’s been awhile since the all crows have gotten together. -Kōshi

Kageyama turns the paper over, hoping to find answers to the questions flitting through his mind at a mile per minute. The one that seems to recur most often, however, is one he already knows. Will Hinata be there? Because of course Daichi and Sugawara invited Shōyō to their wedding. The more rational side of Kageyama tells him that it’ll be an awkward affair filled with his longing glances and Hinata’s attempts to ignore him, that it’ll end like their relationship—with the both of them hurting and in tears.

With a small sigh and a pang in his chest, Kageyama puts the card back inside of the envelope, lays it on his kitchen counter, and leaves for volleyball practice.

“Uh….Hey, Kageyama?” Hinata says, his eyes pointedly looking at the clock above Tobio’s head. Then at the school building’s brick wall. Then at the grass underneath their feet. Really, anywhere except for Kageyama.

He waits for a few seconds for Hinata to start speaking again once it’s obvious that the orange-haired ace of Karasuno has Kageyama’s attention. Then, after the silence stretches longer than necessary, he clicks his tongue. “Tch. Just say it, baka.”

“Do you, uh, wanttogodosomethingtogetheronFriday?” Hinata asks, eyes wide with excitement and his palms sweaty with the anticipation of rejection.

Kageyama blinks. With the way Hinata had mumbled the last part of his question together, the setter hadn’t been able to fully understand what he’d said. But if Hinata had said what Kageyama thought he had….

The red flush on Hinata’s face gradually gets more aggressive with Kageyama’s silence, and he shakes his head. “Actually, you know what? Nevermind. It’s nothing. Forget I—”

While he’s never been particularly lucky in games of chance, Kageyama plays one of the biggest gambles of his life. He smashes their lips together, and he can’t help but think that Hinata smells like oranges and tastes a little bit like the donut he’d had earlier. It’s awkward—their noses keep bumping into each other, their teeth collide more than once—but it’s perfect because it’s Hinata.

“Hell yeah! You owe me a hundred Yen, Ryu. I told you it’d be their second year.”

With a start, they break apart and find Nishinoya and Tanaka standing nearby with matching shit-eating grins. Or rather, a disgruntled Tanaka handing cash over to his best friend while Noya smiles with a sort of giddiness that’s akin to one the libero wears when eating Garigari-Kun.

“Really guys?” Tanaka sighs, though it’s obvious there aren’t any real hard feelings by the way his lips are slightly upturned. “You couldn’t have waited until next year?”

Kageyama’s face burns, but Hinata bounces with joy and says, “Sorry guys, but we have to go. I have a date on Friday!”

Playing on Japan’s national volleyball team was both an exhilarating experience and an exhausting one. With the coach’s grueling training menu and the odd hours, it was demanding, and if Kageyama Tobio didn’t enjoy playing so much, he might’ve quit long ago. However, his love for volleyball didn’t cancel out the fact that he definitely still had bad days and people still pissed him off.

His phone buzzed from inside his pocket, and with a slight frown on his face, Kageyama read the caller ID. Iwaizumi Hajime.

Immediately swiping right, he puts it next to his ear. “Iwaizumi-senpai?”

He could practically see the face Iwaizumi made through the phone, scrunched-up nose and a gathering of wrinkles on his forehead, at the honorific. “Don’t call me that, Tobio-kun. It makes me sound old.”

“I—uh—gomen, Hajime-kun,” he replies, pushing open the door. “What did you need?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the line, and it’s long enough that it makes Kageyama glance at the screen just to be sure that the call hadn’t accidentally cut off. “I just,” Iwaizumi sighs, “wanted to make sure you were alright. The, uh, invitations to Kōshi’s wedding arrived in the mail and, knowing him, they probably sent it to… You know…”

The former ace of Aobajōsai trails off, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d meant to say. It’s the same name that’s been bouncing off the walls of his mind ever since Kageyama had opened that envelope, been in his head ever since they’d split. (It was odd to think of them as separate entities now that high school was over. They’d always been together even if they weren’t together, and he had very few memories that he liked where they weren’t. It’d always been Karasuno’s freak duo, but now Kageyama is all alone.)

“Hinata,” he fills in for Iwaizumi, “You can say his name. It’s not like it bothers me or anything, Hajime-kun.”

But it does, and the feeling of saying Shōyō’s name out loud again feels like a breath of fresh air after running a marathon or a drink of cold water after practice. It’s salvation in the hell he’s been living, and it’s an oasis in a desert. The bittersweet feeling starts low in his stomach and slowly crawls up his spine and down his arms until he’s tingling with the entire sensation.

“Um, okay.” There’s rustling and the sound of a door opening on Iwaizumi’s side, and a loud voice carries through whatever room he must be in. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Tōru’s home.”

“Hai.”

“You know,” Iwaizumi starts, “he won’t say anything, especially to your face, but Tōru’s been worried about you. We’re worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” It tastes sour, like the prefabricated lie that’s been sitting on the back of his tongue that it is. He owes Hajime more than this, more than half-baked falsehoods, and adds, “I will be fine, at least.”

“Alright. Just, uh, make sure to call if you need anything, Tobio,” he replies, “Keep in touch?”

“Yeah.”

A bright smile on his face, Hinata laughs into the sleeve of Kageyama’s jacket as they walk to school. It was too long, reaching halfway down his thigh and the sleeves drooping over his short arms, making the orange-haired ace look even smaller than usual. Kageyama can’t help the small upturn of his lips when he thinks of a pocket-sized Hinata slotting perfectly inside the palm of his hand.

“You should do that more often,” Hinata says, wide-eyed and serious as he glances at Kageyama’s face from the corner of his eye.

He clicks his tongue, more out of habit than any real exasperation. “What do you mean?”

“Smile,” Hinata replies with a blinding grin, “You look cuter.”

The blush flares on Kageyama’s face, spreading from the tips of his ears and painting his nose and cheeks with an obvious pink. “D—don’t just say things like that, dumbass!”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Kageyama buries his face further into his light blue scarf, shielding more of his face from the biting winds, and walks the two blocks from his apartment to a tiny café squished between two other department stores. It’s heated, thankfully enough, and well-lit. Several tables litter the interior, arranged in a strict, symmetrical pattern around the room. He scans the room and moves toward the blonde figure sitting near the back.

“Konnichiwa, Yacchan,” he mumbles, unwrapping the pale blue material from around his neck. “How’s work?”

Her face immediately lights up, and Yachi shoots him a megawatt smile. “It’s great! Thanks for asking. My boss is a bit intimidating, but Shimizu-kun says that if I was able to handle you and Hinata for three years, it should be pretty easy in comparison.”

She laughs softly, like a gentle breeze in early spring, and for some reason, it makes Kageyama think of pink cherry blossoms. The ends of his lips quirk up, though he tries his best not to grimace at the mention of his ex. He wonders if Yachi knows how badly they’d both screwed each other over in the end, how sharp the bladed words they’d thrown at each other actually wore, and decides that it’d probably only hurt her if he told.

“Any new designs?” he asks, settling into the padded black armchair across from her.

Yachi nods excitedly, her hair falling into her face slightly with the movement. It was longer than when they’d been in high school but still only brushed her shoulders. “There’s this one where the sleeves are cut slightly off so that— Oh! Here, wait. It’d be easier to show you.”

As the blonde reaches into her messenger bag, one of the waitresses walks up to them. “Konnichiwa! Would you like anything?”

Yachi gets a watermelon bubble tea and some French macarons. Kageyama opts for simplicity instead. “Black coffee, one sugar, please.”

Talking to Yachi is easy, like breathing or setting a ball, and while he smiles and mumbles jokes under his breath that make her crack a grin, it does nothing to patch the gaping emptiness pitting his stomach wide open. It’s not the same. Nothing ever is anymore. And Kageyama doesn’t expect it to be. Besides, there’s probably only one person who could make things alright, and that boy has seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth.

“We’ll still be okay, right?” Hinata blurts suddenly. They’re lying on their backs, staring at the white ceiling from their position on Hinata’s bedroom floor, having long given up on completing their homework. Practice had been tough that day, and the weariness was beginning to seep into their bones. “Like, even if we doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends?”

Kageyama wrinkles his nose. “Why the fuck wouldn’t we work out?”

“I— Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He sighs then sits up, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin atop his knees. “Just in case, you know? Some weird shit could happen then we aren’t together anymore, and—” Hinata pauses, fumbling with the words that threaten to spill from his mouth in a word vomit. “Promise me. Even if we aren’t together-together, we’ll still be there for each other.”

“Tch.” Kageyama grabs Hinata, pulling him down to the floor again and wrapping the smaller boy inside of a warm embrace. “Don’t be such a dumbass. Of course I will.”

“Thanks, Kageyama.”

“Tobio.”

“Hm?”

“My name is Tobio.”

Kageyama has friends—the kind he’ll meet up with at least once a month, if possible, and spontaneously text to check if they’re alright, albeit disguised under some other reason. He has a group chat with his teammates, and whenever he checks it, there’s always some mix of legitimate strategies and the most recent meme. Hell, he even has acquaintances that he’ll wave to if he ever sees them around town. (But he does not have a best friend or a boyfriend. He lost both of those in the same mistake.)

Kageyama is not lonely by any definition of the word, but that doesn’t explain why he looks around his apartment and feels so utterly alone that the weight of it threatens to make him fall to his knees. He’s had a hard day, and just standing here in the dark without turning the lights on, stillness covering the room and silence stifling the noise, is making everything so much worse. It’s suffocating, and it feels a lot like drowning, like the shadows around him are inky black waters that rush into his lungs. Everything—every day, every face, every movement—is the same as the previous, and there’s a tedious monotony that he can’t seem to escape. Like he’s trapped inside his own personal hamster wheel, damned to run the same course over and over and over until he fades away into nothingness. It’s so hard to just breathe, and the tears slip out of his eyes faster than he can roughly wipe them off with his palm.

“Tch,” he mutters to himself lowly, “don’t be such a weakling.”

But that’s all Kageyama has ever been in all areas outside of volleyball—weak.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” Hinata says. It’s in a softer voice than Kageyama has ever heard from the ace before, and he’d comment on the obvious pity in the orange-haired boy’s voice if he didn’t feel so goddamn awful. “Feeling sad doesn’t make you weak.”

Kageyama curls further into himself, letting Hinata rub small circles into the small of his back. His voice is like the sun spearing through rain clouds, and Kageyama basks in the warmth of it all. There’s nothing sexual about their position—his head on Hinata’s lap, both of them sprawled across the setter’s bed—but there’s something infinitely more intimate about it. Like he’s baring his soul, everything he is, and asking Hinata to stay despite the barren ugliness of it all.

“I think you’re brave for being able to show this side of you to someone else,” he continues. “Even if it’s only me.”

Kageyama stills. “What are you talking about?”

Hinata snorts, and for some odd reason, warmth floods Kageyama’s chest. There’s something adorable about the face Karasuno’s ace pulls, but there’s self-loathing mixed in his expression too. (That’s the easiest for Kageyama to find. He sees it every time his gaze catches a mirror.) “I’m not much, Tobio.”

“More than me, dumbass,” he replies quickly. He’ll do anything to get rid of the bladed look of introspective hatred in Hinata’s eyes—anything.

When Hinata smiles back at him, it’s small and broken and not entirely healed, but it’s enough for Kageyama. He thinks that his boyfriend is something different, something other than flesh and bone, because there is no way that someone this small could have this much love. There is no way someone human could be this good. Hinata has to be something else, like a lost deity or a shooting star that landed on earth.

(He doesn’t know it yet, but just because something is holy, it does not mean it is whole.)

“Tobio!” Sugawara’s voice is loud in a way that somehow manages to avoid being irritating, waving him over to their table with a bright smile on his face. Daichi is sitting beside his husband-to-be with a look in his eyes that says holy-shit-I’m-so-in-love-with-you. Some part of Kageyama wonders if, had things gone differently, he’d be looking at someone like that. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

He smiles in reply, though it’s small and nowhere near as bright as his senpai’s. It’s easier to smile now, and Kageyama doesn’t look as awkward doing it now as he did when he was in high school. Seasons change, and along with it, so do people. Maybe, sometimes, he thinks bitterly, people change too much.

“Didn’t have practice today,” he says, taking his jacket off and placing it across the back of the chair before sitting down, “Besides, I wouldn’t miss your bachelor’s party, Sugawara-san.”

“It’s just a dinner,” Sugawara says, “Besides, it’s Kōshi.”

It’s hard to break the habit that Kageyama has built up for himself of building walls to avoid getting hurt again. It’s absolutely ridiculous, especially since he’s known Sugawara for nearly ten years, but he still has to make a conscious effort not to do it anyway.

“Oi, Kageyama!” Tanaka hits Kageyama on the back in a friendly display of camaraderie. “Nice to see you.”

He replies with something bland and generic that seems to satisfy Ryūnosuke enough that the baldy turns to excitedly prattle along with Nishinoya, but Kageyama’s eyes scan the filled seats with a bubbling sort of mix between panic and anticipation. But there isn’t any orange to be seen anywhere. (He can’t tell if the fact comforts or depresses him.)

“His plane was delayed,” Sugawara whispers, so softly that no one but the two of them can hear. “He won’t land in Japan until tomorrow, but...he’ll definitely be at the wedding.”

Kageyama blinks. “How…?”

“You had this look,” Sugawara says, a sad and melancholy smile adorning his face, “like you were missing something you haven’t had in a long time.”

There are only three certainties in the universe for Kageyama, the list of it fitting so nicely in his rhetoric that he could practically see it in his mind’s eye. Everything else seems so lackluster and ephemeral in comparison, and he can’t help use the concreteness as a sort of safety blanket.

One — He is a setter. There are very few things that compare to the feeling of the surety of the ball, slipping perfectly into the niche of his palms and launching off his fingertips. While he’ll be in any position in order to play, setter is where he does best.

Two — His personality is abrasive and sometimes outright rude. Oftentimes, he forgets to take others’ strengths and weaknesses into consideration in the attempt to score a point. There was a time when there was no one there to hit his toss.

Three — Hinata will be there. In the end, Hinata is always there.

Kageyama shuffles uncomfortably in his tuxedo, the stifling atmosphere threatening to suffocate him. There are too many people in the shrine, and it’s much too hot with all of the decorations. It’s a nice mix between a traditional Shinto wedding and a more Western one, a compromise between Daichi’s old-fashioned parents and Sugawara’s decidedly more progressive family. Surprisingly, Sugawara had chosen Oikawa as his best man, while Daichi had picked Asahi.

Glancing around, Kageyama realizes that quite a few of the people here are from their high school years. Their Karasuno years. It makes him wonder how strange and different their lives would have been without the sport, how empty.

Every flash of orange makes his chest hurt, his heart clenching in an odd amalgam of desperation and excitement, and he wonders if he’s always been this pathetic. But there’s an empty seat two places to Kageyama’s left, past Tanaka and Nishinoya’s joking laughter, with Shōyō’s name written in fancy calligraphy on a tiny white notecard, and just looking at it opens the deluge of confusion that sits low in Kageyama’s stomach.

“Gomenasai, Daichi-kun, Kōshi-kun. I got stuck in traffic on the way here.”

“That’s alright, Shōyō,” Daichi says, “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

Kageyama is so fucked.

His phone rings from its place on the kitchen counter, surrounded by textbooks and paper. The name Hinata Shōyō flashes across the screen in big white letters, and Kageyama scrambles to pick it up.

“Hello?”

There’s a shifting on the other side of the line. “Oh shit. I forgot to ask if you were busy studying for finals.”

“No, it’s fine,” he replies, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes with the back of a hand. “Just bored out of my mind doing Japanese history. What’s up?”

“I did it!” Hinata exclaims brightly. Kageyama can hear the grin in Hinata’s tone. “I got my acceptance letter for Tokai U! It came in the mail today.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” A heartbeat of silence. “Holy shit. I really did it.”

Kageyama glances to the opened envelope sitting a few feet away, a full-ride scholarship to Tokyo University sitting inside as an invitation to play volleyball for the school. More than 1000 kilometers away from Tokai, sitting all the way in Hokkaido. More than 1000 kilometers away from Hinata.

Something heavy gathers in his throat, and Kageyama tries his best to swallow down that growing feeling of despair as he says, “You worked hard for it. Of course you did.”

“Tob— Er...Kageyama? Is that you?”

He turns around, the sight of orange hair stopping Kageyama’s heart inside of his chest. It’s been five years since they’ve last seen each other, but this is wrong—so wrong. They should have been together here, laughing and holding hands and dodging questions about their own wedding, but instead they’re standing with two feet between them that feel like miles. It could have been a complete stranger for all the nonexistent familiarity between the two of them.

It should have been Tobio, not Kageyama.

“Hey,” he says, lifting a hand in a small, sad excuse of a wave and trying his best to keep his composure.

Hinata smiles. It’s as bright as the sun, and Kageyama’s just the shadow chasing after him. “How have you been?”

The bitter side of him wants to say, You would know if you hadn’t left. But he can’t. Even after all this time, Kageyama can’t bring himself to despise Hinata for the way their relationship had crumbled.

“Good.”

It’s a measly half-truth, but he’s unable to gather up the courage to live in complete honesty. One part of him wants to keep their conversation going in the hopes that even if their relationship hadn’t thrived, maybe Kageyama could get his best friend back. The other part just wants to leave, to run away from his problems like he had before, anything to stop the hurt that pooled in the center of his chest.

“Um...Well, it was good seeing you, Kageyama-kun,” Hinata says, rubbing his arm awkwardly as their momentum sputters out. “I think I saw Yacchan and Kenma-kun over there. I’m gonna go say hi.”

And just like the last time, Kageyama lets him walk away.

When Hinata had first left for Sapporo, they’d called each other every night. Now, they were lucky to get one every two weeks. The work had just steadily piled on, and the strict curriculum and rigorous volleyball practice hadn’t left much time for socializing. The first time they speak outside of the occasional text in over two months is for their break: a planned, weeklong trip for the original members of the original Karasuno team back in Miyagi.

On the last day there, just before they go their separate ways into different cars and planes and trains, Hinata walks up to Kageyama. “Er...Can I talk to you?”

It doesn’t strike him as anything odd, so he says, “Yeah. Sure.”

They walk to a secluded area, Hinata fiddling with his fingers on the entire walk there.

“Listen,” he says, “I think we should, you know…. Take a break.”

“What.”

“Just until the summer,” Hinata continues, his voice soft. As if he were afraid of breaking Kageyama. “We’re too busy at the moment to maintain a relationship. I mean, we’ve barely talked since last April.”

“I guess.”

“Okay.” Hinata nods, something like disappointment shining in his eyes as he leaves but Kageyama doesn’t know why. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

Kageyama knows he’ll have one hell of a hangover the following morning, but there’s an open tab on the alcohol and he’s got a lot of problems he wants to forget.

“Isn’t that your third sake bomb, Bakageyama?” Tsukishima walks up to the bar with his hands in his pockets and his expression questioning, but something like worry lines his all-seeing stare. “You know you’re going to regret this tomorrow, right? No matter how crazy good your alcohol tolerance is.”

“Hmm.”

Tsukishima sighs and sits down at the stool beside him, calling the bartender over. “A shot of your best.”

Kageyama doesn’t question it. Not after the tentative camaraderie they’d formed after all-nighters and bitching about professors together in the library. But even after all of that, they still refuse to move further than a last name basis, like they’re subtly trying to deny their friendship. “What are you doing here, Tsukishima-kun?”

“You looked like you were having an absolute blast standing over here and being an antisocial loner, so I thought I’d give it a try,” he replies smoothly. Despite his acerbic tone, he meaning is something like, I know you saw Hinata earlier, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.

“I’m having the time of my life,” Kageyama tells him with equal sarcasm. Thanks for checking up on me.

“Well that’s absolutely great,” he says, picking up the shot glass and sipping at the vodka. “But just to warn you, Hinata’s walking this way.”

“I think he misses you,” Yachi says over a bowl of ramen, chopsticks flailing around as she waves her hand with every word she speaks.

Kageyama picks at the karaage he’d ordered and feigns idiocy. “Who?”

“You know who, Tobio-kun. He still asks about you.” Her tone is soft, gentle, like Kageyama is an easily-scared animal she’s found in the wild.

“He’s the one that left, Yachi. Not me.”

“Oh! Kageyama-kun,” Hinata’s voice is slurred and his walk slightly swaying as he walks toward Kageyama. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“You have? Why?”

“Just to catch up,” he says, “What’s going on in your life at the moment?”

“Um, well, we’re training for Nationals.” Dumbass, he thought, Hinata probably was too.

He laughs. “That’s nice.”

The silence that falls on them is awkward and sticky, like a blanket he just can’t seem to quite get rid of. It’s the loudest quiet Kageyama has ever heard. That is, before he decides to break it.

It must be true about what they say about liquid courage, because Kageyama suddenly speaks up. “Why didn’t we work out? We were so good together, and then….and then nothing. Why—” His voice cracks, and he takes a moment to focus on not breaking down. “Why did you have to leave?”

“I—”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Hinata admits.

“You don’t know,” Kageyama repeats dumbly, too shocked at the confession to say much else. He’s had a broken heart for this long, and all Hinata can say to explain it is I don’t know. Bullshit.

“I was stupid, so stupid,” Hinata says, staring into his glass of whiskey, “and I should have done something other than what I did. I should have talked to you about it or asked you or done literally anything other than break up with you, because I regret it more than I’ve ever regretted anything in my entire life. And I am so sorry for that.”

Kageyama takes a shaky breath. He’s had years to think about what he’d say if he ever got this opportunity again, but he still can’t find the right words to say. “I— I’m sorry too. I should have tried harder to get you to stay. Called, at the very least.”

Hinata raises his glass high up towards the stars, the sheen of it glinting against the light of the moon, and smiles ruefully. “Maybe we were both wrong.”

Kageyama isn’t the brightest or most hardworking student, but after the split, no one could say his sudden academic excellency was undeserved. He’d thrown himself into studying, ignoring the mind-numbing torture of sitting in front of textbooks for hours on end, and got straight Bs. And when he was tired of that, he dove headfirst into volleyball, losing himself in jump serves and giving the spiker a perfect toss.

But eventually even that hurt too much. Because sometimes, when his hands touch the ball, his mind sees a flash of orange and all he can think of are the headlines of Karasuno’s Insane Quick across volleyball magazines. Because the court without Hinata is far too colorless and cold, and Kageyama can’t stand it.

It’s a soft groan and harsh sun that wakes Kageyama up, and his hand shoots to block his eyes from the offensive light that makes his headache worse. The only good thing about it is the warmth, he thinks as he pulls the covers back over himself.

“Watch it, asshole. I need some too.”

His eyes widen, and he immediately sits up. Just as he’d suspected, Hinata lay beside him on the bed, eyes closed and mumbling. Holy fuck. Had they...? No, they were both still wearing their clothes. Running a hand through his hair, Kageyama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting himself live inside this pocket of heaven for just a few more seconds before standing up and making sure he has his phone before he leaves.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

Hinata has a single eye cracked open, fear and hope all muddled together in that single expression, and it shatters Kageyama’s resolve in a single blow.

He sighs and walks back over to the bed, shifting under the covers and pulling Hinata close. “I guess not.”

#.haikyuu #hq fanfic #haikyuuwriters #.tkageyama #hinata shoyo #.kagehina #.hyachi #.loveofmylife #.hiwaizumi #.ksugawara #.dsawamura #.iwaoi #.daisuga #.ktsukishima #.mine #.mine:writing #.mine:haikyuu