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noctumbra · 4 years

Text

❝mutual❞

summary ─ the windows you were sharing were belong to your bedrooms, and ─okay, it was wrong, bucky knew this but he was only human ─ you sometimes left your curtains open.

pairing ─ neighbor!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, voyeurism, masturbation, size kink, language

a/n ─ hello, it’s me. i was wondering if you guys would mind leaving some comments. hope you like it! thank you <33 P.S.: this might be a dark-ish fic because of what bucky is doing, so please proceed with caution just in case.

KINKTOBER DAY THIRTEEN: neighbor!bucky + voyeurism + size kink

Bucky was going insane.

It had been nearly three years since he moved across to you; windows so close that Bucky knew it would take him a good jump a grip to be in your room. You were a nice gal; funny, beautiful and caring. You were a good friend, too, whenever he needed one. You’d sit in front of your windows and talk about each other’s day, what’s wrong and how was it. He liked those moments.

Sometimes, though, he felt like you were there to torture him.

The windows you were sharing were belong to your bedrooms, and ─okay, it was wrong, Bucky knew this but he was only human ─ you sometimes left your curtains open. You left them open at nights; especially the times when you thought he wasn’t in his room. The truth was that he was in his room most of the time; Bucky liked to lay in the darkness, it helped him to rest his brain and maybe dodge his upcoming headache. So he watched you changing your outfit, or applying cream on your naked body while a towel hid the best parts.

Tonight was the same. Your curtains were open; you were in a bathrobe and your hair was wet. Your legs were shiny due to the shower you just took; you must have shaved, Bucky thought idly as he watched you sat on your bed. His sharp blue eyes were following every move of your hands applying cream on your legs.

Oh, he’d kill a baby to be there and do that for you…

Bucky fidgeted on the bed. His sweatpants were becoming uncomfortable as he watched you. He breathed out slowly, trying to stay collected, but it was nearly impossible because you were untying your bathrobe.

Before you did that, though, you moved to your window and pulled the thin ones carelessly. It wasn’t closed totally, but obscuring Bucky’s view about sixty percent. Bucky didn’t care, he could still see you as clear as the day. He knew that he should have been feeling at least a little for ogling you like this without your knowledge, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had been meaning to ask you out but had seen you going out with a guy, so he decided not to do that.

Now watching, getting to see you like this was something that he’d never have the chance to see it in person. So, the window ogling had to do it.

Bucky could see you murmuring to yourself, swaying on your feet just a little as you did a small dance, and he watched you drop your bathrobe. You let the soft fabric slipping off your shoulders, causing Bucky to stop breathing.

You were fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered to himself as one of his hands flew to the front of his sweatpants to give his cock a good squeeze. “Fuck, shit!” He was fully hard now, balls tight and cock throbbing softly. His eyes raked over your naked, still partially wet, body. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to lick those water drops off your body…

You wore your silk nightgown, feeling the soft fabric stroking your skin, you hummed appreciatively. Tonight was your me time day, and you wanted to be comfortable as hell. You already had dinner, and now showered; it was the favorite time of your day. You dimmed the lights just a little, believing the dimmed lights were sexier. Then, you laid on your bed, burying yourself into the thick duvet, you opened your drawer. Pulling out you favorite vibrator, you wiggled excitedly on your place in the bed. You made sure the thing had some charge to take you all the way, you sneaked your hand under the duvet.

Bucky watched the whole thing happening with wide eyes and throbbing cock. He quickly undone his strings and pulled his sweatpants down to his thighs. Squeezing the base of his cock, he blindly searched for his lube in his drawer; his eyes were locked on you. When he found the bottle, he grabbed it and opened the cap. He had to tighten his hold on the bottle and swallow harshly when he saw you throw your head back with pleasure, one hand playing with your nipple.

“Shiiiit,” he whined, dumping almost all the lube in the bottle in his hand. When Bucky took a hold of his cock again, now slick and nice, he moaned. His hand started moving at a rapid pace and kept it for a minute, but when Bucky felt his balls tightening, he slowed. His fingers were circling his head, smearing the precum all over his cock. Hissing, Bucky squeezed the base of his cock again, but harder this time. He did not want to come before seeing you fell apart.

You whimpered into your pillow, eyes closed and head thrown back, you let the vibrations of the small toy lick you all over. Moving it up and down slowly, creating a wave-y feeling against your clit, your back arched with a moan. The soft vibrations were feeling so fucking good on your pussy; it had you curling your toes, arching your back and bit your lip to hold all of those loud moans and one certain name inside.

You knew you shouldn’t have thought about your neighbor like that, but goddamn, that man had some delicious muscles and a face to die for.

You imagined him looming over you; his large as fuck body making yours look smaller, you felt your pussy quiver under the toy. Groaning softly, you let your imagination run even wilder. You imagined him pounding into you; hard and fast and all feral. Headboard knocking against the wall with each of his strong thrusts, you imagined him kissing and biting and sucking you nipples, soothing the pain you had there.

He seemed like a guy who was very good with his mouth, you saw him licking his lips seductively more than ten times. You gasped as you imagined him eating you out. Imagining his tongue lapping over your pussy, drinking your juices, maybe fucking you with his tongue─ you moaned loudly and that moan turned into a loud whimper.

“Fuuuuck, yes, yes, yes!” You murmured to yourself, not even caring that your window was cracked open and people could hear you anymore. “Please,” you pleaded, “Yes, please, there!” You slipped your fingers inside and curled them gently. Your nails grazed over your sweet spot and you shouted; back fully arching, you threw your head and felt your eyes rolling backwards as you came on your fingers. Not stopping, you continued to move your fingers and focused the toy right over your clit.

“Holy shit!” Bucky gasped as he watched you come with your back arched and head thrown back. He could see your legs shaking lightly under the duvet. Bucky cursed at himself silently as he ran his fingers over his cock head, watching it twitch and throb in his hand. The slick sounds of the lube were getting him close to the edge; he knew he was going to come soon. He wanted to see you come one more time. He gave his balls a nice squeeze and gasped again. God, he wanted to be buried deep, deep inside of you so much right now. Wanted so badly to feel your walls rippling around him as you came around his cock.

“Oh, fuck─” Bucky moaned, eyes now stuck back at your writhing body.

You kicked the duvet at some point because it became too hot under. Moaning as you spread your legs wide, you imagined his broad as hell shoulders between them. He’d nudge your thighs upwards while going to town on your pussy. He’d lick and slurp and suck ─ “Oh, fuck,” you moaned as your legs trembled lightly. You pulled your fingers out and replaced them with the small toy. As soon as you felt the vibrations inside, you came: Your legs kicking the air as they shook violently, you felt an extra wetness between your legs.

“Shit,” Bucky whispered breathlessly. He couldn’t believe that you squirted. The arch you created as you squirted was enough to get Bucky impatient. Bucky snarled as he focused on his cock head; squeezing the sensitive skin rhythmically, he moaned and felt his balls tighten.

When he came, his come hit him on the jaw; spurting white lines all over his black t-shirt, Bucky whimpered at the tightening feeling of his balls. He grabbed them in his palm gently and rolled them, teasing with the very sensitive skin between his balls and his hole, Bucky gasped as he felt another orgasm caught up with him.

“Fu─” The moan got stuck in his throat, making him roll his eyes backwards as he arched into his own touch. His come had messed up his t-shirt and his bed a little, groaning Bucky finally took a deep breath in. He never came that hard before, let alone coming one after the other. He cursed to himself as he thought that if his orgasms were this strong without you being physically next to him, he couldn’t imagine the ones he would have while you were next to him.

Goddamn, Bucky thought, his eyes were now watching you settle into your bed tiredly, already cleaned up and turned the lights off. Gotta find a way to win you.

He was going to. Whatever it took, it didn’t matter.

He was going to have you and make you his girl.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #neighbor!bucky #kinktober 2020 #dark fic

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softtrobed · 3 years

Note

hm would you write a fic about annie coming out to jeff? i love their friendship and brother/sister relationship :)

thank you so much for this request! i honestly got a bit emotional writing this. annie coming out to jeff is something that can honestly be so personal...

there's some focus on annie coming out to other members of the study group, but it does mainly focus on her and jeff. i hope that's okay :)

Annie had decided to come out to her friends in the same way she tended to do most things: efficiently and beginning by making a list.

Well, she supposed the most efficient way would be to come out to all of them at the same time, but this way would be more effective in the long run. She knew they’d all have very different reactions, different questions to ask, different levels of surprise, so if they all found out at once, most likely no one’s questions would get answered (not just the ones she would politely ignore), the group would start talking over each other, someone would yell at Pierce and it would almost be forgotten what the point of the conversation even was. This way, although it would take longer, everyone would hopefully be satisfied.

She told Troy and Abed first. That was the easiest, as because the two were a couple, she had no doubt they’d be accepting. Additionally, in the time they’d lived together, she had a feeling they’d already picked up on some of her not-so-straight behaviours: the girl-crushes she formed on the pretty women in the movies they watched together and her disinterest or non-romantic affection towards the men she knew she was ‘supposed’ to swoon over; the way she giggled and twirled her hair while on the phone with a certain girl from Greendale she’d recently reconnected with; the one time she didn’t delete her search history from the apartment computer and Abed may or may not have seen her recent searches, which included among others, ‘am I gay test,’ ‘comphet meaning’ and ‘can you be straight but think girls are really pretty and rarely have long lasting feelings for men?’

She’d come out to them over breakfast one day, and they basically had the best response she could have wished for. They were totally cool with it, but didn’t make it a big deal. They joked about how she was no longer the token straight roommate, she hugged both of them, and the day went on as normal.

Annie had crossed their names off her list with a big smile on her face.

Next had been Britta. Annie had also guessed that she’d be accepting, as what had happened with Paige last year had been a bit misguided but well-intentioned. At least Annie didn’t have to worry about Britta only wanting to be her friend because she was a lesbian, because they were already friends, and Annie suspected Britta had learned her lesson.

As expected, Britta reacted well. Perhaps too well, loudly proclaiming her supporting for the LGBTQ community before asking a string of questions about what it was like dating girls and if kissing them was different if you were sobre and/or not doing it to prove you weren’t homophobic. Annie explained she didn’t know - she actually hadn’t kissed a girl yet - but did wonder if Britta’s questions weren’t just due to her being an ally. She could be wrong, but she had read something about queer people having a way of spotting each other. Still, it wasn’t her place to assume anything, and she put the thought out of her mind as she crossed off Britta’s name.

Next was Jeff. This was a bit trickier. Once again, she didn’t think Jeff would be at all homophobic (unless he turned out to be one of those men who only viewed relationships between women as hot, but she’d cross that bridge if she came to it), but coming out to him made her nervous for another reason. Ever since they’d kissed at the Transfer Dance, his feelings for her had seemed unclear. At first, he’d seemed determined to forget it ever happened - which she’d found unfair at the time, but now appreciated - but lately, it was possible he had actually become interested in her. It felt… really weird, when she thought about it for too long. Not only was she definitely not interested in him, but, partially due to their age gap, their relationship felt too close to a father-daughter or older brother-younger sister relationship to be romantic. Sometimes she wondered why she’d ever liked him like that at all.

Although, since she’d extensively researched what comphet was and realised that was undoubtedly what she’d been experiencing, she could understand a bit better she’d never really liked him to begin with, she’d just latched onto a seemingly unattainable man to convince herself she could be attracted to guys, yet again.

As everyone packed up their stuff to leave the study room, Annie remained seated. “Um, Jeff,” she said. “We’ve both got a free period now, right?”

“Right,” Jeff replied, not looking up from his phone.

“Would you mind if I talked to you about something?”

He looked at her curiously. “Yeah, sure.”

Troy, Abed and Britta had clearly all realised what was going on. Abed gave her a small, supportive smile, Troy gave a quick thumbs up, and Britta winked in a way Annie guessed was meant to be subtle, but no doubt everyone in the room saw.

“Come on, guys,” she said, ushering the others out of the room. “This sounds important, and private, and we’ve all got classes to get to.”

Shirley stopped, muttering that she’d forgotten a textbook, but Britta practically pushed her out of the door as Abed said in a deep voice, seeming to have taken the opportunity to act like a security guard, “Keep it moving.”

Annie smiled as she watched them leave, her friends dramatics a pleasant distraction from what she was about to do. She turned back to Jeff to see he’d put his phone down. Clearly, he knew this was serious. “So,” he said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Annie opened her mouth, let out a squeak, then closed it. This was going to be difficult. Maybe she should have just come out to everyone at the same time, the consequences be damned. That way, she would have got it all over with at once.

“Annie, is everything okay?” Jeff sounded so genuine in his concern, a relatively rare sight. “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she assured him, finding her voice, but he didn’t look convinced. She took a deep breath. “I was thinking recently about that time we kissed.” He looked confused for a second. Didn’t he remember that night? Not that she cared, of course. “You know? During the dance at the end of our first year? I had just decided not to move to Delaware with Vaughn-”

“Right, right,” he cut her off. “I remember. Sorry, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly. “So, I’ve been thinking about our kiss, and-”

Once more, he interrupted her. This was just getting annoying. “Annie, look, I know I’ve been giving… pretty mixed signals about my feelings for you, or if I even have any, but lately I’ve taken a good look at myself, and realised that it would never really feel right to be with you. For many reasons, none of which are your fault. It’s just that you’re much younger than me, and you often feel like a little sister to me - as well as a friend, of course - so I’m sorry, but-”

“Jeff.” Her firm tone silenced him.

There, she thought. How does it feel to be interrupted?

“I don’t want to be with you either!”

“Really?” he checked. “Because it wouldn’t be your fault if you did, I’m the one who needs to keep whatever feelings I have for you in check. Plus, I mean, I wouldn’t blame you…”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile began creeping onto her face. “I swear. I was going to say that I’ve been thinking about that kiss because of how, back then, I thought I really liked you. In a romantic way, I mean. But recently, I’ve realised that I just made myself think I liked you, even loved you. I wanted to convince myself I could be attracted to men, so just like with Troy in high school, I picked an unattainable - or so I thought - man. In his case: someone cool and popular who I thought would never notice ‘little Annie Aderal.’ With you, a cool, older guy who just saw me as a child.”

“Annie.” Jeff’s tone was serious but not annoyed. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

She nodded, her lips a thin line. “I’m a lesbian, Jeff. I really hope this doesn’t change things between us, although, honestly, knowing you don’t want to be with me is a big relief, because I was worried I’d break your heart or make things weird, but…” She paused. She was getting ahead of herself. “Well, have I made things weird?”

“Of course you haven’t! Thank you for telling me, that was really brave, especially if you thought I was still interested in you.”

“Thanks,” she said. She quickly added, “It’s not that I thought you’d react really badly. I don’t see you as someone who thinks he’s somehow entitled to any women he has feelings for, but still… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He stood up, walking around to her side of the table, presumably to remove the physical and metaphorical distance between them, and gesturing for her to stand up as well, which she did. “You haven’t hurt me at all, Annie, I promise. I care about you, so much, even - no, especially - as a friend, and I just want you to be happy. Even if I was madly in love with you - which, thankfully, I’m not - I could never be upset at you, or anyone, for this.”

Annie could feel tears forming in her eyes. “Aww, Jeff!” She practically threw herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug which he happily returned, laughing.

“Okay, we don’t have to make this all dramatic,” he said, but Annie was sure he sounded a bit choked up.

They came apart, smiling at each other for a few seconds before Jeff hesitantly reached out and gave her a pat on the head. “For old time’s sake,” he explained.

Annie had never felt happier while being given a head pat, which didn’t say much, she knew, but it was accurate, as she’d probably felt happier in general at some point in her life. Still, this was definitely in her top ten.

That night, she crossed off Jeff’s name, remembering the days she would doodle hearts as she wrote down his name, or paired her first and his last. This time, she instead drew a little smiley face. That was far more accurate, she thought. The thought of Jeff no longer made her heart flutter in her chest, but he made her smile, and she was more than happy with that.

#community #nbc community #annie edison #jeff winger #troy barnes #abed nadir #britta perry #shirley bennett #pierce hawthorne #lesbiannie #trobed #community fanfic #my writing #ask #lesbiannie-rights

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spaceskam · 3 years

Note

8 for Malex? Thanks!

*hiding because this took an embarrassing amount of time I'm sorry*

tags: high school au, slight mental health stuff goin’ on, bed sharing

8. bedtime stories [ao3]

Alex never claimed to be subtle.

He watched Michael openly, his thumb between his teeth as he eyed the way he pulled his shirt over his head. He knew this was probably inappropriate. However, Michael was hot and had yet to tell him to stop staring. Sometimes it seemed like he deliberately did things to make Alex stare. So Alex kept on and hoped that, if he was only doing this to make fun of Alex, at least he got something nice to look at.

“Hey, Alex,” Michael called, tossing his sweaty shirt into his bag and grabbing a dry one, “Do you think your brother would mind if I stayed over tonight? I don’t feel like going home.”

Alex swallowed and sat up straight. He looked around at the other guys in the locker room. He was sure one of them would say something. Magically, they didn’t.

“Clay won’t care,” Alex said, trying to seem nonchalant. Michael closed his locker and looked at him with a massive grin as he pulled his shirt down. His hair was still damp with sweat and it stuck to his forehead. Both of those things together were too much for Alex’s sanity.

“Cool. Meet you after school at my truck?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Michael leaned close into Alex’s face and gave a mocking, “Okay, yeah,” before he laughed and walked around Alex. He twisted on the bench and followed him with his eyes as he went to the other side of the locker room where his other friends were. They instantly started talking about the game next Friday and how they were playing Carlsbad and how their team’s cheerleaders were hot. Michael didn’t deny it and Alex tried not to feel weird about it.

Instead, he grabbed his back and quickly headed out of the locker room. He hated gym and had put it off until his senior year, but now he was stuck doing it with basically no one to talk to except sophomore loners who seemed content to fail the class. He felt that.

The only highlight of it was Michael Guerin who he got to watch work up a sweat for 45 minutes every single day of the week. He got to watch him play dodgeball with too much enthusiasm and run the mile at the fastest in the class and play put-out with his friends. Alex had, somehow, befriended him when they were freshmen and both the youngest in their math class, so they stuck together. Then sophomore year they had Spanish together, junior year they had chemistry, this year they had gym. It wasn’t much but it was enough to spark an unlikely class-only friendship that turned into a school-only friendship that turned into an actual one.

He was Alex’s favorite person in the world.

The next two classes passed by relatively quickly, solely relying on the fact that Alex wasn’t paying attention and instead doodling aimlessly in his notes. Science was boring, math was easy.

Alex let himself into Michael’s truck because he was a dumbass who never locked it and sat in the passenger seat. His notebook stayed in his lap and he kept shading in the boat he was working on as the parking lot filled with other people going to their cars and people going to their buses. Michael always talked to his fellow football players before he left considering they couldn’t leave until the buses did anyway, so Alex wasn’t in a rush.

When Michael did climb in, he raised his head to get a good look at him. Because he always wanted to get a good look at him. Today, just like most days, he looked gorgeous and lit up from the inside and he was already staring at Alex.

“What’cha drawing?” he asked, scooting to the middle to look at Alex’s book. He pressed up against his side and eyed it, nodding his head. “Nice. I’m gonna get one of those tattooed on me one day.”

“What? A boat?”

“No, one of your pieces,” Michael laughed, shaking his head as he moved back to the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and Alex stared at the side of his face. “Whichever one you think I should. Think about it.”

And Alex would think about it. It wasn’t even the first time he thought about it. Michael had spoken of getting one of his drawings on him before and the thought was quite possibly the most erotic thing Alex could think of which was ridiculous. There was nothing sexy about that in reality. But… Michael shirtless and having something Alex created permanently on his skin was just so good.

He went back to the drawing before he could entertain putting his tongue on it.

Michael turned up the radio before backing out of his spot and then they were on their way to Alex’s house. He put his drawing down in favor of watching out the window as Michael badly sang along to Nirvana and Beck.

Junior year was the first time Michael had come over to his house and it had felt weird to acknowledge that the person he’d spoken to nearly every day for over two years knew approximately nothing about his home life. Alex had half-assed an explanation about how his mother left and his dad was in jail, so Alex only lived with his brothers. Michael hadn’t judged him, only loudly made it clear he thought Clay was badass for stepping up when he was freshly 18 to make sure the rest of them didn’t get too screwed.

It was a few more after school hangouts after that that Michael confided that he’d been in the foster care system since he was a baby and had been in a group home for the last few years. Teenage boys were a hard sell to foster parents, apparently.

Clay had no problem giving his number to the group home to call for check-ins whenever Michael started staying over.

“Please tell me he got spicy Doritos because I‒hell yeah,” Michael said, letting himself roam freely around the kitchen. He pulled the bag of spicy nacho Doritos labeled Michael out of the pantry and ripped them open, a grin on his face. Alex could watch it all day.

“Can I steal the bar mix that you haven’t touched in, like, a month?” Flint asked, his gaze stuck on his computer where he was doing homework. His eyebrows were pulled into an angry glare at it.

“Yeah, sure, if it’s still good,” Michael answered, falling onto the couch right beside Alex and holding out the bag to him. Alex shook his head. Michael often got food obsessions and would go a month where that was all he wanted, but during bad days it was the only thing he could eat that didn’t make him lose his appetite.

Despite the fact that he was all smiles, Alex had memorized the warning signs and knew he wouldn’t be eating dinner.

“Sweet,” Flint said, sliding to the pantry to grab the remnants of Michael’s last food obsession.

One of the warning signs that Michael wasn’t doing great, despite the fact that he’d asked to come over at all and hadn’t just invited himself, was the fact that he had taken any excuse all day to be tactile Alex. He’d spent all lunch and gym with him instead of with his football buddies, he’d wanted to sit closer in the truck, he immediately sat practically on top of him on the couch.

Later that night, he sat beside him at dinner and picked at it, only eating the crunchy asparagus and the edges of the tortilla part of his quesadilla. Alex ate what he didn’t.

Michael took a shower and wore Alex’s clothes and made himself at home in Alex’s bed, all cozy and on his phone with his thumb in his mouth when Alex got out of the shower. When they’d first started spending the night together, Michael slept on the couch or on the floor. One night they’d fallen asleep in Alex’s bed during a movie and now that’s where he went each night.

Alex didn’t mind.

He shut off the lights and jumped into bed, putting on Netflix on the TV and starting up where they’d left off in their third watch-through of The Good Place. Michael scooted closer until they were touching in some way, his eyes still partially on his phone and partially on the TV.

It should’ve bothered Alex. It should’ve felt like taunting. Occasionally he did feel the need to shake him and ask him if he really wasn’t seeing how much Alex was into him. Was the staring not enough? Was the way he got a bit dizzy whenever he realized Michael was beginning to smell like Alex’s shampoo not enough? Was Alex’s eyes tracing every bead of sweat that rolled across his face like he hadn’t had water in weeks not enough? Was every single one of Michael’s other friends mentioning that they acted “kinda gay” not enough?

But mostly Alex was fine with it. Michael was safe here and comfortable and Alex wasn’t going to ruin that by wanting something more. So he would keep his hands to himself. He wouldn’t be subtle, but he wouldn’t be overbearing. He would just be Alex and hope that was alright.

“Alex,” Michael whispered, moving until his head was on Alex’s shoulder. Alex hummed in response. “Can you tell me a bedtime story about your boat?”

Alex smiled and shifted, his fingers slipping into Michael’s hair. Michael tilted his head up until they locked eyes. They were so close, just like every time Michael requested a bedtime story, as if that was the only acceptable time to be less than an inch away from each other’s face. Alex very quietly thought that their entire friendship felt like one.

“Once upon a time, there was a very loud pirate captain,” Alex started, watching as Michael’s thumb slowly started gravitating towards his mouth again, “He was old and held very strict beliefs. If you disagreed, he’d throw you overboard.”

“What a dick.”

“Mm, yeah, very. Anyway, he was always angry and his crew were like ‘shit, what if he’s lonely’ and decided they needed to get him a friend.”

“Oh no, poor lonely pirate man,” Michael said around his thumb.

“Poor lonely pirate man indeed,” Alex agreed, nodding solemnly, “So they searched high and low for anyone to be his companion. Not someone on the crew, but someone who would be his equal and separate from his employees. It was a very complicated task. They would find people who seemed good, but then the pirate captain wouldn’t like them and kick them out. It happened so many times they almost gave up. But eventually, they found an astronaut who seemed like a good fit because he was very smart and very happy.”

Michael pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud pop, “So they really searched high, huh?”

Alex huffed a laugh and nodded, combing back his hair. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at him, at his interested and tired eyes. God, he was so into him. Every single bit of him. Even when he needed moments like these.

“Yeah, really high. And they brought him back to the boat to meet the captain and they really, really thought he would hate him. But you know what? He didn’t. They actually got on quite well. And the captain started becoming a lot less angry,” Alex said. Michael shifted, pressing closer.

“And did the astronaut change?”

“Mhm. He got to relax too. He didn’t feel like he had to be super smart and happy to make everyone else happy anymore, he could just be himself. He could even be sad sometimes and that was okay because he had someone who liked him no matter what,” Alex explained, “He even would stop at islands to get his favorite foods.”

“Were they just best friends or were they in love?” Michael asked. Alex swallowed carefully and scanned his eyes over his face, trying to gauge what would be a better answer.

“They started as just best friends,” Alex decided, “But they fell in love. They were both. Somewhere in between.”

“Somewhere in between?”

“Yeah, like, not quite just best friends and not quite together romantically. Something different. Something special,” Alex tried. Michael watched him closely. In the background, Eleanor watched herself fall in love with Chidi for one of the hundreds of times they fell in love and Alex tried not to be too poetic about it.

“Alex,” Michael said, his hand dropping between them, “Are we somewhere in between? It feels like we are”

The question was honestly innocent but Alex stopped breathing, not knowing how to answer. He had a football player cuddling up to him in his bed. He should say no. He should save his own ass. He should keep it to himself.

But Michael was comfortable enough to cuddle him, to be babied when he needed it, to be raw and open.

So why couldn’t Alex?

“Do you wanna be?” Alex asked. Michael blinked. “Or… like… do you wanna be somewhere… not in between?”

“Like, on the other side? The romantic side?” Michael clarified. Alex nodded slowly, unsure. “Does it mean I get goodnight kisses?”

Alex let out a slow breath and laughed cautiously, “If you want them.”

“I want them,” Michael said assuredly. Alex couldn’t fucking think straight and he was just smiling stupidly at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Goodnight kisses, right here,” Michael said, tapping his lips delicately.

“Right. Okay.”

Alex moved his head just a little to give him a soft kiss, barely lasting a few seconds. He didn’t want to be too presumptuous. And, still, it was probably the best kiss he’d ever had in his life. His heart was trying to escape his chest.

He was really doing this. This was really happening.

“Did they live happily ever after, Alex?” Michael asked against his lips. Alex breathed and nodded.

“Yeah. They did.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #title tuesday #alexmanesss

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Five Car Pileup

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,162

Warnings: Where to start? Probably medical inaccuracies, amputation, car accident, blood, gore, mentions of needles, mentions of death, Jack gets depressed but not for long, the reader has to cut Jack’s arm off without painkillers, but surprisingly no one dies, and I do promise it has a happy ending. This one’s harsh y’all, proceed with caution.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Nothing marks a day as ‘bad’ like having a painful 24 hour shift, two patients die in your care, and at the last ten minutes of your shift, a five car pileup where at least one man was severely injured. However, that man is your former boyfriend Jack Daniels, and boy oh boy is he in trouble.

Short A/N: PLEASE pay attention to the warnings! This story is a doozy! Be careful, drive safely, and stay safe!

You took a breath, leaning against the ambulance and finally scrubbing your hands down your face. This was why you didn’t wear any heavy makeup during night shifts. Mostly because no one cared, but partially so you could rub your face without worry.

The night had been unnecessarily long. You’d started working almost twenty four hours ago, and the constant work was starting to weigh on your shoulders. Two patients had died today, both while you were in the room with them. One had been an old woman who’d been battling cancer for years now, and the other had been a teenager who’d asked you to hold her hand as she passed. It was horribly taxing, and all you wanted to do was go home and make some tea, maybe curl up on the couch with a sappy movie or something while you slept away the past 24 hours.

A chiming brought your attention back, and you checked your watch, breathing out. Ten minutes until your shift was over. Ten minutes. Ten minutes.

And then your pager went off.

“Shit!” You yelled, grabbing it off your waist and looking at it. Swearing even more, you flagged down a paramedic running to the ambulance you were leaning against. The hospital was understaffed, as always, and they needed you to make a run with the paramedics. Something about a severe car accident, estimated five cars with at least one man badly injured. Groaning loudly, you hopped into the ambulance as it took off, sirens wailing. Of course. Of course you had an emergency within the last ten minutes of your shift.

The wreck wasn’t too far out, which was nice. You’d hate to be in charge of any patient for an hour long ride to the hospital. As the ambulance pulled to a stop, you jumped out, going into work mode. Car wrecks weren’t an uncommon event, and you’d had your fair share of wreck patients. Either they were ridiculously over-exaggerated or horribly under-exaggerated. Either way, this would be bad.

Taking in the wreck, you counted the vehicles. Five, as expected. Two trucks, two cars, and one SUV. The other paramedics began to examine the people standing on the side, a fire truck pulling up along with a handful of cop cars.

“There’s still someone trapped in there!” A woman with three kids by her side said to you as you circled the wreck. “He got my kids out, but he’s stuck and we can’t get him out.”

You nodded to the woman, seeing a wayward boot sticking out between the flipped cab of one of the trucks and the scraped door of a car. “I see him!”

Getting on your stomach, you managed to wiggle into the wreck, army crawling against the glass scattered ground. Calling out to the other paramedics and the firemen, you found the victim.

Scooting so you were parallel to the body, you reached out and managed to flip the head towards you, gasping. Jack Daniels, an old flame of yours. Blood stained the side of his head, and one eye was swollen shut. Every inch of skin that you could see was grimy and scattered with glass shards. He blinked his left eye open, a tiny, wavering grin blossoming as he saw you. “Hello darling. Here to rescue me?”

“Yes Jack,” you said calmly, hearing the firemen begin to move the truck above you. “Where does it hurt?”

Jack winced. “Arm. Right one. I think it’s stuck.”

“Okay,” you said, looking around. There was space to Jack’s left, and you moved out from his right so you could lay on his left. There was nothing separating you now, and you were able to take Jack’s heart rate and blood pressure, all while slowly treating his other, smaller wounds. Finally, you could face it no longer. You had to check the worst of the damage.

“Alright, let me see that arm,” you said, shimmying down so you were close to his arm. It was, as assumed, stuck. The SUV door had broken off and was now laying on Jack’s arm right near the shoulder, the thin strip of metal pressing into his skin not giving you any hope. “Jack.”

“That’s my name.”

“Jack the arm has to go.”

Silence. It was the unfortunate reality. Nothing could save him now. “The other paramedics can get you out, but this arm is too stuck. The SUV door isn’t going anywhere, and if I don’t take it off.”

The unsaid threat hung heavy in the air. Jack took a breath, and you could see his chest rise as he considered his options. “Will it hurt?”

“Like nothing you’ve ever experienced,” you said softly, words getting caught on your unusually tight throat. You’d scooted back up so you and Jack were face to face. The sound of another car being moved, exposing your back, crunched through the air.

Jack turned his face to look at you, swollen eye leaking tears. “Just do it.”

You nodded, taking his trapped hand and kissing it, wanting his last experience with both hands to be, at least, mildly pleasant.

“Let me go see if we have painkillers,” you said slowly, rolling out from the wreck.

Standing to face the paramedics, you explained the situation. They’d have to pull him out as soon as you were done if there was going to be any chance for him to survive. Grabbing a syringe full of the strongest painkillers you could find and a battery powered saw, you took a forced breath and got back under the car.

Jack was waiting, taking deep, slow breaths. “Hey darling.”

“Hey Jack,” you said, wiggling around until you could securely give him the painkillers. “How’s work been?”

“Oh, y’know,” Jack mumbled, wincing as you stuck him. “Same old, same old.”

You nodded. A while into your relationship, Jack had trusted you with the true secret of his job. You had never visited the Statesman secret service building, but the stories were amazing and usually hilarious. “Think they’ll be able to make you a fancy new arm?”

Jack chuckled weakly. “Yeah. All the bells and whistles.” He was quiet for a minute as you tried to still your shaking hands. “Darling?”

“Yeah?”

“When this is all over,” Jack said slowly, so slowly you feared he was losing consciousness. “How about a date? Out to that old restaurant you liked, the one where they had all their herbs and veggies growing out back.”

You smiled, reaching a hand through the shattered SUV window and caressing Jack’s face. “I’d like that Jack. I’d like that a lot. You survive this, and I’ll absolutely go out with you again. I do miss our conversations.”

Jack grinned, his one open eye blinking slowly. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

You moved back down, calling out to the paramedics who no doubt had a grip on Jack’s body and were waiting for you to do your job. “Ready!”

“Ready!” The call back was horrifying, and you positioned the saw above the line where the arm was trapped. From this angle, it would be tricky, but possible.

“Ready,” came Jack’s weak voice, and you shut your eyes tight for a split second before gathering yourself, putting on a brave face and your work emotions, and doing your damn job.

It was agony. Jack screamed, a horribly pained scream that tore at his throat and made you want to cry. He flailed, broken pleas for you to stop bubbling in between the screaming. The other paramedics held his limbs, securing him down so he didn’t screw up your hack job. You hoped the three children couldn’t hear as you kept going, working through skin, muscle, and bone. Jack’s continued screams made your blood run cold as you did your job quickly, finally able to shout “pull!”

Jack disappeared from your view as you collapsed onto the ground. Blood stained you from head to toe, and it took two men to help you to your feet. As you stumbled across the bloodied asphalt, your knees weak, two firemen took you and got you as clean as possible, wrapping you in a shock blanket and reassuring you that everything was okay. The mother with her two kids was gone, blissfully, but a few other spectators had remained, each visibly shaken by what they’d just heard and seen.

The ambulance with Jack in it was already gone by the time you were back in focus. “He’s gonna be okay?” You rasped, leaning against a paramedic you knew well.

Lawrence nodded. “He’ll be fine. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

In the end, you did go home. For almost twelve hours, you slept on the couch, making Lawrence swear to call you if anything happened to Jack. No such call came, so when you stumbled into work the next day, you were unsurprised but overjoyed to find Jack alive and recovering slowly. He was still unconscious, and was mostly being kept alive by machines, but you were ecstatic to see his heartbeat steady on the monitor.

“Hey you,” Lawrence said, coming up behind you. “You did good yesterday.”

“Didn’t feel good,” you said, avoiding looking at the thick white bandages that covered Jack’s hacked at shoulder.

Lawrence sighed. “He’s alive,” he reminded you. “Because of you. The boys and I were talking. None of us would’ve had the courage to crawl into that wreck and cut his arm off at that angle.”

You shrugged. “I’m never doing that again.”

“I bet.”

It took Jack months to recover enough for visitors. He was in your section, meaning you were taking care of him. For almost two months he was silent and mostly unresponsive, only really ever turning his head and shrugging when he had to. The wound healed nicely, and by the end of month three, you deemed him okay for visitors.

His first visitor was a woman in a neat button up. She was holding a white box and you recognized her very faintly.

“You can call me Ginger,” she said when you asked for her name. You nodded, suddenly remembering her. Ginger. One of Jack’s coworkers.

Jack was happy to see Ginger. He didn’t smile, but his posture shifted. Ginger set the box on the bed near his feet. “Daniels. How’s the hospital been treating you?”

“Better than the Statesman med center,” Jack said, and you grinned. That was the man you knew, sass and snark.

Ginger sat in a chair. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that, while the hatter wasn’t happy to hear you destroyed his favorite hat, he made you a new one.” She opened the box and pulled out a pristine cowboy hat. Gently placing it on Jack’s head, she gave the brim a playful flick. “There’s the cowboy we’re all missing at work.”

Jack sighed, ducking his head down. With a jolt, you realized he was smiling. Jack was smiling again.

Another month passed, during which Jack returned to his former attitude. He attended PT daily, often with you beside him as he swore loudly while trying to maneuver the fake kitchen the physical therapy department had with one hand. When he was finally cleared for discharge, you went to your boss with a request.

“I want to be transferred,” you said. “Just for the time being, until Daniels returns to work. I want to be made his primary carer.”

It took some negotiating, but you walked out of the office with a new job. Jack put his arm around you as he waved to the various nurses and doctors who had saved his life, walking out of the hospital for the first time in months.

Your first stop was Statesman.

Champ was, as expected, sympathetic. Ginger was happy to see Jack back at work, and Tequila made exactly one stump joke before you kneed him in the dick and told him to fuck off.

Ginger also insisted on getting some scans and measurements of his shoulder. You held his left hand while Ginger uncovered the unsightly wound. He hissed at the contact, but Ginger kept her touch nice and light as she worked.

“I can build a prosthetic,” she decided finally. “It’ll function just like your old arm, and we can even build a flesh sleeve so it’ll look the same. I don’t think I can give it pain receptors though.”

Jack shook his head, sliding his shirt back on. “That’s fine. Don’t need anything fancy.”

You smiled, opening the door and taking Jack’s hand as he waved goodbye to Ginger.

“I believe I promised you a date,” Jack said as you two walked away from the Statesman infirmary, still hand in hand.

“I believe you did,” you said, following Jack through the building. “But I’m driving.”

Jack grinned, and you were glad, despite your fears months ago, that you’d been brave enough to step up and take the charge to save Jack’s life. “Well then, what are we waiting for, darling?”

#kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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undertaker1827 · 3 years

Note

ooie! platonic 21 Halloween headcanons with Sebs and Under?

I AM SO HAPPY THAT OPENED HIS ASKBOX😀😀😀

Riiiiight so I completely missed the holiday (so sorry) hope you enjoy anyway!! Aww thank you❤️

21] Tell scary stories

Masterlist

Undertaker

Okay so Undertaker tells the best scary stories

They all kind of take place in the Victorian era going into the early 1900s (Industrial Revolution and such)

You’ve gone over to see him on Halloween, either preferring his company over others or just not having anyone else nearby to celebrate with

He’s in the front room of the parlour when you get there, the same one he’s lived in since the 1800s

You insist that a good half of the cobwebs in the place are from the same time, clearly incredibly old and so thick with dust in places that you couldn’t see through them

The grime covering the single window also concerned you, though the candles and oil lamp (all for the aesthetic, my dear) always provided a welcoming glow

The two of you were sitting on top of a coffin in the front room (mainly in case any more trick or treaters came by) with the oil lamp between you casting strange shadows over your companion’s face

Undertaker trusted you, quite a lot in fact so he had his bangs pushed back and those intense chartreuse eyes showing

This made his stories seem more scary, more real, which he knew full well

He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he enjoyed seeing you scared of something as small as his stories, finding something so uniquely human in the fear you tried to hide

It encouraged him to think of other tales to tell you, because god if he didn’t want to bring that emotion further out, to probe it just a bit more and see what you did in response

He told one about a graveyard he’d been tending to one night in the 1870s, just doing a round and making sure everything was in order - mainly checking for graverobbers

He explained to you that some graves in those days were fitted with bells - those who could afford them, that was - in case it turned out that the person buried was, in fact, still living

But as the reaper was walking, rain coming down in torrents and his hair plastered down to his head with a shovel held over his shoulder, he heard a bell ring

He glanced sharply in the direction of it, not having sensed any living humans in the area since early in the evening

He strolled over with a casual look on his face, one belying remarkable interest

The bell rang again, more incessantly this time, until it just kept ringing constantly, not letting up once

Undertaker took the final few steps to the headstone

As soon as his boot touched the ground next to it, the bell stopped dead

The mortician paused in his regaling of his tale, eyes narrowed and glowing with interest as your pale, wide-eyed face stared back at him intently

Your hands were clasped together in front of you and he could practically see the chill crawling down your spine

It was raining at this point, coming down in hard sheets that pounded against the window

You were leaning forward in anticipation, begging him to go on as you couldn’t stand the suspense a second longer

As the bell stopped, the reaper took a quick glance at the grave: Nicholas Chambers, beloved father, uncle, brother and husband

“Help me, pl-please!” A mournful voice wailed, disused and rasping as a result

A series of coughs followed and a dull thud against a rotting wooden prison

“I need help, I’m trapped down here,” the voice started again, though Undertaker simply narrowed his eyes and scoffed

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you up right now, lad,” he called down, receiving a long wail in return, followed by a cried out ‘why not?!’

“’Cause, Mister Chambers, you were left six feet under in 1698!”

He began sauntering away again, ignoring the pounded that started against the lid of the decaying coffin, the angry yelling that rang through the sodden graveyard

“Rest in peace indeed,” Undertaker muttered, “think we’ll let you stay put a while longer.”

The horrified look on your face when the story ended was enough to send the reaper into a raucous fit of laughter, making you jump so badly that you flung an arm out at random, knocking over the oil lamp and shrieking as it shattered against the stone floor

The room was plunged into darkness and you were temporarily blind with the sudden change in light

You reached around with your hands in terror, trying to find the mortician

You heard a light giggle to your side then felt his arms around you a moment later

You clutched onto him immediately, fingertips trembling

“Daft thing,” he murmured “didn’t scare you that badly, did I?”

Your lack of answer was enough to confirm to him that he had

Sebastian

Right

Sebastian is another one who tells absolutely brilliant scary stories

There was quite literally no one else you could see yourself spending Halloween with apart from him

I mean he is actually a demon, that has to count for something in terms of the quality of this holiday

You found that his apartment was tastefully decorated when you made it over there in the early evening

Well placed cobwebs hung in the corners and from the ceiling with dark candelabras positioned on various tables and shelves, black candles already burned enough to leave trails of wax down their sides

His adjustable lights were dimmed down and giving the whole place a warm, orange glow, one which was enhanced by the flames from the candles and the fire burning in the hearth

His curtains were drawn and the room was a comfortable temperature, a nice contrast to the freezing weather outside

He welcomed you in with a gentle hug, presenting you with a cup of tea moments later and elegantly taking the winter coat from your shoulders

He whisked it away to hang somewhere neatly, then you both went and sat down on the sofa together

It wasn’t like you came to the decision of ‘let’s tell spooky stories’, it just sort of ended up happening

Sebastian’s apartment was quite a long way up, meaning you could hear the wind howling loudly around the corners and battering the windows, adding a certain creepiness to the evening

The demon no doubt sensed that emotion on you and decided to use it to his advantage

He went so smoothly into his anecdote that you hardly even realised he’d done it, but your heart rate was picking up before you knew it

His story started on a barren Yorkshire moorland, with a young woman driving home from work late at night

It was the middle of winter and even with the heating on, she could feel the cold seeping in through every available join in the bodywork of the car

There were no other vehicles on the road, no pedestrians, no signs of life

As she drove on, a light mist started to roll in off the moor, soon coating the road and leaving her barely able to see a few metres in front of her

She simply slowed down and carried on, more than used to these sudden changes in weather

It was when she rounded a corner however, that she was forced to slam on her brakes

An old women was stood partially out in the road, hunched over and clutching a small bag to her stomach

She was dressed in black with a hood pulled low over her head, waving the car down

The young woman stopped, opened the window and asked if she needed a lift

In a few minutes they were off once again, the woman still with her hood covering her face

The driver seemed simply to realise something was off - a sixth sense, maybe - and took several discreet glances at her companion

It was only on the third or fourth that she realised; the ‘old woman’ had the hands of a young man

She continued driving on like before, waiting until the back window inevitably fogged up before apologising to her passenger, asking if she would be so kind as to get out and clear it so they could continue doing so

The old woman nodded, slowly getting out and making her way around to the back of the car

Only when she was well away from the door did the driver floor the car, flinching as the passenger door slammed shut at the sudden acceleration and glancing in the rear view to ensure the passenger was still standing in the road

She didn’t dare look back again when the man raised his hands to the hood of the cloak, terrified of what she might see

She sped on after that, a white knuckle grip on the wheel and mouth parched, though she would stop for nothing

She finally arrived home about half an hour later, breathing a sigh of relief when she pulled into her drive

Her back stiffened however when she saw that her passenger’s bag was still sitting on the seat next to her

Hesitantly, she picked it up and tipped the contents on the seat, only to leap backwards against the car door and gasp

The gleaming, sharpened steel of a meat cleaver reflected back at her and she was chilled to the bones as thoughts of what would have happened to her had she of thought any slower consumed her mind

Sebastian’s eyes were positively glowing when he finished, hearing your heart race and seeing the way your hands were trembling, even as you hid them in your lap

“Whatever is the matter, Y/N?” The demon asked with a smirk, “surely you aren’t that scared of a simple fable?”

He leaned forwards to pull you into a hug when you didn’t answer, shaking his head at how every muscle in your body was tensed and the way you held onto him immediately

This was another thing about humans that fascinated him; telling scary stories was one of the oldest traditions of All Hallow’s Eve that was still around, yet people scared themselves so much that they no longer looked upon it as a bit of fun, in some cases, at least

#undertaker #adrian crevan #sebastian michaelis #undertaker x reader #adrian crevan x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #black butler undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker #black butler sebastian x reader #black butler sebastian #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler reader inserts #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji undertaker #kuroshitsuji sebastian x reader #kuroshitsuji sebastian

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platonicavengers · 4 years

Text

Pinky Promise

pairing: avengers x teen!reader; platonic!steve x teen!reader; platonic!natasha x teen!reader

word count: 1,772 (hehe told y’all)

warnings: sadness, depression, maybe swearing?? idk i don’t pay enough attention, post-infinity war feels

author’s note: im :) fine :) not :) sad :) at :) all :) also why do i always write angst am i that incapable of letting anyone be happy hahahah help

summary: it’s been a year since thanos snapped his fingers, and you still feel just as upset as you did the day it happened, but steve and nat are there to try their best to help you :)

my masterlist | read it on ao3 | read it on wattpad

One year; 12 months; 52 weeks; 365 days; 8,760 hours; 525,600 minutes; 31,536,000 seconds.

Since it happened. It, of course, being Thanos snapping his fingers, successfully eliminating 50% of life throughout the entire universe. Since you lost so many of your closest friends, your family.

Some people say that it gets easier with time, that eventually, it stops hurting as much. That after a while, the pain just isn't as bad.

But they would be wrong.

It's been an entire year, and for you, it's only seemed to get worse. The pain just grows each day, the loss of some of your favorite people just taking a larger toll on you as the days go by.

And the team could tell. What's left of the team, at least. Even out of the survivors, not everyone stayed around at the compound, as it would just bring back memories of those they've lost.

Tony had gone to live with Pepper and their daughter, Morgan, in a cabin on the lake. Bruce had gone somewhere, you weren't even sure where he was, and the same with Rhodey. Thor left to go establish New Asgard, and you hadn't seen him since. Carol, although technically not an official member of the team, was up in space most of the time, so you never saw her, either. That left only you, Natasha, and Steve.

Natasha was the first to notice. The way you rarely left your room, and if you did, your eyes were rimmed with a red tint, and your cheeks were puffed up. And if she ever got the chance to speak to you, you would only give her one or two word responses, far from the usual energetic and lengthy ones you used to give.

Steve noticed not long after, partially because Natasha pointed it out to him, and partially on his own. He saw the way you always wore sweatshirts or t- shirts belonging to your fallen friends. He heard you crying at the late hours of the night, when you thought no one else was awake.

So the two of them came together, trying to think of any and every way to help you, to take your mind off of everything, even just for a few minutes. But you did know this. You still stayed locked up in your room, today, especially, not even attempting to drag yourself out of bed, knowing that the only thing you were capable of doing today, was mourning.

••

The minute your alarm clock went off at 7 AM, you could already feel the familiar sensation of a wave of tears approaching. You were used to it by now, and just let it happen on its own.

With the sleeves of one of Wanda’s hoodies folded over your hands, you pressed your wrists to your eyes, trying to stop the stinging feeling of the tears. Your attempt was futile, and a steady stream started flowing down your cheeks, onto the comforter below you.

You sighed in frustration and annoyance when the tears wouldn’t stop. It seems like everyone else has moved on already, you thought to yourself, so why can’t I?

You buried your face in your hands and let out a loud sob. You shook your head, slowly lifting it from your hands as you stared up at the ceiling for a moment. You internally swore at yourself, knowing that what you were about to do was immature, but you were going to do it anyways.

“Hey, u-um,” your voice was quiet, hoarse from going so long without speaking, not to mention nasally from all the crying you’ve been doing lately. You brushed your messy hair out of your face, sniffling loudly, “I-I don’t know if anyone can hear me, but I, uh. I wanted to try an-and say something, just in case any of you guys a-are listening right now.”

You sobbed again, swearing under your breath, “Get it together, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself. You cleared your throat, trying once more to speak, “U-um. I just wanted to say that, um, I miss you all,” your voice broke off, the tears falling faster now, “so much. Uh, I miss you and love you all so much. I would do anything to get a-all of you back here, right now. Whatever it would take, I don’t care. I-I need you all, so badly.”

You cursed at yourself again, much louder than you intended to. Unbeknownst to you, Steve and Natasha heard you. They shared a look, before stopping what they were doing, and standing next to your closed door.

“I’m so, so, so sorry I didn’t do good enough. I tried, as hard as I could. I tried everything I could think of to get everyone back,” your voice had fallen into a low whisper, “b-but nothing worked.”

The pair outside your door felt their hearts break. It hurt them so much to hear you in such pain, and they knew they couldn’t stand to listen any longer. Natasha glanced at Steve, communicating with him through their eyes. Steve sent her a slight nod, knowing what she wanted to do.

The redhead slowly stood up from her squatting position, softly knocking on your door. She spoke quietly, a warm and caring tone laced through her words, “Y/N, sweetie? Could you open the door, please?”

You froze. You hadn’t expected for either of them to try and talk to you. Lately, they had stopped trying to get you to unlock your door, to open up, even just a little, after realizing that you refused to. You stayed silent for a moment, not knowing how, or if you wanted, to respond.

“Please, Y/N. We just want to help you, I promise, honey.”

Natasha’s voice was so calming, with the slight motherly tone coming through her words. You felt your resolve falter for a second, and you contemplated whether to let her in or not. On one hand, you didn’t want them seeing you like this, although you knew they wouldn’t care. But on the other, you so desperately craved comfort, reassurance, especially from those you trusted and cared for so deeply.

“Please,” this time it was Steve that spoke, “we know you’re hurting, and we want to help.”

With his words, you broke. You felt the sobs building up in your chest, and you ran to the door, unlocking and it and yanking it open roughly. You fell into Natasha’s open arms, sobbing. Steve wrapped his arms around you as well, joining the embrace. Your body shook painfully, but the feeling of two of your closest friends holding you so tightly helped soften the blow.

It took you around fifteen minutes to calm down. The whole time, both Steve and Natasha stayed with you on the floor, still holding onto you tightly, occasionally whispering short phrases of comfort into your ears.

When you eventually did settle down, you could feel your body growing tired from your sobs. You slowly lifted your head from Natasha’s shoulder, and she sent you a small smile. She wiped away the tears from under your eyes with the pads of her thumbs, and tucked your hair behind your ears.

Steve shifted so he was in front of you, and he could see your face as he spoke to you, “How ‘bout we have a movie day today, huh? No work, no responsibilities, just hangin’ out and watching movies? Sound good, hmm?”

You weakly nodded, trying your best to send him a smile, but the corners of your lips barely lifted up. He smiled back at you, helping you and Natasha both up from the ground, and the three of you walked together to the living room area.

You sat down on one of the couches, Steve taking the seat next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, slowly rubbing your arm as Natasha stood in the kitchen, gathering snacks for you all.

As Steve picked up the TV remote, going to put the first movie on, a memory of a day similar came to mind.

“Everybody sit your asses down, it’s movie day!” You grinned widely as Tony shouted at the rest of the team. You plopped down on one of the couches, Steve on your right, and Wanda on your left. You loved having movie nights with the team, as they were a rare pleasantry in a life as hectic as yours.

“Yo, Tiny! Heads up!” Sam called out to you, chucking a bag of popcorn towards you. You giggled as you caught it, quickly ripping it open and shoving a handful of the snack into your mouth.

Steve reached a hand into the bag, trying to steal some of the popcorn, but you quickly smacked his hand, causing him to send you a playful glare. Your eyes widened as you saw popcorn floating out of the bag, but you jokingly rolled your eyes as you turned to your left, seeing Wanda using her magic to grab some of your food. You sighed, a small smile on your lips, “I really can’t have anything around here, huh?”

You were cut off by a loud “Shh!” and you glanced over to one of the other couches, offering a sheepish smile to an impatient Natasha.

You were brought back to reality by a loud shout of your name, and you blinked your eyes a few times, seeing both Steve and Natasha in front of you, worry clear on their faces.

They both visibly relaxed when you looked at them, but their concern quickly returned when they saw your eyes well up with tears, and a sob break its way past your lips.

Natasha wrapped her arms around you, bringing you to her chest and slowly rocking you back and forth, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I-I miss them s-so much!” You stuttered out between sobs.

Natasha felt herself tear up, her hold on you tightening, “Oh, sweetie, I know, I know. I miss them too.”

A few minutes later, Natasha released from the hug, but kept you tucked into her side, running her fingers through your hair. Steve grabbed ahold of your hands, gently rubbing his thumbs on top of your fingers, “I promise you, Y/N, we’re gonna get them back. We’re gonna get them all back.”

You wiped away a lone tear, whispering, “Pinky promise?” You knew it was immature, but you held up a shaking pinky, desperate for reassurance, no matter how childish it made you seem.

Steve chuckled softly, wrapping his pinky around yours, “Pinky promise.”

#platonic avengers #avengers x platonic!reader #platonic!avengers x reader #platonic!steve rogers x reader #platonic!natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #avengers x teen!reader #mcu x reader #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction

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occidentaltourist · 3 years

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Hello anon, thank you for sharing this. Publishing your full ask. :)

I agree there’s a lot they could have done better with James as a character. For real!

But I’ll just reiterate here my view that the EPs are not responsible for how actors interact with fans, or how fans react to actors. Actors are paid professionals and it’s not JQ/RR’s job to tell them how to behave on social media. I hope they don’t make story decisions based on what might happen in fandom or wanting to avoid messy discourse.

---------

Submission:

sorry this got too long for an ask. sorry I dont mean EPs owe fans ?ships? idc of SC canonicity. it was about the EPs anticipating audience reaction to James and Lena and how they could have avoided that mess.

they already saw the backlash sdcc17 they know what happens with passionate wlw fans in other cw shows they should have anticipated that Mehcad was not the actor to throw into the deep end if they didnt want to fan flames (flames being racism from some loud fans then Mehcad doubling down on his homophobia). w the flippant behavior towards both Karolsen and Supercorp b4 s3 it is very hard to see the decision to pair James/Lena as anything but to pair the 2 other characters that were considered by many review outlets and viewers to be better partners for Kara. fans saw that and latched onto it as there are valid points to how some shows tend to react badly when the audience they draw in is not what they expected and try to shut that down. Teen Titans is a good example of that and iirc Sleepy Hollow too. So then you’d have fans with valid criticisms and fans who were just loudly racist and both of those were annoyed with their treatment but the louder racist ones were burying all the valid issues. The EPs should have thought it through better. but instead they gave us flimsy storytelling. Because looking at their storytelling b4 s3 James and Lena had no interaction and James only opinion was that she was another Luthor. Lena had no opinion. The show didn’t even dive into why James and Lena would actually like each other they just suddenly did. it was very superficial storytelling that felt more like “James and Lena are together now! shut up!” instead of any real desire to give them good arcs. mix that flimsy and disrespectful storytelling with a passionate queer audience but some fans being loudly racist and an actor who dealt with racism by being bigoted himself and you bury any of the actual valid criticism of which there were plenty like the misogyny of “disrespecting you is romantic tension”. there were at least a few flames they could have minimized or put out completely. their chosen actor for one their storytelling for another. James arc in s3 wasn’t even good as a romance they could have just chosen not to pair him and Lena and instead focus on him balancing Guardian and CatCo with him no longer being the boss to hide his and Kara’s recurring disappearances. Or explore him going back to photojournalism as he wanted to do at the end of s1. the romance was unneeded and wasn’t even given justice so how else would the audience react to that? the storytelling decisions just fanned the frustration boiling over from s2. so yes I think the EPs are partially responsible for how bad that went over given their behavior and storytelling.

#fandom discourse #submission

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alarawriting · 4 years

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Inktober 2020 #1: Fish

To say I wasn’t expecting an attack would be an understatement.

I was in my van, driving my oldest daughter to soccer practice. (Why yes, I am a soccer mom. I’m big enough to admit it.) Natalie was supposed to be putting on her shin guards, but instead she was playing the Nintendo 3DS Arista had brought, on the grounds that technically it was her 3DS. I believe Arista’s was out of battery, although it was the kind of detail I try not to pay too much attention to. Arista, of course, had whined about this for ten minutes straight. “It’s not fair! I brought that 3DS! You said you’d let me play! Mommm, Natalie won’t let me play!” And so on. This was partially, though not fully, drowned out by the sound of Theo singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” loudly, enthusiastically, off-key and with half the words made up, for what may well have been the tenth time in a row.

“Mom! Make Theo be quiet. I can’t concentrate!”

“Just give me back the 3DS! You aren’t even supposed to be playing it!”

“—itsy bitsy spider, gob up the stop again, itsy bitsy spider went on the bo bo bot, so wong go the dwain and it quash the spider out—“

“That isn’t even how it goes, Theo. It goes ‘Itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout—'“

“If you’re just gonna sing to Theo you can give me back the game. Mommm, she isn’t even playing it and she won’t give it back!”

“I’m sing it, Natwee! I’m sing it my way!”

“Yeah, well your way is wrong, cause you’re a baby.”

“ITSY BITSY NATWEE, CAN’T SING THE SPIDER SONG, CAUSE THEO IS SING IT LA DA DOO DOO LA LA—“

“Come on! Let me play!”

With all this going on, I had no hope of getting back enough of my own concentration to change lanes, so I had been stuck behind a car carrier lugging SUVs for the past ten minutes. I hated being behind large trucks; they block my view of the rest of the road. And here I was with nothing in the CD player but Gary’s smooth jazz, when plainly I needed death metal to drown this out. I’d have given my pinky finger to be able to put on the radio, but radio and I did not get along.

As if to underscore this, a sudden burst of static cut through the horn solo. I frowned, wondering if I’d gotten mixed up and this was the radio after all.

“Hey, cool!” Arista said, having apparently found something worthy of distracting her from her quest to recover the 3DS. “My mood ring is red. Mom, what’s it mean when your mood ring goes red?”

I went cold, and glanced at my own left hand on the steering wheel. The stone in my ring, normally opal, had turned obsidian black.

I glanced back up to see the top SUV on the car carrier starting to slide.

“Aspída!” I shouted, having no time to do anything more complex than that. Then I spun the wheel and swerved wildly onto the right shoulder, scraping the jersey wall, as the SUV slid off the carrier’s ramp and came careening down at us.

Distantly I was aware of my kids screaming, but all my attention was on surviving this. The SUV slammed into the shield I had just cast and bounced into traffic, making the car shudder. The small truck that had been behind me struck the SUV, sending it spinning across the road. Meanwhile I’d slammed hard on my brakes, coming to a full stop about twenty feet away from where the SUV ending up crashing into the jersey wall ahead of me. The small truck pulled over, in front of the SUV. The car carrier continued blithely on into the distance.

At least they hadn’t all fallen. That would have been a lot harder to deal with. I could have done it, but I would not have liked to explain it to the kids.

“Mom! Mom! What was that? What happened?” Natalie screamed. Theo was crying hysterically, and Arista was gasping, hyperventilating.

I turned around in my seat. “Arista! Inhaler, now! Natalie, help her grab it!” I wanted to unbuckle, to go take Theo into my arms and calm him, to grab Arista’s inhaler and give it to her, but I didn’t dare. My ring was still black; Arista and Natalie’s rings were still both red.

The guy who’d been driving the small truck was coming toward me, walking along the shoulder, and he looked furious. Of course, from any reasonable human being’s perspective, I’d had nothing to do with the SUV that had fallen off the car carrier and smashed into his car, but with my ring black I didn’t dare assume he was a reasonable human being. I’d read enough about road rage incidents in the paper; I had to assume he had a gun.

I threw the car into reverse and drove backward as quickly as I dared, which was a lot slower than the cars zipping past me on the highway were going, but a lot faster than one dude walking on the shoulder. He began running toward me. “Katev̱odó̱no̱,” I whispered, shoved the gearshift into drive, and pulled out onto the highway, lurching from 0 to 60 in three seconds and slamming myself and my children back against our seats. The car behind me laid on the horn – I’d cut it off. “Sorry,” I said, more to myself than to the driver who obviously couldn’t hear me, but now I was back up to full highway speed, weaving in and out of traffic so that neither the guy I’d just cut off nor the driver of the small truck could catch up with me.

I pulled off the highway at the first exit that came up, watching as my ring dulled to a grayish opalescent color. We weren’t safe, but we weren’t in deadly danger either.

Arista’s breathing was normal again. Theo was still crying. “Mom, where are we going?” Natalie asked. “Don’t I have to get to practice?”

“You’re skipping practice today, Nally.” She used to call herself that. She couldn’t get the middle syllable of her own name, so she was Nally. Nowadays she usually rolls her eyes when I call her that, but this time, she didn’t. I could see her face in my rear view mirror; she was pale and shaken.

“Because we just had an accident?”

“We didn’t have an accident,” Arista said. “We almost had an accident.”

“Right,” I said. “We’re going home, and we’re going to eat ice cream and we’re going to relax.”

“Ice cream?” Theo asked, his sobs becoming weaker and less pronounced.

“Yep! Who wants an ice cream soda, who wants a milkshake and who wants a sundae?”

Kids are sometimes very easy to bribe. Though I suspected that Natalie was letting herself be bribed rather than challenging me. She knew something weird had just happened, but she didn’t want to ask me what, or perhaps didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Another old terror raised its head. What if she was like me? What if all of them were? What if they could use magic?

I shook my head to banish the thought. No one had found us. No one had sent either of them an invitation to school. Natalie was 12, Arista was 10… they were old enough that they could have gotten invitations by now. I’d gotten mine when I was 9, though my parents hadn’t been persuaded to send me to a boarding school until I was 13.

I’d wanted to go. I’d begged for it. I’d wanted to learn magic so, so badly.

I couldn’t even remember how that had felt, now.

***

When we got home, I put the girls in charge of getting the ice cream, the Coke, the sundae fixings, the milk and the blender out, and Theo in charge of washing his hands, going to the bathroom, changing his clothes and washing up. He’d been potty trained for nearly a year, but I’d nearly peed myself during the almost-accident; I could hardly hold it against a little boy that he’d wet his pants. Theo was obviously very embarrassed by it, though, so I didn’t acknowledge that he’d done so, just gave him the opportunity to wash himself up and change to save face.

I went straight downstairs to my fish tanks in the basement.

The filters didn’t hum. The tank lights weren’t on. The room smelled like ozone and smoke. At least one of the surge suppressors that ran my tank filters and lights was blackened. And every single fish in all four of my tanks was floating on top of their water, dead.

The opal on my ring was still dark grey.

In Homeric Greek – the language I cast spells in, though this wasn’t a spell – I said softly, “Brave heroes, I commend your souls to the Elysian Fields. The gods will honor you.” I didn’t actually think the ancient Greeks had believed fish would go to the Elysian Fields, but then, I also didn’t actually believe in the Elysian Fields, or the later Christian version, Heaven. If humans had souls – and they might, I’d seen Jason so many times I found it hard to believe that all of him could literally be gone, forever – then fish could as well, maybe. These fish hadn’t exactly volunteered to die to save my family, but they’d been feeder goldfish, destined for the belly of a pet predator or an agonizing, choking death due to high ammonia levels and lack of oxygen from the overcrowding in the feeder tanks. I’d given them a better, longer life than they could otherwise have hoped for.

Whatever had killed them, I hoped it had been fast. It looked like some kind of electrical short, maybe. A month ago one of those had taken out all the fish in tank four; I’d replaced the filter, and the surge protector, and the GFCI outlet the surge protector was plugged into, but when magic is targeting you, all of the sane and reasonable precautions you can take may end up coming to nothing. The fish had died because I’d bound them to my family and enchanted them to take on our bad luck. Most of the time, that meant fish died one by one over a period of months, as all of the normal bad luck that might occur to a family just failed to happen – my kids never got scraped knees, our cars never broke down, Gary made it through every round of layoffs at his company, none of us ever got sick.

When the fish started dying fairly rapidly last month, starting with the electrical short, the stone in my ring had been purple – not white opal, not the gray it was right now, not the black it had turned on the highway. I’d put more fish into service and it had faded to white. The fish had been doing reasonably well; I’d thought the danger was over.

But today all of them were dead. And I didn’t dare go out and get more; whatever malevolent spell had targeted me and my family would work a lot more effectively outside the shields I had around the house. Petco would ship me fancy fish, but not feeders. Which meant firstly that it would cost a lot more money to put more fish into service, secondly that I wouldn’t be able to leave the house again until tomorrow when the fish arrived (and what would I do about the girls going to school? They couldn’t leave either, and I couldn’t explain to them or to Gary why not.) And thirdly, that the girls, and Gary, would see the change, think I was taking Gary’s advice about getting nicer fish who could actually serve as pets, and they’d be horribly disappointed when the fish died.

Maybe I could have two layers of fish, I thought. Pet fish upstairs and feeders down here. Order neon tetras and a tank for overnight delivery, set them up, go out and buy more feeders as soon as I had the neons in service.

The thought flickered through my mind that I could buy feeder mice instead. Mammals are stronger and have more life force, and more resistance to malevolent magic. Feeder mice were in the same position as feeder goldfish – they were destined to die. I’d just be giving them a good life before it happened.

But my children would get attached to the mice. Would give them names. Would cry when they died.

I closed my eyes. I needed more power to protect the family than I had at the moment. I’d given up so much of it for my anonymity and my family’s safety, back before I’d even met Gary, when the only family I’d had to protect were my parents.

To get it back, to protect them now, I’d have to break some old compacts. But those old compacts weren’t working well enough anyway, obviously, if someone was targeting me.

“Moommm! We’re ready!” Arista yelled down the stairs.

“I’m coming,” I said, and headed up. I’d deal with the magic later. Right now, I’d promised my kids ice cream, to distract them from near-death and any weirdness they’d observed, and as both a magus and a mother, I’d learned to keep my promises.

***

This is a piece from a WIP “Not Even Past”, about a former child mage student who had to save the world with her group of friends, all of whom died except her. She left the world of magic behind and became a soccer mom. But now the world of magic is coming back for her.

#inktober 2020 #not even past #amanda walker #alara's october 2020 prompt fics

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jaehyun-eclipsed · 4 years

Text

Before I Met You | Fifteen

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Warnings: Some swearing and mentions of suggestive content

Before I Met You Masterlist

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I huff in annoyance at the dinner table.

“What?” my dad asks.

“I’m frustrated. I can’t believe that happened last night.” I frown in disgust. “I think I like him.”

I’m really bothered by the whole situation. Jaemin had a girlfriend at the start of all of this and he didn’t actually tell me about his girlfriend. I found out myself. Hell, I practically forgot that he had a girlfriend during our little… pool event. So if we were to date, there’s no doubt that he’s not capable of doing to me what he did to Jisu.

“I don’t know if he still has a girlfriend. But he still did all of these things when he had one so isn’t that… not okay?”

“Technically, yes. But he’s never treated you badly and he hasn’t given you a reason to think anything otherwise.”

“But he still did all of that to his girlfriend. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t do it to me.”

“That is true so do you need to be careful. This happened towards the end of his relationship, right?”

“I think so.”

He presses his lips together and tilts his head back in forth, weighing the considerations. “I can sort of understand doing this at the end of a relationship. In his mind, his relationship was basically over.”

“Why couldn’t he just break up with her before going after someone else though?”

“It’s hard to break up with someone. So you just… put it off.”

That seems awfully convenient. I feel that if you liked someone else more than who you were currently with, it seems logical to break up with them so that you can start a relationship with the new person. And if you don’t even like them that much anymore, why would it be so difficult?

I immediately spot a girl with dark brown hair at the end of the hall. She’s sitting on the floor next to Jaemin’s room, scrolling through something on her phone. Her side profile is unmistakable.

It’s Jisu.

Jaemin’s voice can be heard from inside his room. It’s only his voice – he must be talking on the phone.

My forehead creases in curiosity. I hadn’t seen Jisu at the house since the end of September, which was nearly two months ago. All of the photos of Jaemin and Jisu were still on her Facebook profile. However, her profile picture had recently changed again and it was still a photo of just herself.

I continue on down the hall to the kitchen, giving her the side eye, but remain nonchalant as I pass by.

What the hell is Jisu doing here? Are they still together? Why else would she still be here? But why isn’t Jaemin letting her in? I feel like it’s kinda rude to be talking on the phone while someone is waiting for you to let them in.

The front door opens as I near the bottom of the stairs. Jeno walks in, nodding at me briefly and quickly walking past me to go to his room.

If Jeno’s home, does he know –

There’s a sudden pause of footsteps at the top of the stairs, shortly followed by someone turning around and quickly running back down. I glance over my shoulder as I walk through the dining room, seeing Jeno coming in after me, sitting down at one of the tables, and pulling out his laptop and a notebook.

Well that’s not a good sign.

It sounds like someone was not invited here…

Upon returning to my room, Jisu was still sitting outside Jaemin’s door. Being the nosy person that I am, I leave my own door cracked open to listen in on the train wreck that I expect to ensue. To some extent, I find this whole scenario really entertaining. It’s like having a soap opera play out before you – only, you’re partially involved. Unfortunately, as a major annoyance, you have no idea which role you play. Am I the main character? Hopefully I get a good ending. Am I the side-chick? That would suck. Or am I the unassuming girl who gets heartbroken because the main guy ends up going after the girl who is actually the main character? That would really suck.

“Jeno! You can come up now!”

I press my ear against the crack in the door, hearing the sound of someone coming up the stairs and a door slamming shut.

Dammit.

I tip toe into the inlet in the hallway, positioning myself on the floor against the wall in an attempt to listen through their door while being ten feet away.

“How the fuck did she even get in here?” Jaemin shouts.

“She probably followed someone in. Why was she here?”

“I don’t know! She wants to talk.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know! I told her it was over, but she keeps trying to message me.”

I press my fist against my mouth. I guess it’s safe to say I’m not the side-chick… and Jisu is definitely not the main character, at least, not in the story the way it relates to me.

“I saw her when I was coming upstairs and turned right back around because it would be awkward if I open the door while you were in there.”

“She’s a psychopath! I had to block her on everything!”

“You should file a restraining order.”

Jaemin sighs loudly. “Jeno, why can’t I be like you? Just fuck girls and –”

The rest of his thought is cut off by the loud creaking and slamming of his bedroom door.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Renjun asks.

“Jisu showed up,” Jeno replies.

“What?! Jaemin, were you here?”

“Yeah, I didn’t open the door. I was on the phone and I think she was just sitting out there.”

“Sounds like she did not take that break up well…”

That evening, I maintained my normal routine of studying in the dining room until Jaemin returned home. I was incredibly distracted, thoughts constantly lingering back to the conversation I overheard earlier. It’s curious how I had been a witness to both of these significant events where Jisu showed up at less than convenient times. I knew more about Jaemin and his past relationship than he ever wanted me to know and he had no idea.

The only things I could conclude with some certainty were that Jaemin definitely did not like Jisu and that Jisu is much more of a handful than I expected. Which leads me to my next thought: it’s surprising that my high school senior dated her for so long. How could he put up with her? He was so nice and accommodating to every – that explains it. He’s a pushover.

Now, if Jaemin really didn’t like Jisu and the last month or so was him trying to figure out when to pull the plug, perhaps he really did – does – like me. But his comment about sleeping with girls and, what I suspect to be, leaving them the next day, also doesn’t sit well with me. Good grief, nothing about him sits well with me. Why on earth would I be interested in a guy like this?! This is just heartbreak waiting to happen. Would I really want to date someone like him? I’d actually have to worry about him wanting to have sex relatively soon – and probably giving oral for fifteen minutes, assuming he can last that long – and I still haven’t even kissed a guy! I’ve been on a date – that was a train wreck, but I have been on one! So that counts for something, but that’s not – that’s not sex.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Jaemin asks as he walks in, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Not bad. Just catching up on lecture. How about you?”

“I’m tired.”

“Well, classes are over in a week.”

“Yeah, but then we have finals.”

He tosses his backpack onto the far end of my table and lays on the floor next to my chair. He shuts his eyes closed as I peer down at him. “You okay?”

He sighs and intertwines his fingers to rest on his abdomen. “Yeah, rough day.”

No kidding.

Having earlier spotted the foam football we played with last week on top of the fireplace, I go to grab it and begin tossing it up and down in my hand. Jaemin opens his eyes and tilts his head up upon hearing the sound of the football every time it makes contact with my hand.

“What are you doing?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’”

In an effort to take his mind off of things, I smile innocently and lightly toss the ball with the intention of having it land on his chest. Right then, lack of coordination strikes me and the ball ends up hitting Jaemin in the “no zone.”

“OH!”

I cover my mouth in horror upon seeing where the projectile has landed.

“Nice shot…” he says mockingly.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna keep this from you…”

“I’m so sorry! For the record, I was trying to aim for you head…” I say jokingly.

Wrong head.

“Oh thanks!” he remarks sarcastically. “Because that’s so much better!”

“I mean… you’d rather be hit there than where I actually hit you, right?”

He makes no response and pulls out his phone as I return back to my seat. Obviously, my attempt at lightening the mood was unsuccessful and I decide to drop the idea. Being playful is probably not appropriate right now. He’s likely pretty upset after what happened earlier and I can’t blame him.

After a few moments of silence, Jaemin stands up and grabs the pool cue laying on the table. The clacking of the balls colliding into each other is followed by a loud huff.

“I missed and it’s all your fault.”

I turn and look at him incredulously. “What did I do? I’m sitting over here!”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Play a game with me,” he says, avoiding the question.

My forehead creases and I blink several times, confused by his sudden change in attitude. “Okay.”

Jaemin lets me win this time.

“Nice! You beat me!”

“You let me win! You missed all those easy shots!”

He shrugs and offers a lazy smile. “You still won.”

I stare at him, nearly expressionless except for the subtle narrowing of my eyes. What’s with your mood swings? You seemed so upset when you walked in here, didn’t want to play with me when I first initiated and now…?

Jaemin is still holding the cue stick, wrapping his hands around it and pushing it into the floor to keep his posture upright as he hovers over my laptop. “Your laptop is so large. Why would you want that?”

“It’s better for watching movies!”

“But –” he frowns “– it’s so big.”

“That’s the way I like it! Your screen is so small!” I retort. “You don’t get the full theater effect!”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot lighter and easier to carry around.”

“I still say having a big screen is much better.”

I extend my hand and grab the cue, pulling on it slightly in an attempt to take it from him.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to take this from you,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

“Just because.”

He easily releases his grip, allowing me to take it hand. I pretend to swing it in his direction.

“Hitting me earlier wasn’t enough for you?” he quips.

With a wide grin, I shrug. “You just make it so easy.”

He licks his lips and gestures at the cue with his head. “You seemed to be obsessed with that stick.”

“Eh… well –”

“It matches your size preference.”

My jaw drops as I blink in astonishment, completely dumbfounded at the obviously suggestive joke. His mischievous smile is back and his eyes linger on me for just a moment before he begins walking away. I turn around just in time to catch him looking over his shoulder and smirking at me.

“I gotta go do something. See you later.”

Damn. That boy is slick. I’ll admit that.

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #wayv #superm #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #jaehyun #nct jaehyun #nct mark #mark lee #nct lucas #lucas wong #wong yukhei #nct jaemin #na jaemin #before i met you

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Bloody Roses - Chapter Two (Bucky x reader)

FANDOM - MARVEL

WARNINGS - SOME BLOOD AND INJURIES, MENTIONS OF NUDITY

SUMMARY - What you thought was a trapped squirrel turned out to be a super soldier in need. It’s not every day an Avenger turns up in your garden, in serious need of help but you deal with it as best as you can.

Masterlist

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The Winter Soldiers absence had strangely left something of a chasm in your chest, an aching void. You were somehow empty and heavier at the same time, carrying the heavy weight of what was missing with every step you took. Everything you did seemed to take longer and had much less reward. It was wholly unlike you to get attached to people, and it never happened this quickly.

People in general were like a loud buzzing in your head, they made your skin feel too tight and your heart beat a little too fast. It wasn’t full blown anxiety, more like a quiet discomfort. It was easily hidden, and usually you ignored it so you could persevere. It actually took you a few days to realise that Bucky hadn’t made you feel uncomfortable at all, he hadn’t triggered that stifled feeling.

There was a strange juxtaposition between your dislike of company and you human need for companionship, it’s why you befriended Othello. So while Bucky hadn’t been around for long, his absence was felt.

Over the next week, that aching chasm numbed though. You went about your day to day life, walking Othello, baking, gardening, painting… Whatever random artistic endeavour you wanted to try out and inevitably abandon in an attempt to keep yourself amused, keep your life going, keep yourself soldiering on instead of just festering away.

Today it was knitting, because you’d seen a youtube video about making blankets from giant wool with just your arms. That had ended spectacularly badly, thpugh Othello had fun. It had however, led to you deciding to try actual knitting, with actual needles and wool. When Othello started barking at the door, you were tangled up in a long strand of periwinkle blue and had resorted to cussing it out in the hope your foul language would free you. Doing a weird twisting move to get free you made your way to the door, pulling it open and peering out.

There were several boxes on the deck with a clipboard resting atop them. You pulled the door open to see John, the delivery guy pretending to be very interested in the bushes that lined the driveway. He did this every time, tried to be subtle about giving you space. You appreciated it, and made sure he knew it with the tip you always left. You signed for the delivery and picked a box up, pushing the others over the threshold with your foot.

As soon as you closed the front door you used your keys to cut through the tape and started unpacking the new books you’d ordered.

“What do you think, is there room in the upstairs hallway for these?” You asked Othello.

He barked and shook his fur out.

“Fair point, maybe by the window seat I keep meaning to build?” You suggested.

“Boof”

“I will so get it done! Right after I build that porch swing.” You gasped, thoroughly offended.

Ultimately, the books stayed in the box, at least for the time being and you went back to trying to *not* stab yourself with a knitting needle. After making the worlds thinnest scarf (“You have fur so I did this on purpose, I didn’t want you to overheat.”) you got frustrated and bored, giving in and curling up on the sofa with your laptop.

The cursor hovered over Microsoft word for a moment while you chewed your lip and tried to bring yourself to click on it but as was the norm lately, you went for Chrome instead. You had just enough dregs of energy to click on Facebook and assure the minimal amount of friends and family who pretended to care that you were in fact, still alive.

You were 100% convinced that the rumours that Facebooks advertising algorithm could read your mind were true because right there at the top of your feed was a news article. Apparently The Avengers had been caught up in another scrape. Before you could catch yourself you clicked on it, quickly scrolling through the article. It was remarkably vague but posturing, so the press didn’t know what The Avengers had actually been doing then. They did know that Earth’s Mightiest had won.

It was strange to thin that you had had one of them on this here couch, life in your hands. And like your thoughts had summoned him, there he was in HD. Pictures didn’t do him any justice. Yes, he was handsome in a photo but it couldn’t capture the tenor of his voice, the glint of light in his eye or the way that despite falling in a river and walking several miles in his own blood, he still smelled divinely sexy.

There was a minute, tiny, very high chance you had developed a lingering crush on the man out of time who had literally stumbled into your life. He was dark, tortured, charming, funny, gorgeous and strong, all strong ingredients in a crush. Most importantly, the strongest factor, guaranteed to make you fall… he was fleeting. He was a feather on the breeze, the rays of light at sunset, the crashing waves of a cerulean sea. Beautiful and gone too soon, leaving nothing but the awing memory of the beauty you had once bore witness to behind.

You ploughed through the article, breathing a sigh of relief when you read that eyewitnesses had seen The Soldier leaving the scene unharmed. You were relieved but… the aching void had returned.

You tried to distract yourself, knowing it was futile but going ahead with the attempt anyway. In the end, as predicted, your mind could not be coaxed off of the topic of the stormy eyed sergeant. You had a number you could call if you needed him but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to call.

You could call and say you were worried one of his enemies had tracked him here but that wasn’t close to true and you couldn’t bring yourself to worry him about it. If you had gotten the correct measure of him, and you were certain you had, he would immediately feel guilty and would panic. Truthfully, you doubted you would make that call even if there was truth to it. But that kind of left you at a loss as to reasons to seek him out again.

The truth was that even though you had a solid feeling in your gut that you shouldn’t let him leave your life, you had to let go.

Bucky Barnes had no place in your world, and you very much doubted he would want to be in it anyway.

So you went to bed that night, knowing you would be thinking about him as you fell asleep, knowing you would dream about him and knowing that he would never be more than that, a beautiful dream.

Othello pushed himself into the small of your back, letting you lean on him while you lay your head out on the pillow and closed your eyes, and remembered to press of Bucky Barnes lips so tantalizingly close to your own. It was the image that carried you off to dreamland, and that’s where you stayed until after the sun had risen over the horizon.

You knew that a specific sound had woken you, a loud buzzing sound, relentless and loud but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what it was. A lawnmower? But that begged the very important question… who the fuck was mowing your lawn? You groaned loudly and flopped onto your back, glaring up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling as if they might be responsible. Eventually you sat up, flinging the duvet away and stomping over to the window to look outside.

Not a lawnmower, a Buzzsaw. Your unused, should be in the shed, Buzzsaw. Someone was slicing planks of wood in your garden and you actually recognized the pulled back brunette hair before you recognized the glinting metal arm. Your heart summersaulted in your chest and a kaleidoscope of butterflies burst to life in your stomach as you pushed out of the French doors and hung over the edge of the balcony. Othello saw you and barked happily, wagging his tail. Bucky switched the saw off and turned around to lean against the table, arms crossed and gazing up at you with a charming, cock-sure grin.

“Hey Romeo, whatcha doing?” You called down to him.

He chuckled and scratched Othello on top of the head before he answered.

“You never called sweetheart, and I still felt like I owed you. I remembered seeing a lot of books lying around when I was here so I decided to come and build you some bookshelves.” He explained.

“Uh huh. How’d my dog get out there? And how did you get into my shed?” You asked, trying to contain the giddy smile threatening to break across your face. `

“I picked the lock, didn’t want to wake you and this guy was scratching at the door. As for the shed, I wanted to see if you had any tools before I went to get the stuff I needed. Surprisingly, you had everything I needed, all brand new and unused?” He said, lilting at the end to signify he was curious about the state he’d found the shed in.

“I may have decided to take up woodworking a while ago. There were setbacks.” You admitted, ducking your head in embarrassment.

“What happened?” He asked in a teasing voice.

“I turned the saw on and it scared the hell out of me. That thing is dangerous!” You explained.

Bucky threw back his head and let out a full throated laugh, unrestrained in his amusement at your predicament.

“Not if you’re partially made of metal.” He said, still laughing.

“Saws can cut through metal!” You insisted.

He arched an eyebrow at you and reached behind himself to flick the saw on, before he turned around, holding his metal arm over the rotating circular blade.

“DON’T YOU DARE!” You shrieked, but it was too late.

His metal fingers came into contact with the saw and you thought you were going to be sick but to your absolute disbelief and wonder, the saw shuddered to a halt for a few seconds before he moved his hand away and flicked the switch again. He turned back around to see you hanging over the railing of the balcony, hand held to your heart and an expression between fear and fury on your face.

“Doll, my arms made of Vibranium. Nothing can cut through it.” He soothed.

“Next time, tell me that!”

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” He said quickly, but you could still see the smug amusement on his face.

“It is RUDE to break into someone’s house and give them a heart attack before they’ve even had coffee.” You half grumbled, half gasped as you righted yourself, glaring down at him.

Not that your glare lasted more than half a second before it melted into a fond smile. Something he definitely noticed because he perked up and beckoned you down.

“I figured out your ridiculous contraption and made a pot of coffee actually, I do have some manners.” He informed you.

You didn’t need telling twice and did your best roadrunner impression as you whooshed through the balcony doors and padded down to the kitchen, only just remembering to grab your nightrobe on the way. You shrugged it over your shoulders and tied the sash as you perused the cupboard for a suitable mug.

You liked collecting mugs, from ones with funny captions, to photo mugs, to your personal favourites… The Disney Collection. Today felt like a dopey the dwarf day and you fetched the giant cup from the correct cupboard and filled it with the steaming coffee, inhaling deeply to enjoy the smell. You heard the door open behind you, seconds before a cold wet snout was pressed the back of your knee.

“Morning traitor.” You said amicably to Othello, gently flicking his ear.

“Morning sweetheart.”

You turned around to greet Bucky, trying to shove down the voice in your head screaming at how right he looked stood in your kitchen, illuminated by the early morning sun and sipping coffee out of your oversized Grumpy Mug.

“Mornin Sarge. Top up?” You offered and he held the mug out for you to refill it for him.

It felt strangely domestic and natural considering he was a near stranger. Who had technically broken in…

“Do you have a pen?” he asked and you pulled open the knick knack drawer under the microwave and dug one out and tossing it to him.

“Actually it’s for you. I was wondering if you might sign something for me?” He asked sheepishly, pulling a book out of the back of his waistband and sliding it across the counter to you. When you saw the cover, your stomach dropped.

The Life Of Death.

“You looked into me.” You scoffed, shaking your head.

“I didn’t. Stark did, he gave me the book, didn’t tell me you wrote it until after I read it.” He defended himself.

“You read it?” You sighed.

“I did. It was beautiful. Really. The idea that Death fell in love with humanity, slowly becoming more and more human himself and when the gods found out they ripped the flesh from his bones, leaving nothing but the Grim reaper behind… but he never stopped loving humanity, shepherding them to the other side and asking them to tell him their stories, even when they feared him. It was tragic but there was still hope in it.” He said softly, and you could tell he meant it.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the silent assurance that he’d gotten the hidden message in the book. Death didn’t let what had been done to him change who he was, he kept his curiosity and compassion intact, even when his body was ripped apart.

He was still holding the pen out to you and you sighed and took it, flipping the jacket of the book open and scribbling something, slamming it closed and handing the book back to him before he could see what you’d written.

“Why aren’t you more proud? You wrote a novel, a damn good one.” He questioned.

“All I ever wanted to do was write, to connect with people and give them some kind of hope. Didn’t work out the way I expected. I am proud, I am but… the books a reminder of my failings more than my achievements sometimes.” You said tiredly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He said.

His eyes were heavy with guilt, regret etched into the frown lines on his face.

“Don’t be sorry for trying to give me a compliment, it’s not your fault I’m not great at taking them.”

He looked you up and down, almost like he was sizing you up before the corner of his lip twitched minutely, drawing up into the flicker of an almost smirk.

“You’re beautiful.”

The breath you’d been in the process of inhaling froze in your lungs, suspended in your airway as the painfully raw, honest, heartfelt compliment passed his lips. Your shock lasted only a brief second because while you’d been telling the truth about not taking compliments well, you were a fucking master at reigning in your embarrassment and anxiety’s to regain the upper hand in a situation. Spitefulness could achieve what years of therapy could not.

“And you’re exquisitely stunning , Sarge.” You said back, equally as honest.

His eyes widened and his jaw loosened. He blinked at you, once, twice, three times and swallowed the lump in his throat before his brain kicked back in. A deep chuckle vibrated from his broad chest and it was a warm, soul soothing sound.

“I’ll build the shelves and repay my debt, should be done before lunch and then I’ll be out of your hair. Unless…” He started, looking at you with unabashed hope.

“Unless?”

“Well since I’m here and not afraid of the power tools, anything else you need built or fixed?” He offered.

You chewed your lip and thought it over.

“Do you want to help me build a porch swing?” You asked.

His whole face lit up, brighter than the sun and he smiled so wide and happily that you felt your heart crack a little.

“I’ll even make you lunch.” You quickly offered, knowing he was already going to say yes anyway.

“S’long as it’s not broth, you’ve got yourself a deal darlin.”

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

A/N - Ok so... If you've read any of my other fics you may notice a slight difference in style with this one. That's because this fic is kind of more me than the others. I'm writing this one selfishly, it's very much my comfort fic. So I won’t be offended if you don’t wanna read this, it’s basically me living my ideal life with zero drama. I actually had to go back and edit because Bucky called the reader by name a few times. But it's such a fluffy, warm, drama free fic that I'm hoping it provides a little bit of comfort for someone else as well. It's a safe haven.

@likes-to-smell-books @thelostallycat @dilaila95 @dropthepizza346 @destiel-artemis @hiddles-rose @myfandomlife-blog @thosesexytexasboys @liveonce-sodoitright @spnrvt @tarastudiesalot @dahkness @sexyvixen7 @jaynnanadrews @littledeadrottinghood @pinkisokay @angieptt @anamcg317 @belladonnarey @queen-kayy92 @breezy1415 @penumbrawolfy @fairislesheets @lianadelphius @coolmassivenerd @youhavebeenspared @candyxcyanide @musingpredilection @isaxhorror @destiel-artemis @my-drowning-in-time @isabelcrichards @teh-nerdette @dlcita @deathofmissjackson @life-wanderer @cleo0107 @spicymagz @drdorkus @inquisitor-selvala @le-mow @zeannastardust @nighmxre @blue-cat-1989 @writingforbucky @abo4280ooof

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky series #bucky fic #the winter soldier x reader #The Winter Soldier

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amayawolfe · 3 years

Text

HxH OC Fumiko Nakamura Story ~ Ch. 4 - The Rest of the Family

My Stories Masterlist

Word Count: 1315

Warnings: mild child abuse and violence, mental/emotional struggle, blood, mildly graphic/disturbing illustration, mental disorder

Your father stepped aside so that you and your sisters could come into the house. Out of pure habit the three of you formed a line and moved forward. Filing into the house first was Satomi, Rin was second, and you were dead last. It was a method used for protecting Rin. If your father were to strike out while one was walking by, it was usually the person first or last in line that received the blow. In this case, it was the person last in line, you.

You felt a hard smack against the back of your head as you started to walk past your father. It most definitely wasn't the hardest blow you've ever received, though it was was hard enough to make you stumble forward and your eyes water from the sting of contact.

"You're filthy," your father growled, "go wash up before you go near that table."

"Yes, sir," you muttered. The reek of alcohol saturating the air surrounding him stung your nose almost as badly as the blow to the head.

Kimichi was at the stove stirring a large stew pot, Asuri was getting bowls and silverware from their respective places, both glanced at you and smirked as you headed to the bathroom. Satomi and Rin would wash at the kitchen sink, you where always told to go use the bathroom sink since you were "more filthy than the others".

On your way to the bathroom you passed by your mother. She didn't even look up at you, she stayed seated at the table and kept her eyes on some papers in her hand. The cigarette in her other hand slowly releasing an acrid smoke that lazily drifted towards the ceiling. She was never of any help to you, sometimes she would even add fuel to the fire of the situation and would simply watch you burn.

You walked through the kitchen and down a narrow hallway that lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. Your mother and father had their own bathroom connected to their bedroom, you and your sisters had to share a single tiny bathroom. One bathroom was simply not enough for five girls and was often the source of many a heated and boisterous arguments, especially in the morning.

You had learned how to avoid some of these issues by simply going out to the forest near the house when natured called. You would even bathe in the river during the warmer months. The peace and solitude was always soothing. And it was always fun when Satomi and Rin joined you. Holding contests on who could hold their breath underwater was your favorite. Mostly because you always won.

However, there was no need to go out to the river tonight, you only needed to wash up enough for dinner. So, in other words, your face, arms, and hands. You would take a pot of warm water and a washcloth up to your attic room and finish washing up after dinner.

Having let the water run for a little bit to warm up, you wet your hands and grabbed a bar of soap to work up a good lather. You scrubbed the dirt of your hands and arms first. The water turned brown as it ran off down the drain and your skin began to lighten as the caked dirt was removed. You took a moment to make sure to get the dirt from under your nails as best as you could. Asuri was always one to point out anything you missed.

Bringing your face down to the basin you splashed water on it then scrubbed some soap lather across it, making sure to get all the way back to your ears and partially down your neck.

At this rate I may just as well take a sink bath... You thought bitterly to yourself. On the outside, you appeared calm. The only giveaway of your anger was your clenched jaw causing the jaw muscles to bulge out a little. The back of your head no longer stung, but you could still feel heat where your father made contact, and it throbbed a little.

You splashed water on your face to wash away the soap. After a few splashes you wiped your face off with your hands, turned off the water, straightened up and reached for a towel. As you did so you looked at yourself in the mirror ...and froze...

Blood. Lots of blood.

There was blood all over your face. It looked like you had actually used blood to wash your face instead of water. It ran down your neck and was starting to soak into your shirt collar, staining it darkly. You looked down in horror and saw there was thick coat of blood all over your hands as well. They began to shake and your heart began to race.

Looking back up into the mirror you saw that your face was now smiling back at you. A wide, toothy grin that sent shivers down your spine and caught your breath in your throat. But it was your eyes that frightened you the most. Eyes and pupils wide, they gleamed with a insane, joyous madness.

You slammed your eyes shut and gripped the edges of the sink tightly. Your whole body now trembling, your heart was ramming against your ribs, you drew in heavy, ragged breaths as you fought to keep yourself under control.

"No, no, no, no, go away, go away," you silently pleaded out loud, "It wasn't that bad, please, just go away."

You could feel something stir in the darkness behind your closed eyes. It fell cold, ruthless, but most of all, it felt hungry. Something whispered in your head, echoing through the darkness, but it was so soft it was inaudible.

"NO!" you whispered loudly, "No, go away!"

{Ssssaaadddaaasssshhhiii}, it sounded like dead leaves rustling and dried snake skins rubbing together. Soft, raspy, deadly... {...Kill... End him...}

"NO! GO AWAY!" you shouted, you could feel hot tears streaming down your bloody face.

A pounding on the bathroom door made you jump and cry out.

"Sadashi?!" It was Kimichi, "Stop messing around in there and finish up! Dinner is ready."

You looked back at the mirror and saw your wet, terrified face. You were back to normal. There was no blood, no smile, no insane look in your eyes, just terror and confusion. Another bang on the door made you jump again.

"Sadashi, did you here me!?"

"Uh, ye- yeah. Sorry, I'll be out in a minute. Just dealing with.. some stubborn dirt."

You heard a "hmf!" as Kimichi turned and walked away from the door and down the hall. Releasing a shaky sigh, you heavily sat down on the toilet and rubbed your face. It had been a while since the last episode like this happened, a few weeks at the very least.

I'll need to go to the forest for a hunt soon. You took in a slow, shaky breath in and slowly released it.

Hunting and killing game seemed to satiate this weird need for blood and violence, temporarily silencing the voice you heard in your head and the images that came with it. No one knew about the mental battle you were going through, how could they? You fully believed your family would think you were lying or trying to play a joke, and it would most likely scare Rin, possibly Satomi as well. It was a dark secret you kept locked up inside.

Okay, hopefully dinner will go quietly and I can just get to my room before anything happens. That's not to much to ask for, right?

Sadly, fate deemed that it was.

Next Chapter: Ch. 5 - Unjustified Punishment

#hxh imagine #hunterxhunter imagine #hxh fanfiction #hunterxhunter fanfiction #hxh headcanon #hunterxhunter headcanon #hxh oc #hunterxhunter oc #my oc #original character #oc life story #oc story #Fumiko #female reader #reader insert #second person pov #chapter story chapter 4 #my artwork

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italian-sides · 4 years

Text

“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 3

Hello again! As usual, thank you so much to @misslilidelaney for writing this and @watcher-from-the-heights for being my awesome beta all the time. I also tag @ts-italian-gang, because I can and I want to. If you want, you can support the fic on AO3 too! Imma post the third chapter as soon as I finish posting it here on Tumblr. Anyway, enjoy! Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remì, all heads turned. Even if he lived in Bologna on a permanent basis for three years by now, he didn't know why everybody there, especially the usual people, laid eyes on him as they didn't for other customers. And yet he wasn’t that flashy or even fashionable. Sure, he was tall, he had fine features and an enjoyable physique, but he wasn't that special. He was just a nice guy, with his passion for colorful ties and pastel cardigans. Of course, he knew very well that he had been in the sights of a couple of them for a long time: he well remembered Romolo's ruthless flirting and Virgil's stuttering when he asked him to be his tutor on the subjects that he himself studied before opening his own therapy office in Bologna. And no one, not even his roommate Remo, knew how he opened Luca's eyes to his cousin Patrizio, whom Emilio loved with all his heart. All three boys were undoubtedly beautiful, charismatic and, in their own way, interesting. Yet he couldn't accept their court. Because 30-year-old Emilio Picani hadn’t decided to come out yet. Partially due to his parents, fervent Catholics unlike him, but mostly because surprise surprise... Emilio Picani was shy. And before the bar, the usual places where he felt at home were his office and his room, where he surrounded himself with memorabilia from cartoons and anime, things that fascinated him since adolescence. In short his shyness, mixed with the stereotype of the glittery, feather-filled homosexuals he was accustomed to by his parents, always kept him away from the whole LGBT world, which the psychologist didn't feel a part of. He envied his little Emilian cousin when he came out as pansexual, and he knew very well that sooner or later, hanging out with Patrizio's clique, he had to decide, too, to get out of the closet. So he declined Romolo's declaration for that very reason. Although it wasn’t the only reason. The second reason was... slightly taller than him. His shoulders were wide, although he often slouched, making himself about ten centimetres shorter in height. He had bright green eyes, almost to an unnatural extent. He had his hair shaved on the sides but with a thick quiff on top, which he held back with a yellow headband, clearly his favorite color. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was a low, deep laugh, able to literally shake the Veronese's stomach. And he was from Veneto, like him. His second piece of home, after Patrizio. Emilio Picani, thirty years old, a therapist and still in the closet. But completely gay for Giuda Schiavon. He was convinced of that by now. He tried to deny it, to say that it was just his imagination. Everyone at the bar loved him, they laughed with him, they confided in him, sometimes for sentimental nonsense, sometimes for more serious consultations. Tommaso became one of his patients from the first day that he finally opened his office, and the two were now pretty close, almost like brothers. He was the first to whom Emilio confessed his sexual orientation. Tommaso embraced him and murmured: "Don’t worry, nobody figured it out." They laughed, and the Veronese immediately called his cousin, who promised not to say anything, for the time being, to anyone, not even his significant other, Luca. Unfortunately, not even Tommaso could dispel Emilio’s doubts. Those doubts that by now became certainties, in those three years, and devastated the psychologist. Giuda, his beautiful, silent, mysterious and fascinating Giuda, couldn't even bear the sight of the Veronese. He never treated him badly, but Emilio couldn't help but notice how he changed his attitude whenever he walked in.

He often looked at him from the bar's window. He looked at him for a long time, laughing and joking with everyone, even with Virgilio, and by now he could read his expressions without hearing him speak, just by observing him. So he knew that the coldness he showed him was real. As his eyes became slits, as his words became cold hisses, rarely addressed to Emilio. Never openly unsympathetic, but incredibly icy. And apparently, whatever he had to do in the kitchen, he always had to do it when he walked in. But no one knew about his crush, except for Patrizio, who after all read him like an open book. And not even Patrizio could understand the change of mood of the Venetian, in the presence of his cousin. The young Bolognese tried to convince his cousin to surrender, or at least to talk to him, and this was precisely the reason why Emilio pushed himself, thanks to a nice glass of Millesimato di Conegliano, to speak, perhaps for the third time in three years, to Giuda in the bar. And that made the dishwasher guy so nervous that he dropped the glasses' tray in his hand. "You're welcome.", the Venetian hissed, looking at him, for the first time in three years, in the eyes.

A rush ran through Emilio’s body. An electric shock like he never experienced before. Joined by an endless lump in his throat for what just happened. As soon as Giuda wandered off to take the broom to sweep up the floor, followed by Remo, Emilio stood up and tried to go around the counter to pick up the glass pieces but Tommas ostopped him right away. "You're gonna hurt yourself. You get paper cuts all the time, can you imagine what would happen with glass?"

"But... Giuda..." Tommaso sighed and perhaps understood: "Giuda will be fine. It's not the first time he’s spilled glasses. Maybe he should calm down a bit; if he hadn't been so tense he wouldn’t have dropped them. Don’t even think it’s your fault." Emilio sighed, taking off his glasses and shaking his head: "But it is my fault." Patrizio approached him, and put his hand on his shoulder again. Luca was behind them and suggested, matter-of-factly: "Emilio, do you want to get some air?" The Veronese nodded carelessly and they went outside. Despite Patrizio's dirty look, the Veronese automatically extracted his pack of cigarillos and lit one. As he blew out the smoke from the miniature cigar, he kept looking inside the bar. And he saw Giuda, with his yellow gloves, going up on the counter and looking around. He'd been... crying? His eyes, particularly the left one, were tremendously red. The sigh, undoubtedly of relief, emitted by the young Venetian followed by the hand on Remo’s shoulder, definitely devastated the 30-year-old. Patrizio was watching the scene next to him, and he murmured: "He acts like he’s the victim when he actually did it all by himself. What a two-faced snake..." "Patrizio, please...", begged the Veronese. "Please what? He dropped the glasses, not you. You just thanked him, Emi. I don’t know how you can like someone like t..." Patrizio opened his eyes wide and shut his mouth with one hand. But the damage had been already done. Luca was looking at both of them with his eyes wide open like a deer in front of headlights. He looked at them both with shock, Emilio who by now had given up and begun to silently cry, pulling from the cigarillo like a madman, and Patrizio who continued to whisper his apologies. And he cleared his voice pretty nicely before asking, with kindness, despite the hard accent typical of his region: "Do you want to come to our house for some hot tea? I’m sure we can raid some of Romolo's nicest cookies." Emilio nodded, and his cousin’s boyfriend took them both under his arm, taking them away from the Dolce&Remì. The boy giggled when, while stepping into the living room, they surprised Virgilio and Romolo sitting on the couch and hugging each other, watching Mulan on Blu-ray, claiming to have fallen asleep, not noticing the compromising position. He silently watched Luca hugging Patrizio from behind, whispering something in his ear while the young Emilian was preparing tea for all of them. And he widened his eyes in terror when both the Molisan and the Roman confessed that they had noticed his crush on Giuda probably before Emilio admitted it to himself. The evening passed quickly, almost too quickly, between the teasing towards Emilio for his questionable choice - Romolo was still so mad at him, for obvious reasons - and when it was time to go home, Emilio thought of staying in his cousin’s apartment with his three lovely roommates. But he knew that in that same building, his roommate Remo was coming home. So he kissed his cousin on the forehead and hugged the other three, and took the elevator home. Once the door was open, he found Remo looking at something on the computer, in the dark of the dining room: "Oh, hey, Emì. You ran off to your cousin? Giuda wanted to apologize for treating you so badly." Right. He had such a sorry face. "Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I made him destroy the glasses and I ran away. Holy crap, I've been a jerk. I hope he doesn’t throw a chair at me the next time I walk into the bar." "C'moooon. Giuda smashes glasses, and not only those, more than he could ever admit!", laughed the Roman, before yawning loudly and getting out of the chair: "Listen... I wanted to do something nice at the bar... Something that can involve young people but traditional at the same time. If we had a briscola tournament [1], would you like to play?" "Holy crap! Are you seriously asking me? I love briscola!" "Alright, bruh. C'mon then, I’ll talk to Tommy tomorrow and see what we can do about it. If you don’t come to play, I’ll never talk to you again!" Emilio nodded and Remo went to his room, a little diabolical smile on his face.

[1]: according to Wikipedia, "Briscola is one of Italy's most popular games, a Mediterranean trick-taking, Ace-Ten card game for two to six players played with a standard Italian 40-card deck. With three or six players, twos are removed from the deck to ensure the number of cards in the deck is a multiple of the number of players; a single two for three players and all four twos for six players. The four- and six-player versions of the game are played as a partnership game of two teams, with players seated such that every player is adjacent to two opponents."

1 - 2 - 3 - ?

hope you enjoyed, ciao!

Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. Anche se ormai viveva a Bologna in pianta stabile da 3 anni e poco più, non sapeva perché tutti i presenti, specialmente i soliti noti, posavano lo sguardo su di lui come non facevano per gli altri clienti del bar. Eppure non era così appariscente o alla moda. Certo, era alto, aveva dei bei lineamenti ed un bel fisico, ma non era così speciale. Era semplicemente un bel ragazzo, con la sua passione per le cravatte colorate ed i cardigan color pastello. Certo, sapeva benissimo di essere stato nelle mire di un paio di loro per un lungo periodo, ricordava bene la corte spietata di Romolo e il balbettare di Virgilio quando gli aveva proposto di dargli ripetizioni sulle materie che lui stesso aveva studiato prima di aprire il suo studio a Bologna. E nessuno, nemmeno il suo coinquilino Remo, sapeva di come avesse aperto, con le cattive, gli occhi di Luca nei confronti di suo cugino Patrizio, che Emilio adorava con tutto il cuore. Tutti e tre i ragazzi erano indubbiamente bellissimi, carismatici e comunque, a loro modo, interessanti. Eppure non poteva accettare la loro corte. Perché Emilio Picani, trent'anni, ancora non si era deciso a fare coming out. Un po' per i genitori, ferventi cattolici al contrario di lui, ma soprattutto perché sorpresa sorpresa... Emilio Picani era timido. E prima del bar, i soli posti dove si sentiva a casa erano il suo studio e la sua camera, dove si circondava di memorabilia a tema cartoon ed anime, cose che lo appassionavano sin dall'adolescenza. Ed insomma, la sua timidezza, mista allo stereotipo degli omosessuali glitterati e pieni di piume a cui lo avevano abituato, lo avevano sempre tenuto in disparte da tutto il mondo legato ai gay, del quale lo psicologo non si sentiva parte. Aveva invidiato il suo piccolo cuginetto emiliano quando aveva ammesso di essere pansessuale, e sapeva benissimo che prima o poi, frequentando la compagnia di Patrizio, si sarebbe dovuto decidere anche lui, ad uscire dall'armadio. Quindi aveva declinato la dichiarazione di Romolo, proprio per quel motivo. Anche se non era proprio l'unico. Il secondo motivo era... poco più alto di lui. Aveva le spalle larghe, anche se spesso le teneva ricurve, togliendosi una decina di centimetri buoni. Aveva gli occhi di un verde intenso, quasi innaturale. Aveva i capelli rasati attorno alla testa ma un folto ciuffo al di sopra, che teneva indietro con un cerchietto giallo, palesemente il suo colore preferito. Rideva raramente, ma quando lo faceva, era una risata bassa, profonda, capace di scuotere lo stomaco del veronese.

Ed era veneto, come lui. Il suo secondo pezzo di casa, dopo Patrizio.

Emilio Picani, trent'anni, psicologo, omosessuale ancora nell'armadio. Ma completamente gay per Giuda Schiavon.

Ormai ne era convinto. Aveva cercato di negarlo, di dirsi che era solo una sua impressione, la sua immaginazione. Tutti, in quel bar, lo adoravano, ridevano con lui, si confidavano con lui, a volte per sciocchezze sentimentali, a volte per dei consulti più seri. Tommaso era suo paziente dal primo giorno che aveva aperto, finalmente, il suo studio, ed i due erano ormai uniti come fratelli. Era stato il primo a cui Emilio aveva confessato il suo orientamento sessuale. Tommaso lo aveva abbracciato e aveva mormorato: "Tranquillo che non lo ha capito nessuno." Avevano riso, ed il veronese aveva chiamato subito il cugino, che aveva promesso di non dirlo, per il momento, neanche alla sua dolce metà, Luca. Sfortunatamente, nemmeno Tommaso era riuscito a dissipare i dubbi di Emilio. Quei dubbi che ormai erano diventati certezze, in quei tre anni, ed avevano devastato lo psicologo. Giuda, il suo bellissimo, silenzioso, misterioso ed affascinante Giuda, non riusciva nemmeno a sopportare la vista del veronese. Non lo aveva mai trattato male, ma Emilio non poteva non notare come cambiava atteggiamento quando lui arrivava. Spesso lo guardava dalla vetrata del bar. Lo guardava per un bel pezzo, ridere e scherzare con tutti, persino con Virgilio, ed ormai riusciva a leggerne l'espressione senza sentirlo parlare, solo osservandolo. Quindi sapeva bene che era vera, la freddezza che dimostrava nei suoi confronti. Come i suoi occhi diventavano fessure, come le parole diventavano freddi sibili, raramente rivolti ad Emilio. Mai apertamente antipatico, ma incredibilmente glaciale. Ed a quanto pare, qualsiasi cosa dovesse fare in cucina, doveva sempre farla quando arrivava lui. Nessuno però sapeva di questa sua cotta, ad esclusione di Patrizio, che dopotutto lo leggeva come un libro aperto. E nemmeno Patrizio riusciva a comprendere il cambio di umore del veneziano, in presenza del cugino. Il giovane bolognese aveva cercato di convincere il cugino ad arrendersi, o almeno a parlare con lui, ed era proprio questo il motivo aveva spinto Emilio a ringraziare, complice un bicchiere di buon Millesimato di Conegliano, a parlare, forse per la terza volta in tre anni, Giuda ad alta voce nel bar. E questo aveva snervato talmente tanto il lavapiatti, che aveva fatto cadere il vassoio di bicchieri che aveva tra le mani. "Prego." Aveva sibilato il veneziano guardandolo, per la prima volta in tre anni, negli occhi. Ed un brivido aveva percorso il corpo di Emilio. Una scarica elettrica come non ne aveva mai provate prima. Accompagnata da un magone infinito per quanto era successo. Appena Giuda si era allontanato per prendere la scopa per spazzare, seguito a ruota da Remo, Emilio si era alzato in piedi ed aveva cercato di aggirare il bancone per tirare su i cocci, ma Tommaso lo aveva fermato. "Ti farai male. Ti tagli anche con la carta, cosa vuoi fare coi bicchieri?" "Ma... Giuda..." Tommaso aveva sospirato, e forse aveva compreso: "Giuda se la caverà. Non è mica la prima volta che fa piovere bicchieri. Forse dovrebbe calmarsi un po', non fosse stato così teso non li avrebbe fatti cadere. Non provarci nemmeno a pensare che sia colpa tua." Emilio aveva sospirato, togliendosi gli occhiali e scuotendo la testa. "Ma è colpa mia." Patrizio si era avvicinato, e gli aveva messo di nuovo la mano sulla spalla. Luca era dietro di loro, ed aveva proposto, pragmatico. "Emilio, vuoi uscire a prendere un po' d'aria?" Il veronese aveva annuito distrattamente, ed erano usciti. Nonostante l'occhiataccia di Patrizio, il veronese aveva in automatico estratto il suo pacchetto di cigarilli, e se ne era acceso uno. Mentre tirava dal sigaro in miniatura, aveva continuato a guardare dentro il bar. Ed aveva viso Giuda coi suoi guanti gialli, salire sul bancone e guardarsi attorno. Aveva... pianto? I suoi occhi, in particolare quello sinistro, erano tremendamente rossi. Il sospiro, indubbiamente di sollievo, emesso dal giovane veneziano seguito dalla mano sulla spalla di Remo, aveva devastato definitivamente il trentenne. Patrizio stava guardando la scena accanto a lui, ed aveva mormorato: "Sembra quasi che sia lui la vittima. Quando invece ha fatto tutto da solo. Che razza di falso..." "Patrizio, per favore...", aveva implorato il veronese. "Per favore cosa? È lui che ha fatto cadere i bicchieri, non tu. Tu lo hai solo ringraziato, Emi. Non capisco come fa a piacerti uno c...." Patrizio aveva spalancato gli occhi e si era tappato la bocca con una mano. Ma ormai il danno era fatto. Luca stava guardando entrambi con gli occhi spalancati come un cervo davanti a dei fari. Aveva guardato entrambi con fare sconvolto, Emilio che ormai si era arreso ed aveva iniziato a piangere silenziosamente, tirando dal cigarillo come un ossesso, Patrizio che continuava a sussurrare le sue scuse.

E si era schiarito ben bene la voce prima di chiedere, gentilmente nonostante l'accento duro tipico della sua regione: "Vuoi venire a casa nostra a bere un thè? Sono sicuro che riusciamo a saccheggiarne di quelli buoni di Romolo." Emilio aveva annuito, ed il ragazzo del cugino aveva preso entrambi sottobraccio, portandoli via dal Dolce&Remì. Il ragazzo aveva ridacchiato quando entrando, avevano sorpreso Virgilio e Romolo seduti sul divano uno addosso all'altro, a guardare Mulan in Bluray, asserendo di essersi addormentati e di non essersi accorti della posizione compromettente. Aveva osservato in silenzio Luca abbracciare Patrizio alle spalle, sussurrandogli qualcosa mentre il giovane emiliano preparava il thè per tutti. Ed aveva spalancato gli occhi terrorizzato quando sia il molisano che il romano, avevano confessato che si erano accorti della sua cotta per Giuda da probabilmente prima di quando Emilio lo aveva ammesso a sé stesso. La serata era passata in fretta, troppo in fretta, tra prese per i fondelli ad Emilio per la sua scelta discutibile (Romolo ce l'aveva particolarmente a morte, per ovvi motivi), e quando era stato il momento di tornare a casa, Emilio aveva pensato di restare a dormire nell'appartamento del cugino e dei suoi tre adorabili coinquilini. Ma sapeva bene che, in quello stesso palazzo, il suo coinquilino Remo stava rientrando. Quindi aveva baciato sulla fronte il cugino ed abbracciato forte gli altri tre, ed aveva preso l'ascensore per tornare a casa. Una volta aperta la porta, aveva trovato Remo guardare qualcosa al pc, al buio della sala da pranzo. "A Emì. Te ne sei scappato da tuo cugino? Giuda se voleva scusà per avette trattato come l'ultimo deji stronzi." Come no. Aveva proprio la faccia dispiaciuta. "Ma mi dovrei scusare io. Gli ho fatto distruggere i bicchieri e sono scappato. Porco can, mi sono comportato di merda. Spero non mi tiri addosso una sedia la prima volta che entro in bar." "Ma vaaaa. Giuda spacca i bicchieri, e non solo, più di quanto potrebbe mai ammettere!", aveva riso il romano, prima di sbadigliare rumorosamente ed alzarsi dalla sedia. "Ascolta... Volevo fare un qualcosa di carino al bar... Qualcosa che possa coinvolgere sia i giovani ma sia qualcosa di tipico. Se facessi un torneo di briscola, tu giocheresti?" "Porco can! Ma me lo chiedi? Adoro la briscola!" "Bella zì. Allora dai, che domani parlo con Tommy e vediamo il da farci. Guarda che se nun vieni a giocà te tolgo er saluto!" Emilio aveva annuito e Remo si era diretto in camera, un sorrisetto diabolico in faccia.

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frickfracksnatchisback · 5 years

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Canceled Yet Comfy (Snatcher x MC)

Sorry to bore you but can I request you some Snatcher prompt reacting to sick crush (also I love you work) PS: Sorry for my possibly bad English, I’m french. -@riverteatime

No worries at all! I’m up for making some more ship fluffiness! And thank you!!! I’m sorry if this is a bit short, but I hope it’s to your liking! -FrickFrack

***

“Well…this sucks.”

MC coughed loudly, for like the fifth time in a row, as they huddled up on their couch. They had wrapped a fluffy blanket around them and gather as many pillows as they could. Not like it was helping, but with how miserable they were feeling they desperately needed some comfort. The one thing that really sucked now was that they were the only one able to take care of themselves. And they had wanted to go outside so badly today and maybe visit-

Wait…wasn’t there something they were forgetting?

“Oh noooooo…” MC groaned, their whine straining on their throat. But they had every right to be upset, because the had just remembered the date they had planned with Snatcher. The date that they had discussed the last time they visited Subcon, and the one that Snatcher seemed so excited to have. And that was supposed to be today. They grumbled to themselves bitterly. Why had this stupid illness decided to appear just now?! Why couldn’t it have hit them on a more unimportant day?!

Nevertheless, they reached into their back pocket to retrieve their phone. As they slowly dialed the number, they felt the guilt and sadness rising up in their chest. Snatcher was going to be heartbroken that they couldn’t make it to their date. Either that, or he would be just a bitter about this as they were. Only…at them. Though they told themselves that’s not like he would yell at them, there was still a lingering fear there. One that almost convinced them to not call at all.

But they forced themselves to call him anyways. After all, he would just be even more furious if they kept quiet about it. And that was a chance they wouldn’t take, as they punched in the last button at brought the phone up to their ear. While the dull ringing of the phone rang in their ear, they tried to calm themselves and say not to worry. Snatcher would understand, he was an understanding guy. But they at least had to give the bad new to him gently, so as to make him not as disappointed.

They felt their heart jump, as they heard Snatcher pick up on their call.

“Hello? Who is this?” Snatcher asked on the phone, rather bluntly. His echoing voice was still very recognizable to them, with only a bit of static mixed in. His voice made them gulp nervously, but they went on with the call.

“H-hey, Snatcher.” they said awkwardly, trying their best to sound somewhat well. A small pause on the other end, then they could barely hear Snatcher cursing at himself for “being so stupid”.

“Hello, my darling!” Snatcher’s tone changed immediately, as he realized who was calling. “I’m guessing you wanted to call about our date?” he sounded very charmed to hear their voice again. Which only made this harder for them.

“Yeah…” they replied, feeling like they wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “About that, there’s something I wanted to-”

“Don’t worry! I’ve got the perfect place set up for our little picnic! Although this time it’ll be away from the ever-burning forest fire, I promise.” they could heard the sincerity in Snatcher’s voice. The caring and calmness in his voice mixed in with his joking nature. The one thing they loved so very much about him.

It almost made them want to cry.

But instead, they nearly hacked up a lung. As they brought the phone away from them so they could have a brief coughing fit, they could feel the soreness growing in their throat. Once they were done, they sniffled before going back to the phone.

“What was that?” Snatcher asked them, making them felt the tightness in their chest. As much as they hadn’t wanted him to heard it, he had. Had their coughing really been that loud? They tried to think of an excuse, any excuse that hopefully wouldn’t make him worry about them too much.

“Sorry, I just have a slight-”

“Are you feeling alright?” Snatcher pressed on, and they could hear his voice becoming softer. And they could feel themselves shaking a bit, but keeping a tight grip on the phone. They took a deep breath, before building up the courage to speak again.

“No, I’m not doing so good.” they said, a bit scared. “I got some sort of cold, or flu, or whatever and…” they bit their lip, hesitant to keep going. “…I can’t make to our date tonight.” they finally managed to get it out. And there was silence for awhile. A long while. What was actually seconds, felt like the longest minutes of their life. “I’m sorry…” they added in, before they felt like it was too late. But Snatcher still didn’t respond, until-

There was a small click, indicating that he had ended the call.

They stood there in silence, with nothing but the dull hum coming from the phone. They slowly brought the phone down, away from them, until they let it drop it to the floor. They felt themselves tighten in a ball, wishing that they hadn’t called in the first place. He probably hated them now. Because they said they would be there, and now they weren’t. They began to cover their face, trying to repress the tears. How could they have been so insensitive? They were the worst soul mate ever, and now Snatcher would never-

“I’M HERE!” Snatcher yelled, as he popped out from the floor. MC couldn’t help but scream in surprise, before quickly regretting it. They went back into another coughing fit, feeling like they were choking and about to run short on air. Snatcher quickly noticed, and went to comfort them.

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized, going over to pat their back as they coughed and wheezed.

“Sna-” the coughing made it hard for them to speak. “-cher? W-what are you-”

“I came as fast as I could.” Snatcher rambled on, beginning to tap his fingers nervously. And they noticed he was holding something in his other hand. A big bag, stuffed to the brim with different items. It looked like it was from a simple store. They gave him a questioning look once they finally stopped coughing.

“What’s in there?” they asked meekly, pointing to the bag in question. Snatcher looked surprised for a second, before looking back at the bag he was holding.

“Oh! Right!” he said, as if he completely forgot about it. “I got you some things…I don’t know if they’ll help but-” he went on, as he brought the bag up to rummage through it. “Here. Take these. Please.” he said, a bit rushed as he pushed the items towards them. He had grabbed tissue boxes and cough drop baggies from the bag. Although, since his hand was much larger, and his state being a bit panicked, it looked like there were at least six differently covered boxes and eight varying flavor of drops.

He tosses the boxes and drop bags into their lap, nearly covering their entire lap. But as they were about to say something, Snatcher went back to looking through the bag.

“And I got a couple of these too? I’m not sure if you like soup, but I think I read somewhere that it helps?” Snatcher looked as them desperately, as he brought out a “handful” of chicken-noodle soup cans. They stared at him, their expression growing more and more bewildered. Had he really gone through all the trouble of getting stuff for them? All because they were just sick? They thought he would be more upset, sad even, about their date being canceled. And yet, here he was, bringing them a plethora of cough drop, soup cans, and-”

“Sweetheart? Are you…crying?” Snatcher had put the cans back in the bag, and was now looking at them with concern. They snapped out of there thoughts, and quickly went to dry their eyes.

“Ah! I’m sorry…” they felt their voice beginning to crack, as the tears welled up in their eyes.

“No, no, no. Don’t be.” Snatcher left the bag on the ground and went over to them. And before they knew it, he was sitting next to them on the couch. It was a bit cramped, what with all the pillows piled up everywhere. But Snatcher still managed to hug them close to him while he rested his head on top of theirs. They froze for a moment, before smiling softly and cuddling into him.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date tonight.” they sighed, still feeling guilty.

“Hush, you don’t have to be sorry for anything.” Snatcher reassured them, though it sounded more like scolding.

“But I’m sick, and I-”

“Shut up. You’re fine.” Snatcher comforted them, by wrapping his snake-like body around them. “It’s not like you intentionally got yourself sick, did you?” he said, half-jokingly and half-serious. This got a sight chuckle out of them, but not too much since their throat still hurt.

“No, I guess not.” they leaned into him, his floof tickling the top of their head. It was honestly rather comforting. “But…what are we gonna do now?” they asked him, a bit sad that Snatcher’s picnic wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Not with them being bed-ridden, anyways.

“I’m going to take care of you, dummy! What else?” Snatcher laughed a bit, as they punched his arm playfully.

“Oh yeah? What if you get sick too?” they smiled, joining in on the teasing fun.

“Oh, please. I’m a ghost. Ghost can’t get sick!”

“Really?”

“Really.” Snatcher nodded, before remembering something. “…Well, at least not from mortal illnesses. We can’t catch those, I don’t think.” he reluctantly added in, with it sounding like he was keeping something a secret from them. But they just let out a short laugh.

“Ha! I was right, nerd.” they boasted, quite proud of themselves.

“Only partially, fool.” Snatcher huffed, but smiled as he held them closer. He leaned back into the couch, shifting his position so that they were both comfortable. And MC snuggled up tight to him, wrapping their fluffy blanket as best they could around him. And Snatcher, gladly accepted it, his breathing become slower and more relaxed as the two rested on the couch.

And it didn’t take long before they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

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chaoticsagi · 4 years

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Fictober 2019 | Day Twenty Six | “Can you wait for me?”

Prompt: 26- “Can you wait for me?”

Fandom & Ship: Community, Jeff x Annie

Summary: The gang go to a haunted house and Jeff’s more scared than he’s willing to let on. Annie’s there to help him through.

“Jeff? Just come on!” Annie grabs his hand and pulls him forward. The movement forces him into her, his body crashing into hers from behind. He almost blushes and is glad she can’t turn around and see the flush on his cheeks, the dim lighting is concealing it well. He panics, lets go of her hand and freezes in place.

“You’re not scared, are you?” she asks, her voices soft and reassuring. He can just about hear her over the spooky sound effects booming out of an overhead speaker.

She’s taken a few steps ahead, assuming he’s right behind her.

He takes a deep breath.

“No!” he rolls his eyes at her, but she doesn't believe him. She's already made note of the fearful flicker in his eyes that she noticed when they first stepped foot insides Greendale’s makeshift haunted house. She finds it kind of sweet that he seems afraid, but she finds herself wondering why too. It’s not like she’ll ever know, he would never be willing to talk about it. So instead, she just tries to offer comfort and distraction, hoping it helps.

“Can you wait for me?” he says a little too shakily for his own liking.

“Just hold my hand,” she offers, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He smiles at the sudden rush of emotion that takes over, replacing those dark thoughts in his mind with Annie-centric ones, ones that always make him smile.

He’s glad she doesn’t press the issue further, mostly because he’d doesn’t dare admit that he’s the slightest bit creeped out.

And ok, maybe it did have something to do with that haunted house place his dad dragged him to once, and promptly left him inside of so he could sneak off and flirt with one of the actresses, but Jeff doesn’t want to talk about that. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

It’s only now that he realises that they’ve lost all the others. Everyone else must have ran off at that first jump scare. Now that he thinks about it, he does partially remember watching some people getting chased off by an actor, he just assumed they were strangers in his barely-focused state.

So now Jeff and Annie are alone together. He’s not complaining, she is good company after all and it is much less embarrassing being this terrified in front of just her than in front everyone else.

They take a few steps forward, tentatively and slowly. Annie must have tried to calculate areas she thinks the next jump scares might happen, because she winces slightly in anticipation a second before a badly dressed killer clown pops out behind a wall and screams at them.

Jeff’s a little embarrassed at the noise that comes out his mouth. He’s thankful that it’s drowned out by Annie’s screams.

“Run!” she yells and he doesn’t argue with her. They start sprinting down the dark hallway, dodging another actor that jumps out from behind a curtain with a bloody chainsaw in his hands, both screaming when he comes into view.

“We might as well try and find the others,” Annie shouts above the ghoulish howls that echo around them as they rush through a new room. Jeff’s barely paying attention at this point, focusing his eyes on the back of Annie’s Minnie Mouse costume - and yeah, she definitely looks cute.

He’d usually be thinking about how good she looks, how badly he wants to kiss her when she looks at him with those big, piercing blue eyes of hers, but he’s too busy trying to focus on lowering his heart beat and how to not feel completely breathless.

“Annie,” he warns when they turn a corner a bit too fast for his liking, but she doesn’t hear him amongst the thunder soundtrack they’ve started playing, and before he can repeat himself, a ghost jumps out ahead of them and scares them senseless.

Annie flinches back, huddling her body into Jeff’s arms and covering her face while she screams. He’s screaming too, and as soon as it’s over and the ghost goes back to his hiding place, they both burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god!” Annie says through giggles. “I’m glad we came here, this is fun.”

He smiles at her, noticing the way she hasn’t moved out of his embrace. She feels warm in his arms, all soft and comforting. Exactly what he needs right now. He doesn’t want to let go, and she hasn’t been in a rush to turn away either, so he doesn’t question how good it all feels.

“You okay?” she turns her face up towards him, her bright blue eyes twinkling at him.

“Better now,” he says and doesn’t care how cheesy it sounds. He loves the way his words make her cheeks all rosy, watching the colour spread across her features as she bats her eyelashes at him.

It’s the least romantic setting possible, with horror sound effects booming in the background and screaming all around them, but he can’t help himself. She’s there, smiling up at him, as if challenging him to do it.

So he obliges. His lips find hers quickly, but he kisses her slowly and chastely.

It’s not long before she leans up on her tip toes, wrapping her fingers around the nape of his neck, and pulls him in closer. Her tongue licks his bottom lip teasingly and he moans into her mouth, letting her deepen the kiss. They stand intertwined for a while, lost in the taste and feel and sensation of kissing each other and being this close after so long.

He didn’t realise he could miss kissing someone so much.

“Uh, excuse me?” One of the actors approaches them, tapping Jeff’s shoulder.

Abruptly breaking apart, Annie turns red as she makes eye contact with the teenage boy in front of them. He can't be older than 16, not with that haircut and those braces, Jeff thinks. He feels for the kid, having to stop a 30-something year old man and his not-girlfriend from making out in the middle of a fairground attraction.

“Can you guys keep moving please? You’re holding up the people behind you.”

Without a word, Annie grabs Jeff’s hand and pulls him away, running speedily through the room. She laughs loudly, out of both embarrassment and enjoyment, and Jeff can’t even remember why he felt so scared before. With Annie, the bad feelings start to disappear.

He doesn’t care that they’ve lost the others or that they’re still god knows where inside this hell hole. Annie’s there, smiling at him, holding his hand, kissing his cheek sneakily when it looks like they’re alone, and he’s pretty sure that makes this one of the best Halloweens ever.

#fictober19 #jeff x annie #jeff winger #annie edison #community #fan fic #IT'S HALLOWEEN!!!#so here's a cute fic to celebrate #not sure if it's good or not woop #jeff/annie #annie x jeff

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discordantplains · 5 years

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Sweet Company

Jordan thumbed through the manual he had found in one of the abandoned mineshafts. Tucker was sprawled in his bed beside where Jordan was hunched at a desk. “So, good news--or, well--whatever news.”

“You found a way out of here?” Tucker mumbled. He coughed into his pillow and sucked in snot loudly.

“Actually, yes,” Jordan said. Tucker sat up and Sonja looked up from note-taking. Tucker moved to stand next to Jordan’s desk as he tapped on a familiar device they had all seen in Ruxomar. A portal. Tucker sighed in relief. “Oh thank the gods,” Tucker moaned in relief. “Do you have all the supplies? Do you think you could reconfigure it to our old land? Could you?” Tucker was leaning heavily on Jordan’s chair and Jordan moved away from him. Sonja was interested, but hadn’t gotten up. She looked over at them, her book still in her hands.

“Probably, maybe just a couple more weeks, but I’m no Deviser Gaines--I can’t connect the worlds, but I could try.”

“Deviser Gaines…” Sonja hummed in thought. “Guess he’s back with Martha and them?” She flipped a page on her notes, resting her head on her knee as she shuffled through pages and tapped the quill against her lips.

“Well, we’re counting on you, Jordan,” Tucker said and clapped Jordan on the shoulder before stumbling back to his bed. “I’m going to pray to Mianite to kill me in the meantime.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and let the manual fall closed. He had all the iron and steel he could need, some of the machinery was in dire need of repair around here, and maybe he could secure some more redstone and crystals. There was an old wine cellar in the bed and breakfast he could build the portal in--but it might just have to be a secret from the alternates--or at least Honey. He wasn’t quite sure if he had permission to build there and frankly had no intention of asking.

He went ahead and took the manual with him as he settled into the wine cellar where they had arranged a few chests to shove their belongings in. Jordan wasn't surprised to find his chest had been pillaged. He had to go ahead and find Tom’s chest buried at the back of the room to get the rest of his items out. He lit a few of the lanterns in the room and mumbled instructions to himself as he assembled the supplies.

He was partially through compiling the blue-prints when he heard a knock against the wall. He glanced up to see SkeleTom holding a small pitcher of what looked to be fruit punch and had a baggie of cookies. “Hey, Jordan!”

“Hey, SkeleTom,” Jordan greeted, pushing his hair back up into a semblance of his usual coif. He got up from his place on the floor and dusted his hands off on his pants. “What’s the occasion?”

“Bored,” SkeleTom admitted. “It’s been so long since we’ve been able to hang around anyone new. And you’re really nice,” SkeleTom said. He set the bag of cookies and the pitcher of punch on the ground. He sat down criss-cross on the floor to stare at Jordan’s blueprints curiously.

“A portal? Wow--an engineer?” SkeleTom questioned. His mis-matched eyes skimmed Jordan’s curiously. Jordan looked away.

“Somewhat,” Jordan answered. He bent back down to organize a few of the pages and felt SkeleTom’s eyes still on him.

“Do you really want to leave that badly?”

Jordan sighed. He tapped on a blueprint and absently consulted the manual beside him. “Yes and no--Tucker’s sick of this place already, and this isn’t the first time we’ve been stranded somewhere for a month or so,” Jordan answered truthfully. “I also kind of want to talk to the Ianite I know and like--not evil Ianite,” Jordan added. His expression shifted and he smiled absently to himself. He was humored by the events that had happened and he felt SkeleTom’s eyes move off of him. Jordan side-eyed him.

The taller man nodded, drumming his fingers on his knees. “I get it. I’d feel the same way if I woke up in a different dimension.” SkeleTom sprawled his legs out. He picked up a blueprint and studied it some, but his eyebrows creased. “I’m not sure I’m the type of person who can read this.”

Jordan looked at what he was holding and just waved it off. “I was just trying some equations like I’d seen some scientist in the old world I went to do,” Jordan offhanded said. “You know, universe portals or something.”

“Huh,” SkeleTom set the blueprint back down. “Well, you really liked the cookies I made last time so I made more. Also, figured you might be getting hungry. You’ve been cooped up all day,” SkeleTom said and gestured to the cookies and punch. “It’ll give you a mental boost at least.”

“Thanks,” Jordan said, and after a moment he decided, yes, he did need that break. He let SkeleTom pour the small pitcher into one of the two glasses strapped on top of it and sipped at it greedily. The wine cellar had little air circulation and it did help his parched throat. He felt his stomach growling and he absently dug into the bag of cookies, eyes locked on the blueprint. It was almost completed--he could get the framework of the portal done in a few days. Some of the programming and the “brain” of the portal would need a lot more thought and work put into it. Jordan didn’t realize how much he was mumbling to himself until he caught himself mid word. He looked up at SkeleTom who wasn’t interrupting him or butting in, but reading the manual Jordan found.

Jordan nodded to himself and went back to working, unbothered. His mind became wrapped up in the plans again and he absently started assembling a rough layout of the framework with spare wood, chewing on a cookie without a thought. SkeleTom motioned to him briefly that he was going to head out, but Jordan hadn’t paid much mind, his thoughts circling back to the portal.

It wasn’t until the cookies were mostly gone and he mumbled a request that next time SkeleTom got the chance Jordan would be thankful for more...that he realized the man had left. Jordan felt pleasantly happy from a day of silence and easy work. The sugar had helped him think and he returned upstairs to sleep...only to see his bed covers gone and on Tom’s bed.

Jordan sighed. Tom was already dead asleep wrapped in a cocoon. Tucker was snoring loudly and drooling all over his pillow. Wag was wide awake in the darkness--with his blanket thrown over his head and a mysterious white light glowing from beneath the thick cover. Jordan couldn’t even imagine trying to sleep in the cacophony of sounds going on in this room. On second thought, Jordan returned to the basement, ignoring the start of dreariness and reinvesting himself in the portal work.

….

Jordan ended up falling asleep in the basement propped against the chests. Upon waking he took a moment to check to see he hadn’t disturbed his blueprints or the start to the portal frame. Everything was in order. Jordan nodded to himself and climbed the stairs Jordan nodded to himself and climbed the stairs to see Tom asleep. Tucker was still snoring.

He drifted outside and stretched. It was a bright and sunny day out and he let the sun warm his stiff joints as he tried to think of what to do. More portal resources were a must, so he ventured out with the city ordinances and rules in mind to gather them. He couldn’t gather much--there was little to get with the limitations but it was something.

The first official day of portal recon was uneventful for him. SkeleTom had came by again with a fresh bag of cookies and Jordan had been grateful for the sugar and Sonja had come by shortly after--having spent most of her day elsewhere and snagged a few cookies and her own food before vanishing again.

The only real snag came later in the afternoon. He’d been in the middle of constructing the base of the brain when Tucker had barged down the stairs and startled him, causing him to shatter the last of his important crystals and diamonds onto the ground. Despite his haste to get out of this dimension, Tucker seemed unbothered, or at least distracted, and insisted that Jordan join him for a group meeting. Grumbling, Jordan attended their discussion, sans Tom, without much fuss, but didn’t pay all that much attention. Tucker’s message was clear, however, as he made sure to warn them all extensively about the extremely annoying bad news and Jordan kept it at the back of his mind.

Jordan knew he should be more perturbed by the announcement, but other than his murderous counterpart he felt relatively safe. He was mostly in the basement and soon he’d have the portal working--well, give or take a few weeks now that Tucker had destroyed the brain.

He tried to sleep that night among the chests, staring at the portal framework in dismay. He had gone to the basement again to avoid the chorus of snores, Tom and/or Wag’s night time shenanigans, and Tucker’s dying lungs. As he stared into the portal frame he felt a dawning unease--how was he supposed to come up with the formula? And when he did--would it be the right one?

Jordan fell asleep uneasy.

…

The next morning started abruptly. Tom woke him up, pushing at him and motioning furiously with one of his hands. Jordan awoke groggily and stared up at the zombie. It was too early in the morning for this--that much his brain told him.

Two of his fingers were wrapped in a splint and bandages and his brows were furrowed. He was clearly bruised and battered--more so than his usual undead ugliness. “Sparklez, reach up and get me a healing potion from the top chest.”

“That’s Sonja’s,” Jordan pointed out, but, eyeing Tom’s hand, he did as he was asked. Tom shotgunned the potion bottle and gagged briefly. He shoved the empty bottle back in Jordan’s hand and hissed in pain as he reflexively moved his right hand. The two fingers were well bandaged, but were swelling and purple at the visible tips. “What happened?”

Tom shot him a dirty look. “Honey. I broke one law.”

Jordan was skeptic. “Uh-huh.”

Tom pouted. His eyes welling up. He leaned towards Jordan and crowded into his space. “Jordan, I’m in pain--and suffering. Don’t give me that shit. You’ve been ignoring me the whole time we’re here--because you’ve replaced me!”

Jordan laughed. He didn’t stop Tom from practically leaning on him, but he did shrug his shoulders. “You got yourself in that situation.”

“I didn’t deserve to have my fingers broken. That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” Tom griped. Jordan shrugged him off and started to get truly up, assembling himself the best he could. Tom narrowed his eyes at Jordan’s make-shift kind-of-bed. “Why are you sleeping down here?”

“I don’t like sleeping in the same room as all of you,” Jordan said. He wrinkled his nose in thought. “You and Tucker make too much noise.”

“Are you implying we’re in bed together?” Tom purposely misinterpreted, aghast. Jordan rubbed the bridge of his nose and shot Tom a look.

“I’m saying,” Jordan corrected, “Tucker snores and you spend all your time grumbling and whining rather than sleeping.” Tom snorted. He let out a sigh and winced as he moved his hand, looking to Jordan again.

“Can you at least kiss my fingers better?”

“No,” Jordan stated. “I’m going to go get portal resources. Don’t mess with the framework.” Tom immediately eyed his progress, squaring it up. After a moment he narrowed his eyes to slits and glowered at Jordan.

“You’re going to hang out with SkeleTom! Aren’t you!”

“I wasn’t,” Jordan said, “but just for that I’m now reminded I’m craving cookies, so thanks.”

“You just want me to be jealous,” Tom whined. He leaned into Jordan’s space again, but Jordan side-stepped. He shrugged on his jacket and fixed Tom with a grin.

“You’d be jealous if I hung out with no-one.”

“You admit to wanting me to suffer!” Tom crowed.

Jordan rolled his eyes. He shook his head at Tom. As he climbed the stairs up, Tom followed him ranting loudly about something or another to himself. When they reached the top of the stairs Jordan headed straight for the door and Tom fixed him with a look of disgust. Wag was asleep in bed this time and Sonja was already out of the house. Tucker was sitting on his bed, sniffling, scribbling prayers to Mianite at a feverish pace and still smelling of smoke and ash. Jordan nodded to Tucker and left, ignoring Tom’s start to a comment about SkeleTom.

Jordan had egged Tom on, but he was in the mood for cookies now and at least at SkeleTom’s he know for sure there’d be peace and quiet. Or, at least, Tom wouldn’t be clinging to him and Tucker wouldn’t be sneezing and coughing up a storm that Jordan could still hear from the basement. During the tour, SkeleTom had pointed out his bakery and house and Jordan traveled to the multi-purpose building, the sweet smell hitting him the moment he was on the block.

With light colors and a well-trimmed flower-bush outside, the bakery reminded him of a summer house--full of promise. The soft-sound of a wind-chime swaying in the breeze and the melodic hum of bird melodies intermixed in the wind. Jordan reached SkeleTom’s bakery and knocked on the door.

The door swung open, and SkeleTom grinned, pleased to see him. “What can I do for ya?”

Jordan smiled hesitantly at him, “I wouldn’t mind some cookies, but I’m just looking for peace and quiet.”

SkeleTom nodded in understanding. “I swear I can hear Mericho’s alternate--Tucker, right? I can hear him hacking up a lung any time I come near the ole bed and breakfast. I’ll try something else. Guess tried and true green tea and peppermint doesn’t always do it.” He moved aside, holding the door for Jordan to enter. Jordan obliged. He was at ease with the warmth of the place. In the entrance there was a gorgeous kitchen.

Jordan wasn’t much for cooking himself, but the obvious organization, cleanliness, and function to it all was beautiful. There was a labeled shelf with various jars of ingredients. A smaller open-shelf with plastic tubs sealed tight and neat and polished silver measuring cups of varying sizes dangling from hooks near each one. A laminated recipe book was open on its own stand to a recipe for no-bake drop cookies. An array of bowls was on a rotating display, available for easy access. It was a shame the man didn’t have that many people to bake for--he was clearly made to, everything about the kitchen screamed an immense love of his craft.

“In the meantime,” SkeleTom interrupted his train of thought gently, pausing as Jordan’s attention slowly returned to him. “I can give you all three of what you want. Cookies, peace and quiet,” SkeleTom promised. “If you need some resources for the portal still I can get you some, if you have schematics and lists of what you still need.” Jordan’s eyes lit up. SkeleTom shrugged uneasily and shyly fiddled his fingers. “I’m not much into machinery and fighting, so when I go mining all the materials tend to stockpile and lay around. I sometimes go with Mericho for fun--he has more use for that stuff with his farm and what-not. I’m sure I could freely spare some.”

“That would be great!” Jordan said.

“Oh good! I love to help friends,” SkeleTom cheered. He lead Jordan through a modest four-person seating dining room with a red-and-white plaid tablecloth and an old record player to a small room neatly organized with chests filled with various metals, some rare ones catching Jordan’s eye immediately. What also caught his eye was a bow. It was among two-others, both also spectacularly enchanted and designed with amazing colors, but the violet marking and green highlights caught his eye. He looked to SkeleTom for permission to touch it. “Mind if I…?” Jordan asked.

“Feel free, I only really use the one on the right,” SkeleTom gestured to a more sleek red and black bow with less-loud accents of flames.

“You use a bow and arrow?” Jordan asked curious as he handled the purple bow and examined the craftsmanship. It rivaled his old Bow of Balance.

“Mainly, I don’t really like swords,” SkeleTom said and he shrugged awkwardly. He had a lean form and Jordan could see from the way he behaved that a reality where SkeleTom ran around with a large sword like Tom didn’t seem all that plausible. The pink jorts also didn’t look like a comfortable place to hang a blade from.

Jordan almost wanted to ask if he could take the bow, but he put it back on its hooks, gazing at it sadly. SkeleTom caught his expression. “If you want, you can have it. Just don’t go shooting anyone.”

“Really?” Jordan’s eyes sparkled.

“Sure!” SkeleTom offered. Jordan immediately grabbed it again, his fingers running reverently over the weapon more powerful than any of his friends’ current bows or his own one. He knew it wasn’t really a purge scenario and they weren’t all about to go around killing each other for fun anytime soon. SkeleTom watched him amused and Jordan remembered his faint manners.

“Thank-you.”

“No problem. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste. Now about those cookies--I already have some made, but is there a different flavor you’d like. Or even a different treat…”

And that was how Jordan spent the rest of his day. Pleasantly happy at SkeleTom’s, letting the gift-bow sit happily on his lap. SkeleTom promised him more resources if he brought a list of what he needed tomorrow, and so Jordan kept that in mind. He didn’t need to mine for resources and waste time. He could work on the programming if SkeleTom gave him that extra help. The thoughts bubbled happily in his brain and Jordan was sent home with a bag of goodies and the bow with its very own quiver of arrows.

He walked into the bed and breakfast that night, almost relaxed enough to consider sleeping upstairs. Tom was resting on his bed quietly for once talking with Tucker, and Sonja greeted Jordan as he walked in. He was the last one back and it was well and truly dark outside. Time must have flown when he was finally able to not have to listen to Tucker’s coughing. He had a bag of cookies from SkeleTom. He pulled one free to munch on as he heard Tucker’s hacking and wheezing fill the room.

“Nice bow,” Sonja commented.

Jordan grinned, and didn’t miss Tom’s immediate bulls-eye attention. The zombie’s black eyes were glittering in the candle-light, the light bouncing across them and hiding his emotions. His head swiveled slightly to look from the cookies to the bow and to Jordan’s face.

“Accepting gifts now, you traitor?” Tom accused. He stood, lurking in the corner.

“Mm-hm,” Jordan hummed and set the bag of cookies down on the desk near his bed. He turned to the others. “SkeleTom offered to give me the rest of the resources for the portal so I’ll be able to start programming it in two days from now. But for now, I’m going to bed.” “That’s great news!” Tucker said with relief. His voice was hoarse.

“Glad to hear,” Sonja added. She lay back on her bed, her mind elsewhere. Wag, further away, was organizing plant seeds on his bed and had building schematics planned out. Jordan almost considered asking him what he planned on building when Tom butted into his thoughts. He had crossed the room to block Jordan’s path to the basement.

“You know, Jordan, you traitor us all the time. How do we know you’re not praying to evil Ianite yet!” Tom brandished his finger at Jordan’s chest.

Jordan ignored him. He pushed Tom’s hand away from his chest and walked past the zombie. As he went down the stairs, he could still hear Tom still throwing meaningless accusations at his back.

He had a formula to get done and a portal to finish, as far as he was concerned, Tom could prattle all he wanted, Tucker could sneeze everywhere and everyone else could mind their own business--so as long as no one disturbed him.

| ABOUT | CHARACTERS | PLOT |

#discordant plains #mianite #mianitefa #captainsparklez #captain sparklez #skeletom #Mianite: Discordant Plains #mianite fan fiction

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