#i mean he is a filthy Sag but i love him anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hezzabeth · 5 months

Text

I know that a Miss Havisham costume in a playhouse should be more regency period… but that’s Whistleton’s theme. Anyway in todays part the gang head on off to Medieval Faire!

"If they had their way, they would have burned anyone with colorful hair, but that would mean losing most of their actors," Revati explained to Brigadeiro who had vaguely followed her into the cafes fridge.

“That would mean killing the entire population of my town” Bridgadeiro remarked.

“It’s not that I hate wearing dresses! Sometimes I love wearing dresses; I just hate being told what I have to wear by some stupid actors based on my reproductive organs,” Revati said to Bridgadeiro, who had vaguely followed her into the fridge.

“You would love the space station! Everyone wears whatever they want, in their assigned colors, of course,” Bridgadeiro remarked.

“I’m sorry, is there a reason why you’ve followed me in here? I need to get changed!” Revati informed him, and he had the decency to blush with embarrassment.

“Dreadfully sorry! I just wanted to let you know I’m done with the plant thing and wanted to ask if I could go home now,” Bridgadeiro asked.

“You can leave any time you like. I’m assuming you’ve figured out a way to stop yourself from freezing to death?” Revati asked as she pulled out a skirt.

“Ah, no, I had a special tent when I was rose collecting, but the chanting naked people stole it!” Bridgadeiro admitted.

Revati examined the skirt. It was one of Amma’s early creations, several burlap potato sacks that had been sewed together.

“Well, I'm not your mother; I’m sure you’ll figure things out eventually,” Revati admitted, and Bridgadeiro chuckled.

“Believe me, I know you’re not my mother; she would have called every single planetary embassy in the solar system!” Bridgadeiro replied as Revati wiggled the skirt off over her pants.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Bridgadeiro asked doubtfully as the skirt sagged around Revati’s legs in awful shades of mustard.

“It will do,” Revati grumbled.

Dityaa and Aurora were waiting for Revati under one of the new trees. Aurora was wearing a long shapeless tunic belted at the waist. Dityaa, however, had put on a dress made entirely out of yellowing white lace and satin. The sleeves were gigantic clouds bursting from her shoulders. The bodice was cut right across the front with tiny pearl buttons. The skirt had been artfully torn in several places revealing layers of fluffy tulle. The hemline had come undone, and it was dragging in the mud. But none of it really seemed to matter. The dress made her glow.

“Is that what you’re wearing? The ragbag skirt!” Dityaa asked, sounding horrified.

“Is that what you’re wearing? That’s the Miss Havisham's wedding dress from the Dickensian theater! They will take one look at you and know you’re from a different part of the park,” Revati pointed out, equally horrified. No one performed in the actual theater, but everyone read the scripts left abandoned inside.

“It’s pretty! I want to look my best,” sniffed Dityaa.

“The character who wore it went crazy on her wedding day and then died in a fire! She also lived in the 1860s,” Revati pointed out.

“It’s fine, I took all the plastic spiders off it,” Dityaa waved casually.

“You probably should wear something better; the actors in medieval faire will assume you’re a peasant. They’ll make you dig latrines,” Aurora said to Revati.

“The dress I wore last night is filthy! I don’t have time to wash anything else,” Revati snapped back irritably as she marched to the cart.

“You could just borrow something from my collection,” Dityaa said.

“You once told me if I ever borrowed from your collection you would shave my head in my sleep,” Revati replied.

“I was thirteen! A child! Anyway, I can’t have you digging toilets; imagine the embarrassment,” Dityaa said, and then her eyes widened briefly.

“He will need to put someone on as well; that jumpsuit will get his throat slit,” Dityaa said, and Revati glanced over her shoulder. Bridgadeiro was standing a couple of feet behind her.

“I thought I could ask the naked chanters for my tent back,” he said.

“Fine, but you’re digging your own grave,” Revati replied, and Bridgadeiro’s brow wrinkled with confusion.

“Grave?”

“You know, the hole a dead body goes in,” Aurora said helpfully.

“That’s horrifying! Back home we don’t do that, back home bodies are turned into diamonds and then launched into space,” Bridgadeiro said, and a faint smile crossed his face.

“The memorial rings floating around the space station really are dazzling.”

“Fine, let’s quickly change our clothes and head out before Amma gets back from her daily walk,” Revati snapped irritably.

Medieval faire loomed over Olde Landon. "Loomed" really was the only word to describe it. The park architects had deliberately placed it in the castle on a giant hill in the park's center. Its gigantic craggy walls cast shadows all the way to Shakespeare Lane. The giant copper dragon could be seen all the way in Whistletown. On windy days, you could smell smoke spiraling from its towers. The smoke was the only proof Revati had that the actors and tourists inside were still alive.

“So, how do we get in?” Revati asked as Bridgadeiro helped her push the cart.

“The back way is in Marzipan Martian’s confections,” Aurora said, and Revati shuddered.

“You don’t like lollies?” Bridgadeiro asked.

“I don’t like ants; Marzipan Martians is infested with them,” Revati replied, shuddering again.

“Oh, come on, ants aren’t that bad! The parks on the space station are full of them,” Bridgadeiro replied as Aurora approached the lolly shop.

“Have you ever seen a Martian ant? They’re the size of your fist!” Revati protested.

Revati remembered the lolly shop before the invasion. In the window, there was a sculpture of the lost princess made entirely out of chocolate. Jars of hard-boiled sweets and rainbow lollipops had been arranged in intricate patterns around her feet. Revati had bolted inside holding Dityaa’s hand. The air smelled of burnt sugar and cinnamon. Massive rainbow bins filled with wrapped lollies sat on groaning tables. Tourists bustled about snatching up boxes of “genuine Turkish delight”.

A lady in a uniform stood in the corner demonstrating how boiled sugar was turned into lemon sweets.

Dityaa was begging mother for a “real” chocolate princess. “And what do you want, Revati?” Her father asked her. Was that when the sirens hit? Was that when the appliances invaded? Or did it all happen when they were in the toy shop next door? The ants had long ago eaten the chocolate princess. They had also managed to knock over and break most of the jars.

“The ants are fine, just leave them alone and don’t try to steal their eggs,” Aurora assured them as she opened the shop door.

The inside of the shop was surprisingly clean and orderly. Broken jars had been swept into orderly piles. The wooden shelves and surfaces were dust-free.

Someone had turned all the abandoned mint-green gift boxes into a pyramid.

“Did you do this?” Revati asked curiously.

“No, the ants did. They’re surprisingly intelligent in a busy, orderly sort of way! I sleep back here,” Aurora said, walking behind the shop's blue and white checkout counter.

“Wait, you sleep in a shop filled with giant ants? I never knew that,” Revati confessed as Bridgadeiro tried to push the cart in while keeping the door open.

“I knew,” Dityaa sang, swinging herself over the counter.

“You never asked, and it had nothing to do with our professional working relationship,” Aurora replied with a small shrug.

Aurora slept on a bed made out of old sugar sacks with a pillow in the shape of a lollipop. There was an old shoebox next to the nest where an ant lay inside.

“That’s Queenie; she’s not dead! Just sleeping,” Aurora explained before knocking on the wall four times. The wall slid aside with a faint whoosh.

A teenage girl was standing on the other side. A girl dressed in a green velvet robe with incredibly long, messy gray hair. Her soft blue eyes fell on Aurora briefly with a small smile before noticing everyone else.

“Hark, my sweet, who be these folk and for what cause do they grace our presence?” She asked in a peculiar accent.

“What does hark and doth mean?” Bridgadeiro whispered.

“This is my boss, Mistress Revati, her sister, and some random boy,” Aurora explained, and the girl sniffed.

“Mistress Revati, this is my girlfriend Isabeau,” Aurora said with a small smile.

Isabeau slowly stepped into the room, her head held high, walking towards Dityaa.

“Pray, art thou the lady Revati? Thou appearest more tender than mine expectations did foretell! Verily, I find favor in thy gown,” she said to Dityaa.

“Thank you! I found it sitting in a pile of ash; I think the appliances vaporized the actress wearing it,” Dityaa giggled.

“I’m Mistress Revati,” Revati corrected Isabeau, who briefly glanced at her.

“Thou doth make sense, though dost bear semblance to a barbarous witch, a crone of eldritch mien," sniffed Isabeau.

“Isabeau! Please try to be nice to my boss,” Aurora flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, play nice or this eldritch witch will hack that wall down and flood your entire castle with giant ants,” Revati snapped back.

Isabeau merely turned away from Revati before turning to her girlfriend.

“I surmise thy lady doth desire something," she said.

“We need to melt this android in your blacksmith's forge,” Revati explained, and Bridgadeiro, who was holding the cart, waved.

Isabeau walked towards the cart, examining the android. Her gentle blank expression seemed to twitch slightly, like a rock being thrown into a still pool.

“If the Luddites espy this within the castle walls, verily, they shall take thy life," she said, holding up the android's hand, examining it.

“I’m sorry, did she just say someone will kill us?” Bridgadeiro asked nervously.

“They’re not going to see it! It’s not like we’re going to put it on display in the town center,” Revati pointed out.

“Conceal this abomination and follow me hence," Isabeau said, walking back to the gap in the wall.

The gap in the wall was actually the side of a small courtyard. Sitting on a wooden table were six beehives, vibrating gently in the chilly air.

“In hushed steps, proceed, for the bees in their winter slumber rest,” Isabeau whispered, walking past the hives to an arched tunnel.

#science fiction #nanowrimo2023 #nanowrimo #spilledink #spilled writing #speculative worldbuilding #speculative fiction #futurism #writing science fiction #ya dystopia #ya scifi #scifi comedy #saying farewell to armageddon

85 notes · View notes

nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #justice league

119 notes · View notes

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Hey! First of all, I'd like to say that I love your works on AO3! "Fifteen Minutes With You" (or smth along those lines) was one of the first fics of levihan I read, and I loved it!

Anyway, a couple of sentence prompts that've been rolling around in my head. I'll add some detail, but feel free to use or discard anything. Writing is tricky lol!

"What if I (insert bad deed)?"

"I'll love you just the same"

"And if I (do smth bad)?"

"I'll love you just the same."

I was feeling a childhood levihan thing goin on here, maybe angsty? Idk

And fluffiness

"Wow! It's been 4 days!"

"Since?"

"I last bathed!"

*thwack*

Aaah hello! Thank you so much, I’m always pleasantly surprised to find people who read my Levihan fics from back in the day :D it brings me so much joy, you’ve no idea.

I decided to go with the bath prompt - though admittedly, it ended up far less fluffy and far more angsty than I intended, I hope you can enjoy it regardless!

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

"Hange."

...

"Hange."

...

"Oi, shitty glasses. Hange."

No response.

Levi stands in the doorway, shoulder-leaning the frame and glowering into Hange's cluttered quarters. He has been calling her name for the better part of five minutes now, but Hange, hunched over her desk with her nose mere inches from the leaf of parchment she is scribbling on, had failed to notice him.

He kicks his boot against the door, and the resounding bang is enough to catch her attention. She jumps a little in her chair, and turns quickly to the door. She relaxes when her gaze lands on him.

"You scared me."

Levi grunts. "You didn't come to dinner.”

Hange blinks at him. Her gaze travels to the window, where the sky beyond had grown dark save for a speckle of stars and the thin smile of a wispy moon.

"I forgot.”

Levi rolls his eyes, pushing off the door frame.

"You forgot lunch, too." And breakfast, and countless meals over the last few days, weeks. Months, maybe.

She hums absently, turning back to her papers. "I've been busy. Lost track--I don't know how Erwin had enough time in the day to do everything."

Levi gives a noncommittal grunt and picks his way towards the desk, avoiding haphazard piles of books and papers and discarded scrolls, small, disorganised mountains of debris that must have made some semblance of sense to Hange. Even as he watches, she twists in her chair and reaches blindly into one pile, plucking up a stack of papers and dropping them onto the desk with a sigh.

Levi stops beside the desk, arms folded over his chest to look at her.

Up this close, Hange looks tired. It isn't an unusual sight--Hange has been prone to fits of research-fuelled insomnia for as long as Levi has known her, so easily side-tracked by her every theory and scheme that basic needs like sleep and sustenance often took a back seat. But there is something unsettling to her exhaustion, these days. There is no manic glint in her eye, no exaggerated waving or yelling, no aroused flush to her cheeks; recently, Hange is always pale, skin papery at best, but waxy and sickly more often than not. Her shoulders sag over the desk, shirt hanging more loosely over her frame than Levi remembers, and there's a near constant tremor to her fingers that barely ceases even as she presses pen to paper, scribbling notes and signatures on countless forms presented by countless people.

Her gaze is fixed dully on the newest expense report, now. The low orange light of her lamp flickers in the lenses of her glasses; fire dances on a matt black backdrop over her left eye, where the patch is strapped firmly in place. Her right is half closed, exhaustion pulling at the lid, the skin beneath is puffy and bruised deep purple. Her lips, dry and cracked, shift almost imperceptibly as she mouths the words on the page, reading quickly, scratching her signature where needed and flipping to the next page.

"There's food," he says, leaning his hip on the corner of the desk. "Stew, and the brats hid some bread from Sasha. Go eat something."

"In a minute," Hange mumbles. Levi huffs, and pinches the top of the quill, plucking it out of Hange's grasp. It's a testament to her exhaustion, that her fist keeps the motion of writing for a second too long before realising she is no longer making a mark on the paper. With a tired sigh, she sits back, and levels her tired gaze on Levi.

"In a minute," she says again, holding her hand out for the pen. "Let me finish these first."

"Eat. It'll still be here when you get back."

She looks very much like she wants to argue. Levi watches the way her brow creases in the middle, the way her eye pinches, narrowing at him, the way her hands ball into white-knuckled fists against her thighs. But she's tired. She is bone tired, and the righteous energy saps from her within seconds. She deflates, and brings a hand up to rub at her eye, knocking her glasses up to her forehead as she does.

Levi almost wishes she had fought with him instead. There's a terrible, gnawing guilt, seeing her like this--seeing the way the weight of his choice bears down on her. Hange is a worthy Commander, of that, Levi is certain--Erwin never would have chosen her if he didn't believe the same.

But things have changed. The world has changed. And what it means to be Commander of the Survey Corps has morphed into something unfathomable larger and more complex than what it was before. It is unchartered territory, and Hange has been thrown into waters black and bottomless.

Hange pushes her bangs back from her face with both hands. The hair, limp with grease, sticks in place, and even Hange seems surprised, pulling her hands back and looking almost curiously at her palms.

"Huh. Its been four days."

"Since?"

She gives him a look, then, and there's a flash of something old and familiar in her eye. She quirks the corner of her mouth in a grin.

"Since I bathed."

Levi swiftly raises his arm, and Hange flinches, but the curled fist that thunks atop her head is almost gentle. She blinks up at him in surprise.

"Disgusting. I'll hose you down after you eat."

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

Hange sits cross-legged in the tub, while Levi's fingers scrub soap suds into her scalp. The bathroom is mostly dark, save for the flicker of lamplight and the pale, foggy glow from the moon through the window.

She is quiet while he cleans her. She had eaten some food, though not as much as he would have liked; sipped at the stew and picked half heartedly at the bread the kids had painstakingly secured. It was better than nothing, but Levi finds his gaze travelling from the top of her soapy head to her bony shoulders, and to the knotted curve of her spine. He can see the shift of her ribs beneath her skin, and when she obediently leans her head back for him to rinse the suds from her hair, he can see twin points of bone at her hips, the skin brutally bruised from the pressure of their belts.

Something unpleasant rolls in his gut.

"Turn around."

Hange does, twisting until she is facing him and re-crossing her legs. Levi dips a cloth into the warm bath water and begins the meticulous process of scrubbing her down, starting at her shoulders. Hange dutifully extends first one arm, and then the other, and it is while Levi is thumbing at the grime between her fingers that she hums, tucking her knees to her chest and resting her chin upon them.

"It's been a while," she says, voice soft in the quiet. Levi moves on to the next finger; Hange's hands, like his, are calloused across her palms and at the tips of her fingers, from years of using the triggers on the manoeuvre gear. They are rough, but her fingers are longer and thinner than his own, and limp in his hand like this, they look almost delicate.

Levi hums in question.

"Since we did this."

Levi makes another non-committal sound. Things have been hectic, since everything that happened at Shiganshina. A whirlwind of learning, adapting, planning, everything moving at such a dizzying pace that moments like this had been all but abandoned.

Moments of peace, of quiet; moments where the world falls still and time slows to barely a trickle, they are a rarity none of them have been able to afford.

Levi dips the cloth in the water and rinses the soap from Hange's hands.

"We've been busy," he says. You've been busy, is what he thinks, but his guilt would sit too far forward, if he said it like that; it would be too brazen, and he knows already that his apology is not what Hange wants to hear. He made his choice, and now he has to live with the consequences. There is no room for regret.

Hange sits back when Levi brings the cloth down over her chest, crossing her legs so he can wash over her belly and sides.

"It's nice," she says. "I forgot. How nice it was."

"For you, maybe," Levi says. He taps her knee, and Hange hook her leg out over the side of the tub. Levi adds more soap to the cloth and smooths it over her thigh.

Hange lets out a low chuckle. "Just another floor to mop for you, huh?"

"The floors don't get this filthy."

He is careful around her knee, where scar tissue from a recent wound is still forming. It is tender to the touch, he knows, but Hange makes no complaints when he touches it. She lets out a pleasant little groan when his fingers knead into her calves, toes curling.

Levi washes over her foot, then taps the sole, and Hange draws one leg back in and raises the other one, and the process starts again. It is methodical and familiar; strangely comforting, in the mess of everything. They've been battered with new information, faced with a world that is so vastly different from anything they had imagined before, burdened with the insurmountable task of exploring it, of finding their place in it--all of this new, all of this frightening.

But this; this is an old tale. They have danced this dance for years, muscle memory leading them in each step. Shiganshina changed some things--Levi is more gentle in places than he used to be, careful cleaning the thickened, still healing skin on her back where Bertolt's titan had burned her. He used to dump water over her head like a dog, bit back smiles at the way she would cough and sputter and stare indignantly through her hair at him, but now is he careful to keep water from dripping into her bad eye. He slides the cloth over her face with more consideration, avoiding too much contact with the tender tissue above and below her clouded, milky eyeball. The swelling has lessened considerably over time, but the wound will remain raw for a long while to come.

When he is done, he helps her stand, and rinses her down with a pale of clean water before offering a hand to help her step from the tub. Standing up to full height, Levi can see the extent of the way her body has changed. She has always been a rake of a thing, all straight lines and sharp edges, but she has always seemed strong and sturdy. Something steady, dependable.

Now, she seems fragile in a way Levi has never known her to be. There is no room left for her to bend; too much pressure, and he fears she will snap, splinter into a million pieces he cannot hope to fit back together again.

He holds a towel for her. Hange takes it with a small, grateful smile, and wraps it around herself, then leans back against the edge of the tub and bows her head. Levi scrubs at her hair with a second towel, ringing as much water from it as he can.

She dries herself half heartedly and pulls on the spare shirt Levi had brought for her while her back and shoulders are still damp. The fabric sticks to her, highlights the protruding bones of her spine when she bends over to tug on her pants.

Once fully dressed, Hange stretches, popping her back as she does, and rolls her shoulders, her neck. She gives Levi a lazy, pleased smile.

"I needed that," Hange says. Levi clicks his tongue.

"I know. You stank."

Hange laughs, a light, airy thing.

"Always so kind, Levi," she says tunefully. She seems loose, more relaxed than Levi has seen her in what feels like forever. Her shoulders sit lower not bunched up about her ears, and her face isn't so pinched or strained. It's a relief.

It's short lived.

"I should get back," she says.

"You should sleep."

She shrugs a shoulder at him, waves a hand.

"Later," she says. Even as she speaks, Levi can see the tension rising in her; the respite of a bath and a hot meal had been brief, and already the weight is reloading. Her burden grows heavier by the second.

"A few hours, Hange. The paperwork will still be there when you wake up."

"And there will be more, no doubt," she says. "I'll get further behind than I am already."

There is no more room for negotiation. Levi can only count himself lucky that he managed to get this far with her, to do this much. He schools his face into a neutral expression and nods, scooping to pick up her wet towel and dropping it into the laundry basket as he follows her out of the bathroom.

Levi refuses to regret his choice. He made the right decision in Shiganshina, and he will not doubt himself for that.

But the tight, nauseous knot in his stomach does not ease. He watches Hange settle back into her desk chair, strap her eye patch over her still-damp hair, and bow herself over the pile of papers she had abandoned on the desk, and the sickening unease swells to his chest, pushing the air from his lungs.

He made the choice to condemn Erwin to death. He will do everything he can to ensure he has not done the same thing to her.

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

Thank you again for the ask!! If anyone else has prompts, please feel free to send them :) I can’t promise I’ll fill everything, but it’s a fun exercise

#levihan #snk #levi ackerman #hange zoe #my writing #thank you so much!! i really enjoyed doing this one ;;#i like anything that lets me just gratuitously describe....anything #asks

105 notes · View notes

lovehugsandcandy · 3 years

Text

One-on-One: Love (N*FW, ColtxMC, ROD)

A/N: This is a birthday gift for the lovely @desiree-pow (HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE! I hope that this bday is AMAZING - you deserve it!!!). This is also the last (maybe?) one-shot in the Colt!basketball AU that no one asked for. (Series here)

Length: ~1,800 words

Rating: N*FW (Swearing and sex)

Summary: That’s one way to improve morale after a loss.

Ellie bounced Jaylen on her lap, trying futility to keep him occupied as the final seconds ticked by. The Knicks were down by 11; even with thirty seconds on the clock, this game was over.

“Ugh,” she moaned, standing at the final horn and turning to Brandi, the sole friend she had made amongst the other players’ wives. “This loss means Colt is going to be in a god awful mood tonight.”

“Oh no,�� Brandi replied, fixing her with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t mind when they lose. Kevin gets all his anger out in the best way, if you know what I mean.”

Ellie blinked, mind slowly catching up to the implication, as she cradled her son closer. Her thoughts raced before finally settling on awe. It was a fantastic idea; she was amazed she hadn’t thought of it before.

She knew Colt better than anyone.

She knew he liked winning.

But she knew he loved her more, desperately, ferociously; she had seen it repeatedly, from callused fingertips tracing ever so gently over goosebumps emerging on her bare skin to his willingness to temper even his worst impulses for her sake. His absolute adoration had quelled many of the ceaseless on-court fistfights, though the smart mouth spitting insults remained. His devotion had convinced him to refuse multiple trade requests for the sake of their family. And it had even reduced the constant bickering targeted at Logan, though nothing would squash every jab.

Together, they had navigated graduations and parenthood, dissertations and Championships.

Of course she could get him over one loss.

It was brilliant.

~~~~~

She heard the front door creak open right as Jaylen drifted off to sleep, easing the nursery door closed as quietly as she could, Brandi’s words still bouncing around her brain, she waited two beats to make sure that he didn’t stir before creeping away.

When she edged downstairs, bare feet slow on the carpet, it was quiet but, if she focused, she could hear quiet clicking, tapping of fingers on a keyboard barely audible from the living room. She peeked in; the laptop screen illuminated Colt’s face, game tape already rolling in front of him.

“Hey, Colt?”

He didn’t respond, eyes glued on the movement in front of him, tight fingers reaching for his cell phone.

“Colt?”

“Hmm? Is the baby asleep?” He didn’t look up, not even when she stalked closer to lean over the couch and drag her palms over his chest, damp hair from the locker room shower tickling her cheek. “That fucking asshole,” he murmured, still transfixed by the screen; she rolled her eyes.

“Colt, come to bed.”

“In a minute, I gotta-“

“Coooolt.” Her teeth grazed his earlobe, and he shuddered, tremble rolling up and down his spine, but still his gaze remained on the screen.

“Baby, I-” His fingers were tense around the phone but his words cut off sharply, inhale whistling harshly through his teeth as her fingertips walked slow, teasing circles underneath his t-shirt, down the taut muscles of his chest.

“The tape will be there tomorrow.”

“But I need to-“ He sucked in a breath, again, as her teeth teased the tendon in his neck, and he grabbed hold of her hair when she paused, gently keeping her pinned in place as she nibbled a possessive mark into his skin. “Baby…”

“Come on.” She stood, edging backwards toward the stairs, and smirked when he turned to face her, leather couch creaking beneath him. His eyes trailed down, flashing greedy and dark, intent on where her fingers fiddled with the bottom hem of the grey sweatshirt.

“Logan’s supposed to call me, we’re gonna go over tape.”

She raised her eyebrows, saying nothing, and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, noting the exact moment when his eyes drifted down to the jersey underneath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“We’re supposed to…” He trailed off helplessly as the phone in his hand began blaring, glancing between the lit screen and to where her hands were making their way to the front of her jeans. “Baby, this isn’t fair.”

She bit her lip when she popped the button, taking her time with the zipper, and had just started inching the denim down her thighs when he dropped the phone, still ringing as it bounced to the ground. He leaned forward, eyes intent on the emerging skin, and she grinned in victory, kicking away the fabric when it reached her toes.

She had just put her fingers on the hem of her jersey when he leapt clear over the back of the couch; she giggled as she stumbled backwards, but he was faster, long legs tracking her as if he were streaking towards the net. However, instead of the basketball, she was the prize.

And Colt always demanded his prize.

“Fuck no.” He pulled her hands away from the Knicks blue, dragging her against his chest. “Leave it on.”

“You are such a narcissist. You just want me wearing your name.”

“Our name,” he corrected, sliding warm fingertips up her sides to settle underneath her bra. “And it doesn’t matter ‘cuz you know you’re gonna be screaming my name in a minute.”

“You are such a- oh.”

His teeth were against her neck as she sagged against him, back resting against his chest as strong fingers dug insistently on her hipbones, leading her towards the stairs. “That was completely unfair. You cheat worse than the fucking Nets.” Behind them, Colts cell phone was still blaring from somewhere under the couch, but she could only focus on the hushed promises being dropped into her ear. “And, when we get to our bedroom, I’m gonna take you apart just like I did them in the fucking playoffs.”

But they didn’t make it to the bedroom, anyway.

She sassed back, “I think I can play tougher defense than they can.” But it was difficult walking, Colt plastered behind her, chuckling against her neck before his lips moved to the curve of her shoulder, teeth print on her skin marking her as his as much as the six letters on her back. He teased the line of her panties, fingertips dipping incrementally closer as revenge for her sharp tongue; by the time they got to the bottom step, her words were gibberish, unintelligible, and the muscled arms around her waist were the only things keeping her weak knees from giving out.

She made it one step, then two, the line of his chest solid against her back and his cock stiffening against her ass, grinding in an utterly distracting and entirely indecent way, and she couldn’t be blamed for missing the next step, collapsing to her knees on the plush carpet.

“Fuck, Ellie.” He followed her down, pinned to her the entire way, and his hands curved over hers on the step. “Ok?”

“Please,” she whined, the only coherent sound she could make through the fog over taking her body and mind. “Just please.”

“Fuck.” The word landed hot against her neck and he moved, shifting back, and she heard rustling, fabric being pulled away, her underwear tugged down to a rushed tangle at her knees, and then he was lining up behind her. Her forehead dropped to a stair as he slid inside her, her eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as the familiar stretch sent lightning up her nerves. “Ellie, God, you feel incredible.”

She inhaled, trying to somehow get oxygen into her heaving lungs; he felt incredible, joined as one and hard inside her, hands warm and solid on her hips, teeth digging designs at the curve of her neck. “Colt, move, just move, please.”

He huffed a laugh against her skin and obliged, slow at first, settling deeper and deeper until he was just right, her thighs clenching as pleasure flickered and flared up her spine, then back down, jolting every nerve ending until she could feel it in her toes.

She moaned, low and lusty and downright filthy, and her nails scratched against the carpet as his hips moved faster; she worried for a moment that she tore a thread from the floor but, with the next thrust, it didn’t even matter because all she could do was moan into the carpet. Her hand flew to her mouth to dampen the keening cry pulled from her lips, but Colt only dragged her hand away, interlocking their fingers as he moved faster, hips pushing her forward and forehead sliding over the rug.

“Fuck, I want to hear you, El.”

“But the baby…”

“Don’t care.”

“But oh God, Colt there, please- I can’t-”

He pivoted his hips just so and the noise that came out of her mouth was unnatural, high and debauched and inhuman. The world shook around her as her vision swam, carpet fading in and out of vision as she tightened her fingers around his, something to cling to as the world fell apart. She barely registered when he shifted, fingertips of his other hand digging into her hip bones to pull her hips flush against his, or his moan, low in her ear; she was still shaking, weakened body sinking lower until she and Colt landed flat on the stairs, a pile of limbs and ragged breath.

She was a sated, pliant mess when he eased her up off the stairs, guiding her to their bedroom to tug off the jersey, her bra, and his entire tracksuit, now wrinkled and defiled beyond repair. He was just kissing down her ear when she bit her lip and grinned. “Are you feeling better about that loss now?”

“What loss?” he murmured into her skin.

She chuckled, craning her neck back as he reached that sensitive spot at her shoulder and continued down. “The game tonight?” It was getting harder to form words.

“What game tonight?”

She laughed again and had a smart reply at the ready before a tinny cry cut through the air. Colt dropped his forehead against her stomach. “I knew you’d wake the baby.”

“He has the absolute worst timing.”

“Colt?” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Can you…?”

“What?

“Maybe go see if you can put him back to sleep?”

He looked up, eyes narrowing. “Ellie…”

“Please?” She put on her best pout, curling her fingers over the sensitive spot behind his ears.

“But this was your night.”

She stuck her bottom lip out further, batting her eyelashes.

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe-” Colt groaned, standing up in a huff. “Fine. Fine.” He threw on some boxers, feet stomping heavy as he gave her the evil eye the entire time. “You are so lucky I love you.”

She laughed, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall; gradually, the crying quieted, then ceased, followed by a soothing voice and quiet coos. Twisting the ring around her finger, she smiled and whispered to the universe, “Yeah. I really am.”

Tags:

Perma @desiree-pow @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @peaceinmidstofchaos @ritachacha @burnsoslow

ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices @troublemakerinspace @zaffrenotes @alyssalauren

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580 @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown @soniadotalves @jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @maxwellsquidsuit @liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @theeccentricbibliophile @dancingboba @tempesrature @romewritingshop @shondideaira-blog @winchesterwolves @riyana

#n*fw #lemon #playchoices fanfiction #colt kaneko #colt x mc #amy writes #hbd des

60 notes · View notes

romeofms · 3 years

Text

[ cris calenda, cis male, he/him ] have you seen ROMEO HUNTINGTON lately ? yeah, i heard they're TWENTY-FIVE years old and a TATTOO ARTIST now in charleston city. i mean, i don’t know if it’s their SAGITTARIUS vibes or that they’re -RECKLESS and -SELFISH but also +CONFIDENT and +INDEPENDENT, but they remind me of GREENGREENGREEN by CHASE ATLANTIC. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble around here. (J, twenty-one, she/her, gmt+3)

hello everyone im j and i really took my time with this intro and i apologize i promise im usually not this slow . but anyway im super duper excited to meet and plot with all of you so like this or message me on discord @ jules#6729

I - PINTEREST

for starters, here’s a little pinterest board i made

II - QUICK FACTS

if you’re too lazy to read the whole thing, (which i don’t blame you at all , sometimes i get carried away ) , here’s a few bullet points to walk you through the most important things you should know :

dob: 27th of november 1996 which makes him a sag

parents are divorced ( it happened around the age of 12 )

has an older sister who is considered to be the one to take over their father’s business

has two more younger siblings from his mother’s second marriage

his relationship with his parents and sister is almost non-existent

born and raised in charleston

works as a tattoo artist

confidence is over the roof , like he knows ur staring at him and he knows why

is bisexual

III - BIO

it’s the 27th of november 1996 , the family of Maria and Theodore welcome their second child , their second attempt to save their already dying marriage . they gave him the name romeo , after the protagonist of the tragic love story written by shakespeare , and while romeo and juliet were ready to do anything for the sake of their love , his parents were ready to do anything for the sake of keeping a good image . but for how long were they willing to keep on the facade of a perfect family , how many lies was miss huntington willing to accept before finally filling for divorce ? well turns out the betrayal of a best friend was the only thing she wasn’t willing to forgive as she found one of her best judies in bed with her husband . it was a messy divorce , for a twelve-year-old to witness his parents fighting like children over who gets the summer villa , who gets the cars , yet why did it seem like nobody wanted to deal with the children ? they somehow found an agreement for everything , including the children .

and while his father took custody of his perfect protégé , romeo stayed with his mom , at first glance she was the better option , but it seemed like she was too busy for her child while searching for a new suitable man in order to maintain her high standards of life . so here came his stepfather , or so he thought, since many men went in and out of their house before his mom could finally find the one . she later on had children with her new husband , who wasn’t too happy to have a child not of his blood walking around the house .

you would think that since his mother was never really there , his father probably tried to maintain some kind of relationship, right ? well the only way theodore knew how to speak to his children was with money , and while expensive gifts sure were something romeo enjoyed , the lack of parental care could never be forgotten .

by the time he was 18 he had already moved out , there wasn’t really a reason to stay home right ? money was never the issue here , his father was filthy rich , presents in the forms of expensive cars and hundreds of 100 dollar bills would often come his way , whether it was for birthdays or some other occasion , he was never left with no money , probably why he was so reckless with it , even if it ended , there was still more to come .

IV - PERSONALITY

they say money gets to your head pretty quickly , same goes for this case , daddy’s money made romeo a pretty confident guy , i mean , is there anything money can’t buy ?

there’s a reason why people sometimes beat around the bush , but romeo doesn’t really see that , why keep to yourself when you can always be straightforward

its just how he’s used to , ever since he was a child he had to care for himself on his own , who cares about the others

thinks about the consequences after he’s done the deed

V - CONNECTIONS

honestly im more of a brainstorming type of gal , and i’d love to hear if you have anything in mind , but anyway , here are a few quick ideas :

ride or dies ; exes on good / bad terms ; fwb , one-night stands / hook-ups ; enemies ; enemies to friends and vice versa ; childhood friends ;

#⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏⠀ . ⠀ ⠀romeo huntington⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ introduction ⠀ ❫#charleston:intro

12 notes · View notes

weakzen · 4 years

Text

Sausage Apparatus

Mason puts the magnetic poetry tiles on the Detective's fridge to good use.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m warning: absolutely filthy poetry

AO3 version

Fuck these late summer heat waves.

Fuck the damp clothes bunching up every available crevice. Fuck my car's broken air conditioning. Fuck this stupidly hot, sun-baked molten doorknob.

Okay, actually—maybe that car one is more on me for not getting it fixed some time in the past five years. Sorry car, you've never done a single thing wrong in your entire beautiful life.

Unlike this front door, burning my goddamn fingers.

With a pained hiss, I wrest my keys from the lock, step inside, and kick the whole thing shut behind myself. The grocery bags stick to my shoulders for a moment, canvas straps caught on my top before sliding down my arms to plop on the floor by the shoe bench. Mason's are already tucked inside it, I notice, in their usual spot. A tired smile pulls at my lips.

At least I'm not the only idiot who wore boots today.

I dart over to the kitchen as soon as I manage to peel mine off, hunching over the sink first to wash my hands, then to fill a glass with the coldest water the tap can muster. It doesn't really cut it, though. Not today. But the freezer does, and I linger inside its open door for a long moment after the ice cubes splash and stop spinning in my cup, bag of frozen fruit pressed to my neck while I waste energy in front of the only shitty and inefficient form of air conditioning available in my apartment.

But right now it's completely worth the increased hydro bill, and Mason's probably hogging the damn fan again in the bedroom, so fuck it.

I stay put.

At least until I'm a bit cooler with a glass much emptier and a bag of raspberries that's starting to get a little sad and flaccid.

I toss it back into the freezer and shut the door, only to see see a new message stuck to the other side, apparently. A longer one. Which is… strange. Because Tina hasn't been over in a few weeks.

Shrugging, I take another sip and start to read—

I shot lust and pounded you raw

—and immediately fucking sputter. Choke. Shit. Water down the wrong fucking tube.

Water down the front of me too, throat retching violently as I try not to spit everywhere.

And somewhere between the deep, wet, eye-watering coughs that tear though my chest, and the burning gasps that follow, a raspy, “Oh my god,” escapes me too.

I think, anyway. I mostly focus on trying to wipe all the dribble away from my chin and neck.

Priorities.

The hand at my mouth is quickly joined by more across my body, one sliding around my hip to squeeze, another stroking up the center of my back. Mason hooks his chin on my shoulder, stubble scratching gently against my skin as he presses in close from behind.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, quiet concern in his voice. He rubs circles between my shoulder blades for a moment, then adds, more suggestively, as his lips brush against my ear, “If you want to choke, we can find you something much more fun to do it on.”

A laugh wheezes out of me, followed by a few weak coughs and a hoarse smile. “I'm sure.”

I set the glass down on the counter, then close my eyes to take a few deep breaths. The burn in my throat almost matches the one on my face. My cheeks are swollen, uncomfortably hot. Mostly from the choking, the afternoon heat.

Maybe a little from what I read too.

With a final pat, Mason's hand glides down to curl around my other hip, his chest and bare arms nestled against me while his long fingers trace paths above my waistband. I fold my arms and sink back against him, into his familiar warmth, heat I actually enjoy, even on scorchers like today when we mostly end up sweat-stuck together.

And we're already starting to do a good job of that.

“Did you read my message?” he asks, smirking against my cheek.

“Didn't really get a chance yet. That first line nearly killed me.”

He chuckles deeply, wrapping his arms around me, folding them beneath mine as he kisses my neck. “Not the kind of death I wanted from it. I was hoping for something… smaller. And repeated.”

I grin. “Well, I'm not finished, so maybe you can still make that happen.”

He scoffs in response. “There's never a maybe about that, sweetheart.”

“There's a first time for everything, sunshine,” I tease, chuckling. “But, alright. Gimme a moment to brace myself for this.”

His smirk widens as I inhale deeply and open my eyes to the clumpy, loose ring of words spread around the face of the freezer door.

There are hundreds of them. Tiny white strips bearing black text. All from a set of magnetic poetry.

Tina's gift to me, a long time ago, one she pressed into my hands at the station the morning after she visited my apartment for the first time. She said my fridge looked lonely—and I countered that it looked blissfully empty, but still let her stick her words to it. Sweet, cheerful messages. A new one every time she visits. Keeping me and my fridge in good company and happiness.

I'd say the appliance might be blushing furiously at the moment, from what Mason undoubtedly arranged across its surface, but I know it's already witnessed far worse things from the two of us and our other… creative uses of the kitchen.

A smile pulls across my lips as my eyes fall on the message centered within it all, a laugh already building in my chest while I start to read.

I shot lust and pounded you raw panting you moan from a thick milk pole sausage apparatus crying at the sky I make her soar come hard by the lake rocks water sun sweaty us we lie together lazy smelling luscious enormous purple meat still deep in her juicy woman eating you after lather from me & our delirious want frantically licking her smooth pink hot honey smear my spray through your fingered ache bare beauty beneath him one thousand sordid times cold winter through summer rain why whisper gorgeous please scream elaborately as I tongue worship you with love sit on me

In the end, it's not a laugh that sputters out of me, so much as a long, shuddering, high-pitched and very dry wheeze. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes as I buckle, sag, and shake against him. His arms slide even tighter around my body, holding me steady, smirk sharpening against my skin while a deep chuckle rumbles out of his chest.

“Fuck me, wow.” I wipe at my eyes, another bout of laughter seizing me, one that he joins as he kisses along my neck. “Did you write a goddamn poem about the time we fucked by the lake?”

Mason only grins briefly in response, hand sneaking up to grope my breasts while his lips continue to press distracting kisses. Wetter ones. With a tongue that drags hot along my throat and teeth that nip to tear goosebumps from my entire body. He sucks me into his mouth in a way I know will leave a mark later, but his lips pull a low moan from me rather than a protest, and all I can do after that is angle my head to give him even better access.

And he wastes no time in taking advantage of it, wet suction, his groaning breath, and my soft moans of pleasure the only sounds in the apartment for a long moment.

Eventually, he murmurs into my skin, “You're gonna have to be more specific about which time by the lake you mean.” He smirks again while I laugh, and his hips roll forward too, cock pressed hard and even more firmly against my ass. “But I'm glad you enjoyed the poem so much, sweetheart,” he continues, thumbing my stiffened nipple through the layers of fabric. “I thought you might find it… stimulating.”

I want to protest that too, if only for the smug way the words leave his mouth and the little tug he gives me after for emphasis. But I already know he felt it the moment it happened, that he can always sense it when it does, just like he'd be able to tell right now if I lied and told him that his raunchy fucking poem hadn't stirred a single thing in me.

Hadn't gotten me just the tiniest bit aroused.

Not at all.

I huff out a breath.

The bastard.

“It is pretty good,” I admit, only a tad begrudgingly. My hand finds the top of his, and I start interlacing our fingers before he immediately completes the movement and curls both of us together in a secure grasp. “Didn't think poetry was really your thing, though.”

“It's not,” he says, then shrugs slightly. “I told Nate what I got you for your birthday and he said I needed to be more thoughtful in the future. And that I should try doing something romantic for you to make up for it.”

A deep laugh bursts from me. “Fuck, I wish I'd been there for that conversation.”

“You didn't miss much.” He grins against my neck. “It was more sighing than talking.”

“I dunno, his sighs are still pretty good. Did he at least give you credit for putting a bow on it?”

“No, and he couldn't say anything or even look at me for a minute after too.”

I laugh again. “Well, I liked your birthday present.”

“Good.”

With that firmly said, he spins me around and immediately kisses me, directly, deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth as he pulls me tightly against him. My arms curl around his neck, and I lose myself in it, in him, in our embrace, his hands roaming me, squeezing me, his dark, rich scent enveloping me, the heady taste of him rolling sweet into my mouth, layered with salt from my skin and the moans passing hot between our lips and the other heat building steadily between us, between my legs, from the aching and pleasurable familiarity of it all.

From him.

Mason. Sunshine.

My partner.

A wild thrill jolts through me at the notion. An unfamiliar thrill, still so unused to thinking of him that way. A frightening thrill too, in a way, like falling through the darkness, unable to see, unable to stop, unable to discern anything except the silent plummet and the certainty that, no matter how far I fall, I'll never shatter against the ground.

Because he'd never let me.

And I know he feels it. My thrills, my arousal, the tangled mess that lives inside my heart. All of it.

Maybe that's why he breaks away to rest his forehead against mine, gazing at me through half-lidded eyes and long lashes and wide pupils darkened with want. Maybe that's why his hand comes up to cup my face too, thumb stroking something soft across my cheek. And maybe that's why he smiles, a small, quiet, devastatingly genuine lift of his lips before he speaks.

“'Cause your opinion is the only one that matters, Alex.”

That gets an honest blush out of me and I have to look away, overwhelmed by the soft swell of emotion expanding rapidly through my chest.

I fumble for a clever reply. A snarky redirect. I find one too. But… it starts slipping away somewhere within the freckled expanse of his neck, the few sweaty strands of hair curled against his skin, escapees from the tie he's borrowed from me to pull it all back.

And, whatever I was going to say, I lose it entirely when I glance back up and notice the way he's staring at me with those pretty grey eyes.

I wonder if it will ever stop taking my breath away. Or tugging at something that aches within the deepest, most painful parts of me. I wonder if it will ever feel familiar, the way my heart speeds up, the heavy warmth spreading across my chest, the tingle that ripples and reverberates throughout my entire body, the one he drops into me with that look of his, every damn time.

And that look… the unrestrained desire. The ferocity softened by fondness. The tenderness. The deep adoration. The absolute certainty guiding the entire intensely focused expression.

Every time, it's like he's gazing into my soul when he looks at me like that. Like he's truly seeing me. Like he can't see anything else but me.

And doesn't want to either.

I have to look away, a knot forming in my throat.

It's too much. It's still too hard to see. Too hard to even think about.

I don't know if I'll ever get used to it. Any of it. Or if it will ever get any easier, not seem so overwhelmingly impossible despite it happening. Despite feeling that. Seeing that. Being wanted like that.

Being loved by him.

…But.

I do know that I don't want him to stop.

And I also know that he never will.

“…Well, I liked your poem too,” I finally mutter, exhaling a shallow breath before I summon the courage glance back up. “So, thanks.”

Maybe the words are weak, shaky, coming from a dry mouth and a barely cooperative tongue. But they're honest. They're an admission I can manage at the moment.

They make his smile widen too.

I have to glance away from that as well. It's… too much right now.

So instead, I uncurl my arms from around his neck, slowly drawing my hands down the front of him, letting my gaze fall too, back into his freckles while I hope the tremble in my touch and the sudden shine in my eyes isn't as apparent to him as it is to me. But I know that hope is futile. And completely unnecessary too, when he's already seen far worse, far more humiliating things from me.

When he's already witnessed the hardest, rawest, bloodiest parts of me and did nothing but handle them gently with no judgment.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply to keep that shine from becoming something more, but an unexpected texture under my hands forces them open again.

Hair.

It takes me a moment to realize that he's not wearing a shirt.

It takes me a moment longer to realize that he's not wearing anything else either, save for the crystal dangling from its usual spot around his neck.

It takes me significantly less time to realize I need a better view—so I blow out an exhale and lean back to get one.

Of course.

One that he's only happy to oblige too, of course.

Mason angles himself for me, smirk on his lips, teeth on them too, tugging the lower one into his mouth as he groans out a low noise of encouragement. I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips in response, or the way my gaze roams down his chest, his abs, down the long and solid length of his legs, and down the long and solid length of something else straining eagerly against me.

Raising a brow, I chuckle slightly and give him a grin.

“You hot today or something?”

His smirk deepens, and reels me back in against him. “I'm hot every day. Thought you knew that already.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it's hard to tell behind how modest and humble you are.”

“What can I say, I have a lot of good qualities.”

“Can't argue with that,” I reply unthinkingly, then stiffen slightly, a flush rolling across my cheeks.

I glance away again, but his hand returns to my face, thumb stroking over that blush before he draws my gaze back to him by kissing me once more. His mouth and lips move with a slow intensity, a deliberateness, a familiarity too, in a wholly different way than before. I know this kiss, just like I know his look and so many other wonderful things about him.

It's reassurance.

And it's something I lose myself in too, wrapping my arms around him again, my own lips speaking gratitude in response before our conversation shifts into desire.

Into pleasure.

Until we finally break for air.

I smile softly as I breathe against his lips. “You wanna go steam up a cold shower—”

The words barely leave me before he starts pulling me toward the hallway, but I plant my feet and pull back.

“—after I put the groceries away,” I finish, giving him a pointed look.

His shoulders slump, and he groans loudly as he rolls his eyes, but he still immediately stalks over to the front door and snaps up the shopping bags. Then he yanks open the fridge and starts shoving everything into it, regardless of whether the item belongs in there or not, and regardless of whether it's on the correct shelf if it does.

Regardless of my loud protests and swearing too, as I scramble to fix his chaos, snatching the fucking cans and rice and goddamn laundry detergent out of the fridge to be put away elsewhere. But he doesn't give me a chance to do much more than that before he's tossing the bags away empty and tugging me down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I grumble a little as he does.

At least the tomatoes are safe on the counter, though.

Soon we're in the bedroom, and my top is flying somewhere behind him. My bra quickly follows, and he follows me, kissing, stumbling, as I lead him by the hips walking backwards toward the bathroom. He pulls off the tie at the end of my braid too, stretching it between his thumb and forefinger before he lets it shoot off toward the window with a soft plink.

Sighing, I cock my head and give him a look, but he only chuckles in response and starts combing his fingers through my hair to unravel it.

I carefully pull the tie from his hair, then roll my eyes and shoot it off in the same direction. “You know, I do have a question about your poem.”

“What about it?”

“Where, exactly, did you want me to sit?” I ask, slowly grinning. “Your face or the sausage apparatus?”

“Both.”

I huff out a laughing breath. “You're so greedy, sunshine.”

Mason smirks, then slips his finger down the front of my jeans to tug me closer for another kiss. As he undoes the button and yanks the zipper down, he murmurs against my lips.

“Only for you, hot honey.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #twc m #mason x detective #mason #the detective #zfic #alex/mason #alexandra black

49 notes · View notes

captainillogical · 4 years

Text

Distant Lands Ch.15

Stranded on a planet with toxic conditions and nothing but the clothes on your back, your only means of survival lies within the gem that got you here in the first place.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

You’re floating.

Well, it seems like floating, for the most part, because you can’t really feel anything.

It's dark, and you can't see anything around you. You feel like you're drifting in your weightlessness, slowly, the warm, inky darkness all around is actually kind of calming.

You hear something.

It's a voice. Feminine, and familiar - you don't recognize it immediately. It's calling out to you, you think. You aren't really sure. You aren't really able to focus on it.

Suddenly, there's light all around you and you're standing in a field you've never seen before. There's a single tree on a small hill about twenty feet in front of you, and you're surrounded by tall grass.

Everything is.. pink. Huh. You're very confused.

"Wake up." You hear a voice say from behind you, distinct and clear as day.

You turn around, but there's nothing there. Just an endless field.

"Huh." You hear yourself saying out loud.

You turn back around to the tree, and there's something large in front of you. You nearly scream from being startled, but manage to only make a tiny noise of surprise - muffling your mouth with your hand.

A gentle, knowing chuckle erupts from the vaguely outlined pink figure in front of you.

"I didn't mean to startle you, I was only trying to get your attention." She says. You think you've heard this voice.. once or twice? You can't pinpoint it.

"Where am I?" You reply, feeling no threat from her.

"That isn't important."

"Why am I here? How am I here?" You ask, because these fields are endless, and you're having a hard time remembering what you were doing before this.

"You're here because someone desperately wanted you alive." The figure does not move.

"What does that mean?" You inquire, confused. “Am I dead?”

"It means you need to wake up. You have been here a while." The voice replies, a curious sway to it. It's so familiar, and yet you cannot grasp it.

"How do I wake up if I don't even know I'm asleep?" You look up to the head of the figure, outline blurry to your eyes.

"Like this, I think?" She giggles softly, tone almost.. motherly.

"Like what?" You hear yourself say, and when you blink your eyes she's suddenly gone.

There's no one in the field around you.

There's just miles and miles of long, swaying grass as far as the eye can see.

You feel a pull in your stomach.

You wake up and open your eyes - immediately seeing there are several pairs of eyes peering down at you, gasps filling the room.

“You’re awake!” Steven shouts, tears in his eyes. “I was so terrified you weren’t going to wake up.”

You feel bile rising in your throat. You need to vomit.

You get up from your position on the couch, and you can see that you’re back in Steven’s living room. You shrug off Garnet’s hand on your arm, and ignore the protesting voices in the room to run to the bathroom, slamming the door behind yourself and locking it.

Running to the sink, you hurl mostly saliva into the basin for a solid minute or two as you leave the water in the sink running. Your head is blank, as you’re mainly trying to get your insides to stop convulsing. You watch the water pour down the drain. Your hands are shaking. You cup some of the cold water in your hands and splash it on your face - it helps, a little. You grab the towel hung up on the rack beside you to dry your face, and when you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you in the medicine cabinet makes your stomach drop.

You.. you’re pink.

Your face, your hair, your skin - all of it, is pink.

The scream that comes out of you is pretty embarrassing, you won’t lie. There’s frantic knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y/N, are you okay!?” Steven yells out from beyond the thin door, and you can hear him rattle and shake the doorknob. Thank fuck you locked it.

“DO I LOOK OKAY?!” You scream back, frozen in place as you stare at your reflection.

“...can I come in?” You hear him reply in a rushed, worried tone.

“God no, I need some time.” You can’t stop looking at the mirror. It’s so strange. There’s a fairly large scar running from your forehead to down the side of your face near your hairline that you don’t remember having?

“I’ll be out here when you’re ready then, okay? We’re all here.”

“Huuuuuuuuurgh.” Is all you can reply, rubbing at your eyes and blinking, but your reflection doesn’t change. You’re not dreaming. You hear his footsteps walking away, and you turn the faucet off while you gather your thoughts.

You died. Somehow.

You’re having a hard time remembering how you died. It’s kind of too much to think about right now, if you’re honest with yourself. You’ll unpack that later.

You feel like there is something wrong with your brain. Everything’s a bit fuzzy. The reflection that stares back at you looks rather filthy, honestly, so you go over to the shower to turn the water on. Might as well keep your hands busy.

You start to pull your shirt off when you realize you don’t have a change of clothes. What you’re wearing is torn to shreds and so dirty, but you don’t know why. What were you doing before?

Regardless, you walk back over to the door to unlock it, and open it just a crack.

“Steven, could you give me a change of clothes?” You half yell out into the other room, and close the door gently again in wait. You lean against the door and space out as you watch the bathroom fill with steam from the shower, the sound of running water the only thing your brain can focus on.

A minute or two later, there’s a knock on the door. You move from your leaning position to open the door a few inches, seeing Steven’s face there.

“Here.” He holds out a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt that are nicely folded for you. Must’ve been Pearl. His eyes roam your face in concern, eyebrows furrowing. “Take your time. We can talk after this when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” You reply, albeit a bit blankly. You feel like you’re a bit in a dissociative state that you’re unable to explain. You take the pile of clothes from his open palm.

“Do you want your cell phone?” He asks, pulling it out of his pocket to offer you. You nod, and take it from him.

“Appreciate it.” You say, and he watches your face for a brief second, eyes flickering between yours. And then he closes the door softly with a click.

You lock it.

You walk over to the sink, leaving your phone on the counter without a second thought. You place your clean clothes on the toilet lid, and take your clothes off, starting with your pants. They’re utterly filthy and torn in a few places, what the hell? You toss them over by the garbage can near the toilet. No point in keeping those.

You take off your shirt, and notice something weird.

There’s a.. scar on your stomach. It’s fairly large, but it’s healed. You don’t remember getting this at all. You’re so fucking confused right now.

You refuse to put any more thought into it, as it would be counterproductive anyway. You take the rest of your underwear off, and toss everything into a pile by the garbage can. None of it is salvageable. What the fuck were you doing?

You pull the shower curtain back, letting a cloud of steam wash over you. You get in one foot at a time, the bottom of this tub is missing the grip mat for some reason and you’d prefer not to fall on your ass. Once you’re underneath the stream, your shoulders sag in relaxation as the hot water runs down your body. You feel like you haven’t taken a shower in ages.

You grab the shampoo, scrubbing your hair down and rinsing that out. You pour way too much conditioner into your hand and figure fuck it, and slather your hair in that. You stand there for a moment, watching suds wash down the drain in a swirl.

You space out for a while. You’re not sure how long.

You take your time rinsing your hair of the conditioner. You notice dirt underneath your fingernails, when you normally keep them pretty clean. What the hell. You move to grab the bar of soap on the little shelf on your left, but misjudge a footstep - you slip, hands knocking all the bottles down to the tub in a loud crash as you hit your head on the side of the tub.

“Y/N!? ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE?” You hear Amethyst shout from outside the door.

“Peachy!” You yell back monotonously, seeing stars and groaning.

You sit up groaning, your head spinning. Hot water is pouring on you, running down your face and shoulders.

Suddenly you remember the petrified look Spinel gave you before you kissed her and pushed her away, and you freeze. Your breathing picks up, and you slam a hand over your mouth as you feel yourself retch again.

Spinel.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You vomit again, violently this time. Nothing comes up, but your body convulses and makes you puke up bile, acid burning the inside of your throat. The hot water sprays down on you as you shake uncontrollably.

You remember everything. The gem eater, the tunnels, bleeding, dying. Spinel.

You’re back on Earth, and she isn’t here. You bite your tongue, holding back more retching that your body wants to torture you with.

You’re alive and off that fucking planet somehow, and Spinel isn’t here.

With shaking hands, you finish washing your body as you try to keep your crumbling composure. You turn off the water, and grab for the towel next to you. You let your hands do the work on autopilot as you try to fend off the impending breakdown.

You put your clothes on, mind spinning with thoughts about how Spinel either thinks you’re dead, or worse, that you abandoned her there. You try not to cry thinking about it. You remember sitting at that tree, but everything after that is a bit fuzzy. It hurts to think about Spinel rushing back to you with what she thinks is life saving materials - just for you to be gone and nowhere to be found. Unless she saw the ship coming down? God that’s - that’s worse - you think, her sprinting back to you desperately, and seeing the ship fly away.

She knows you wouldn’t leave her.

Right?

You’re going back for her. That isn’t even a question. You’re terrified of what she’s even thinking about right now. You just hope you can easily convince the gems and Steven that everything that happened a month ago when she took you - it’s different, she’s different, and not a threat anymore. You towel dry your hair quickly, and once you put the towel back on the rack you can hear strained, hushed whispering beyond the bathroom door.

You hear your name being spoken, and quietly you walk over to the door to press your ear against it.

“ - but, she’s-”

“-Golgotha, Garnet! She was on GOLGOTHA. I’m ASTONISHED she lasted at all there considering she’s human and-” Pearl hisses out, and you can hear someone clanking pots and pans in the kitchen.

“What’s Golgotha!?” You hear Amethyst frustratedly huff out, and a ‘SSHHHH’ coming from Pearl. “You guys never tell me anything!”

“You don’t know because it was a colony that failed before you even existed, Amethyst!”

“How did Spinel warp there?” You hear Garnet wonder out loud, concern in her voice. “I was pretty sure they stopped all possible travel to that place.”

Your eyes widen at the sound of Spinel’s name being spoken. They know who she is? They know Spinel!? Then maybe -

“She had to have bypassed-”

“She wouldn’t have-”

“How did a colony FAIL?” Amethyst blurts out, cutting everyone off.

“Will you keep your voice down!?” Pearl hisses out angrily. “It failed because a bunch of gems disappeared, and resources went missing. They didn’t want to take any chances on a dying planet anyway so they packed up and left.”

“Yellow forbade anyone from going back to it. She even went as far to turn off the warp pad access.” Garnet says quietly.

“None of that matters, guys. She’s home safe, and that’s what counts.” Steven speaks up from the kitchen. “I just.. don’t know how to approach her about-”

“Her dying?”

“Amethyst!” Pearl interjects, and you can hear the frustration in her voice.

“Yeah. I. I failed her. It should’ve been me guys. Then she wouldn’t have had to deal with Spinel, and she wouldn’t have-”

“Steven, we’ve been trying to tell you all day that it’s not your fault, buddy! Y/N knew what she was doing when she put herself in danger, you know how she is! Nothing would have convinced her otherwise!” Amethyst yells out at him.

“If only we were a little faster getting to her, ugh, I should’ve thought about our keychains sooner! Minutes could’ve changed everything!”

“It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.” Garnet says. “We got to her as fast as we could.”

“I’m surprised at how well she fought off Spinel, considering it took several hours to figure out where she was and to even get to her.” Pearl mentions offhandedly.

Your stomach drops.

What? Hours?

“She’s resilient. You taught her well.”

What does she mean, hours? That literally makes no sense.

“She shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. Spinel wouldn’t have been able to kill me anyway, and I could’ve talked her out of whatever she was feeling,” Steven hisses out angrily. “I don’t know where she was when we found Y/N and picked her up, or if she managed to poof her, but if I had seen her after the damaged she did to Y/N, I don’t know if I could’ve held back-”

Oh my god, they think Spinel tried to kill you. Your stomach fills with dread on top of the massive amounts of confusion you feel.

“Steven chill, she’s home and safe.” Amethyst says. “Hopefully this is the last gem that tries to-”

Unable to deal with any of this, you grab for the door handle, swinging the door open wide to stare at the gems standing in the living room. Steven’s in the kitchen with a pan in his hands.

They’re all staring at you like they’ve just seen a ghost - minus Garnet, of course.

Steven almost drops his pan. “Y/N-”

“What do you mean it only took a couple hours for you to rescue me?” You say, voice as shaky as your sanity levels.

They all just stand there in silence, and you see Pearl’s wide eyes turn to Garnet and then trail back to you. The quietness around the living room is palpable.

“Y/N, I know this is a lot to take in..” Pearl stares at you like you’re about to keel over.

“No, that literally makes no fucking sense.” You say, feeling yourself close to hyperventilation. “I get that I died.”

“You’ve been through a lot today dude, I think you should sit down and rest.” Even Amethyst looks concerned.

“I’m fine.” You stare at all of them. “How long did it take for you to come get me?”

“I know that space has no concept of day and night, but it hasn’t been that long.” Amethyst says bluntly.

“You haven’t checked your phone, Y/N?” Steven asks, confused. “I know we’re normally faster than this, but it hasn’t been that long. Why are you so concerned with the time right now?”

“What?” You didn’t think of that. Ignoring the rest of what he said to quickly scramble for the phone you put into your jeans pocket. You open your lock screen, and what you see makes you drop your phone onto the ground with a clatter.

“Y/N?” You hear Steven say.

You’re frozen in shock.

That makes no sense.

Somehow. Somehow - the date displayed on your lock screen is just a day after Spinel had taken you.

“Is this a prank?” You laugh, once, dryly. You pick your phone up off the ground. “This isn’t funny.”

Steven’s eyebrows furrow worryingly. “No, why would we-”

“Then why have only a couple hours passed? I was there for weeks.” You interrupt him.

They all look at you like you’ve grown another head.

“Y/N. You’ve been through a lot - I think something must’ve-”

“NO.” You yell out. You’re close to insanity. “STEVEN, WEEKS PASSED WHILE I WAS THERE.”

Your voice echoes out all throughout the living room, bouncing off the walls as they all look at you like you’re absolutely nuts. Steven sets the pan down and walks over to you, but Garnet puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I think you need to sleep, because you sound crazy right now.” Amethyst says.

“I’M NOT-” Your fingers dig into your scalp, you’re close to ripping your hair out in frustration. You’re not insane, you lived every singl- wait a second. Your scar. You quickly point to the scar Spinel gave you when she first arrived. “THIS! REMEMBER THIS? SPINEL HIT ME WITH HER SCYTHE? AND IT’S COMPLETELY HEALED NOW.”

“Er, since I revived you, it closed all your wounds.” Steven stares at you. “Are you su-”

“I,” Your face drops. They can’t not believe you. “My nails? They’re longer, and I-” You cut yourself off, feeling your brain stutter from overuse.

“Y/N.” Pearl says, and you look over to her perplexed face. “You say you were there for weeks? That does explain the condition you were in when we got to you, even if-.”

“How did you survive for weeks!?” Amethyst interjects. “When we saw you earlier, Spinel had you by the THROAT.”

“Yeah she initially brought me there as bait to kill Steven, but she didn’t try to kill me.” You say as you try to control your breathing.

“Hold on a second.” Pearl makes a pointed face and pulls a datapad out of her gem, typing on it rapidly.

“She didn’t try to kill you?” Steven rubs at his brow, confused. “Then why were you bleeding out when we found you?!”

“No, that’s what I’ve been trying to say, there was a whole fuckload of shit that went on that hell hole of a planet!!!” You spit out.

“She might be right, actually.” Pearl speaks up, quickly tapping on the glowing screen in front of her. She zooms into some kind of planetary chart from what you can see. “Golgotha has the trajectory to be running at a much faster time. The red giant it’s orbiting is-”

The rest of her words fall on deaf ears as your mind goes blank and you unintentionally freeze up. Spinel is still there. You feel like you’re about to unravel.

“I-I need to go back.” You choke out. “How long has it been since you picked me up?”

“Y/N, you’re insane if you think-”

“SHE’S STILL THERE, ALL ALONE, AND PROBABLY THINKS I’M DEAD.” You cry out. “CALL ME INSANE ALL YOU WANT BUT I’M NOT LEAVING HER THERE.”

“Y/N-”

“If you won’t take me then I’ll steal Lars’ ship, and get there myself.” You stare at them.

Steven visibly deflates.

“Can we maybe talk about what happened to you first? You’re not-”

“Every minute I waste here is hours for her.” You cut him off. “How long was I out exactly? How long has it been since you rescued me?

“You were out for several hours, since this afternoon..” Pearl says. You bite the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Great, so it’s been weeks for her already.” You nod your head, feeling a couple tears roll down your cheek. You wipe them away quickly. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you guys what I’ve been doing all this time on the way.”

“But-”

You turn to look at Steven, and his eyes meet yours. You think he can read your expressions enough by now to know the state of your emotions.

“Do you trust me?” You ask him. His eyes wavering between yours, a silent understanding passes.

He gives you a curt nod.

“Let’s go.”

Once you get onto Pink’s ship, Pearl reroutes the coordinates back to the planet you just came from. By the time you get there, it will be over a month and a half since Spinel’s seen you.

You try not to think about the possibilities of what she’s doing without you. You are so anxious that the nausea in the pit of your stomach constantly threatens to make you hurl.

Steven has been watching you for a while now, and he holds out one of his hands. You try not to cry when you see his open palm, and you take it. It used to be something you did when he was in distress, and now he’s doing it for you. It gives you brief amounts of comfort. You love him dearly.

“So, let’s just start from the beginning.” Steven clears his throat. “When we last saw you, you were taken.”

“Yeah.” You focus your eyes on the floor, and try to steady out your breathing. If it weren’t for Steven holding your hand, you’d be pacing right now. “As I said, she really only wanted me as bait. And even that didn’t really last long, considering I think I screamed at her enough for her to want to get rid of me.. You called that planet Golgotha, right?”

“That’s correct.” Pearl speaks up. “It was one of Yellow’s old colonies.”

“Yeah, I know.” You say.

“You knew? How?” Pearl replies, perplexed.

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Anyway,” You take a breath. “Golgotha sucks, it’s hot as shit there and it took me a while to find food, even. I hated Spinel, at first. She wasn’t helpful, and honestly I wanted her dead after what she tried doing to Steven.” You feel Steven squeeze your hand. “But we came to a truce eventually, to try to get off the planet after she destroyed the warp pad. And then I learned of her past, and well, things went a little differently after that.”

You look up from staring at the floor, and Pearl gives you a face.

“Spinel was made to be Pink’s best friend.” You hear the concern in her voice. “When I knew her, she was completely different.”

“Yeah, and Pink left her in a garden for six thousand years, Pearl. Anyone would have issues after that.” They all look at you like they’re not the least bit surprised.

“Mom left her for six thousand years?” Steven looks at you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “No wonder you’ve been this distraught about leaving her.”

“And I haven’t even told you the rest.” You sigh. “We found a Spire, and the kindergarten there that the gems abandoned. It was.. so fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” Amethyst implores, crossing her arms over her chest. “Didn’t they just leave it?”

“Do you guys know exactly of what happened on Golgotha?” You turn to face Pearl.

“Other than it being a failed colony? No. The data extracted from them was incomplete.” She says, putting a thumb to her lip in consideration.

“Then it’s just Spinel and I who really know what went on.”

“What do you mean?” Steven asks, rubbing your hand with his thumb. You find his touch very comforting.

“It was a failed colony because of the gem eater.” You say, and all of them look at you apprehensively besides Garnet. Her face is almost comically blank.

“What..” Pearl squints at you as she trails off, face brimming with questions.

“So, hold on, let me make this clear.” You cough into your hand, clearing your throat. “Considering everything I’ve been through the last day, I’ve got the full picture. I don’t know how, but where they placed the kindergarten, there was a.. being already there.”

“A being?” Amethyst interrupts.

“I don’t know how to describe that thing, because I don’t know what it looked like prior to it draining all the injectors of the diamond’s essence to consume.”

“It WHAT?” Pearl drops her hand from her mouth in shock. “How could it-”

“I don’t know, honestly. All I know is that between what Spinel and I witnessed, and the incomplete data logs inside the Spire, that’s what I pieced together. Anyway. We learned that over a hundred gems went missing, and we also found multiple tunnels that all ended up being connected to the kindergarten, where this thing lived.”

“Of all planets she could’ve taken you, she had to take you to that one?” Amethyst comments, adjusting her stance.

“You’re telling me. That was a source of many of mine and Spinel’s arguments.”

“It sounds like you two became friends.” Garnet speaks up, and for some reason you get the feeling she can see right through you. You swallow all thoughts of potential implications.

“Something like that.” You ignore the way saying that makes you feel strange. “I think if it wasn’t for her, I probably would have died on that planet. Even if she was the one to bring me there in the first place, she still.. Anyway. I fell into one of those tunnels, where she eventually found me. We tried finding our way out, but instead ended up in it’s fucking lair. The gem eater had some kind of pheromone I’m guessing, because it smelt like shit and affected Spinel really weirdly. Makes sense that it lured all those gems into their death. I basically had to fight the thing off myself, because it wanted Spinel so badly.”

“Is that how you got that wound when we found you?” Amethyst asks, pointing at your stomach.

“Yeah.” You reply, placing your other hand that’s not holding Steven’s on your stomach as if you can still feel the gaping wound still. You had no time to really deal with any of that, and honestly, the current state of your psyche can’t really unpack it anyway. Dying? Ayy no problem.

“If Spinel wasn’t the one to hurt you, why was she nowhere near you when we came to pick you up?” Steven looks over to you, confusion in his eyes.

“I had her set me down so she could go grab supplies for me to do a rough patch job on my injury. As I said.. we were there for a couple weeks. I didn’t know if you guys were even coming for me, at that point.. I just didn’t want to die there.” You trail off. Steven’s still looking at you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry that it ended up that way, and that you had to go through that. We’re glad you’re still with us.” Garnet speaks up from the side, tone apologetic.

“I wouldn’t have been alive if it weren’t for Spinel.”

“You wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if it weren’t for me.” Steven says, looking guilty. You tug on his hand to look at you.

“I would do it all over again so you’d never have to experience what I did.” You look him in the eyes, pleading for him to understand this.

“Y/N..”

“Besides, it wasn’t all that bad. I gained a new friend.” You give him a small, wry smile, but your heart isn’t in it. You’re dreadfully terrified of what happens when you get back to Golgotha.

“When all of this is said and done, I’d like to talk more with you on what you experienced.” Pearl taps on the console in front of her, entering a few commands that you don’t care to pay attention to. “I’d like some clarity on a few things.”

“Yeah, just let me sleep for a week.” You reply, and Amethyst snorts.

“Ah, good ‘ol Y/N is back to her old habits pronto.” She puts her hands behind her head in a show of ease.

“Hey, I deserve it. You sleep on leaf piles and musty tarps for a month, and see how you feel about it.” You squint your eyes at her, and she laughs.

“We’ll be on the surface in less than an hour.” Pearl taps the screen a couple more times. “Where would you like us to land?”

You think you could spend a while wondering where Spinel could be on the surface. But you know her better than that by now.

“As close to the Spire as possible.” You hear yourself say.

Once the ship lands on the planet and the doors swoosh open, you breathe in the air of the jungle you didn’t miss whatsoever. It’s night, and the cold has already set in making your breath appear in front of you. The four of them - the gems and Steven, step out with you. The Spire’s about a mile away, as this is the closest clearing to it that she ship could land on.

You turn to them.

“I was wondering if I could go alone, actually.” You say to them, hesitantly.

“Why? What if something happens to you? We need to-” Pearl stops as Steven puts his hand up, cutting her off.

“Can I talk to you? Just for a second.” He says, grabbing you by the elbow and leading you gently about two dozen feet away from the others. You can see the worry in his eyes.

“What?” You ask. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I know, I’m just worried..” His tone implies a lot of concern, and honestly you don’t know what you’d do without his presence in your life. He’s irreplaceable. “What I saw with her..”

“I need you to trust my judgement, Steven. You of all people know that everyone deserves a chance to improve, to be better.” You give him a look, and his eyes waver between yours.

“I do trust you, it’s just.. I just got you back.”

“I’ll be fine. The only threat that was on this planet is already dead. And I.. I made a promise to her.” You sigh and grab his hand, staring at his palm on yours. “I’ll be back before you know it. Keep the ship warm for me.”

He shares a look with you for several long seconds, and then nods.

“Be safe.”

You’re not going to lie when you say that once you got out of view of them and into the line of trees, you started to break out into a sprint, and kept running all the way to the Spire with minimal breathing breaks. It takes you probably only a little over five minutes to get there, and you’re out of breath by the time you get to the doors.

It’s a little alarming to see that the Spire doors aren’t even there. They’re ripped off completely, actually. You are scared and anxious of what you’ll find inside.

You step inside, and it’s pretty dark. There are leaves strewn everywhere, but nothing else looks out of place.

Spinel isn’t here.

You look to the staircase, finding it intact. Your legs work on autopilot, walking up every floor like you’ve done many times before, and this is no different. Passing by the level with the supplies you had told her to grab, you’re seeing several crates are smashed open.

You hope your gut feeling is right. It hasn’t failed you yet.

The closer to the top, the more nervous you get. What if she isn’t there? Where else could she go? She couldn’t have gone back down into the tunnels - that would make little sense. Two floors to go. You feel your hands start to shake in quiet fear.

You haven’t had a lot of time to think about any of the ‘what if’s’. You’ve been consumed mainly with thoughts of getting back to her. You reach the floor underneath the top one, and before you get to the other staircase, you can hear the wind much more loudly than before. Getting closer to it, and taking a couple steps up - you realize that the entire top of the rest of this Spire is blown off. Or torn off.

Two steps. Three steps. You swallow nervously. You can’t seem to steady your erratic breathing. You can see the moons glowing against the stone of the Spire. Reaching the top of the stairs, you misstep and trip on the top edge of the stair - falling to your knee and catching yourself with your hand.

You hear movement ten feet in front of you, and you look up, frozen in place.

Your eyes meet Spinel’s.

“..you’re alive?” The voice you want to hear most says, and she looks at you like you’re the last person she expected to see.

#spinel #spinel x reader #su #steven universe #distant lands #my fic

197 notes · View notes

realactualfancontent · 4 years

Text

Whateley Family Fluff

Wilbur and Lavinia discuss travel plans and girls.

Wilbur Whateley kicked the door open, holding some kind of squirming screaming sack, he was covered in feathers, and blood, and one or two scrapes which oozed something yellow and fetid.

He looked panicked and triumphant all at once.

His mother jumped, already on edge because her son was nowhere to be found, his entrance didn't help.

"Wilbur? Wha-Where- What're yew doin'...with that." Lavinia gestured to the squirming bag. Trying to take her questions one at a time.

Wilbur froze, he hadn't been expecting his ma awake. This was supposed to be a secret mission. Though he'd been planning to show off to Twin right away.

"Killin' et!" His face split into one of those smiles that was slightly too wide, although accompanied by an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm.

"Robbed the Bishop's chicken coop!"

She wasn't quite sure what to do with that. Not the petty crime, or animal murder. Boys would be boys after all, but the excitement, well that was a puzzle. She couldn't remember seeing him this genuinely pleased in years. She returned his grin with a hesitant smile of her own.

"Well, I'm glad yer havin fu- Wait, are yew bleedin'?"

It had taken her a moment to notice, between her poor eyes and the poor lighting it was more the smell then anything, more overwhelmingly the outside then usual.

Wilbur deflated with a sigh and an eyeroll. "Et's nuthin' a scratch es all." She was going to fuss now. "I'm finnneeeeee." It was a rather unconvincing whine and he watched her wring her hands shoulders sagging. The bagged rooster kept screaming.

Wilbur thunked it on the table with a sudden burst of violence that shut it up. He hoped not permanently. Lavinia started and tried to collect herself before speaking up.

"Et's not nuthin' let me take a look,'' Lavinia responded, moving to light the lamps, the attempt to sound like an authority was weak, and they both knew it. But still Wilbur dropped his twitching bag on the table and slumped into a chair two sizes too small for him to watch his mother root around in cabinets for some bandages or a clean washcloth.

Wilbur had never paid much attention to chickens before, and as he idly poked at one of the puncture wounds he was still surprised by how sharp those spurs were.

"I can dew et myself." It was protest for protests sake, although Wilbur really would rather handle things himself, he knew his mother would fret if he didn't play along, so he obligingly rolled up his sleeves, revealing the slow transition to yellowish scales.

"S'pose yew culd patch the shirt up tew, ef yew'd lak." He said, looking around the cluttered kitchen for something else to focus on and offering his mother something to do that didn't involve her getting in his way.

"Might be time fer a new 'un. Yer sleeves are gettin' a bit on the short side. Looks lak yew've had another growth spurt."

Wilbur made a noncommittal noise. They both knew what the other was thinking, that if Wilbur was growing, so was The Twin. That time was marching slowly onwards, that soon, all of this, Lavinia included, would be blasted away to make way for greater things.

Wasn't the sort of thing you made small talk about. Wilbur winced as his mother applied a damp cloth to one of the numerous scratches, feeling this whole thing was pointless as anything in the house was probably as filthy as a chicken's foot.

After a moment's awkward silence Lavinia ventured to pick up conversation again. "What 're yew killin' the chicken for?" The bag was still twitching periodically.

"Jus' need et's blud fer sumthin es all." Wilbur shrugged.

"Are you wurkin' on a ritual or curse or... uh, summin' sumthin'?" Lavinia ventured when it came to Wilbur's magical practice's he was getting increasingly less likely to share the details.

Maybe that was because when he did she couldn't really follow him and just tried to nod at all the significant points. She'd never really understood. She’d picked up disjointed scraps from her father, a string of odd words here, a rough idea there, but Lavinia Whateley, despite what folk about here would have you believe was no witch. All the things that came so easily to Wilbur and her father just left her feeling confused and scattered and usually in possession of a headache.

"Ain't yer business," Wilbur said, jerking his arm away, rolling down and rebuttoning his sleeve.

Lavinia’s shoulder’s sagged and she looked away, picking at a moth hole in the table cloth. “Sorry, jus seems yew’re excited, wanted t’ know whut et were about es all.”

If Wilbur was the type of person who had any compassion for dogs he might have compared Lavinia’s countenance to a kicked puppy.

Same guilt inducing effect.

And the irritation at it was plain on his oddly proportioned face. “I’m makin’ a whistle. Thought one of ‘em space ponies might make travellin’ easier.” There he’d told her. She could stop with the sad eyes.

Lavinia’s eyes widened again, surprise, a little panic. FUCK HE COULD NOT WIN.

“Travellin’? Yew’re plannin’ on another trip.”

The London trip had been unprecedented. Wilbur had never expressed much interest in the human world at all. And he’d come home with such a dismal outlook on the whole experience she didn’t think he’d leave again.

She’d hoped he wouldn’t leave again.

Leave her alone. With that upstairs.

She loved her sons. She told herself that daily. But when it was just her and the nameless twin she had a much harder time believing it. Wilbur could walk and talk and act almost like any other surly teenager. But the thing upstairs just stomped about and made hungry noises. And although she had no proof there was a lurking fear that one day the cows and vermin they brought it wouldn’t be enough and it would find its way down stairs for her.

“Wuldn’t be so long. Cuple days et most, since I’d have the Byhakee t’ travel on.” Wilbur cut in, noticing his mother’s distress, and making some token effort to calm her. Stumbling over what he hoped was the correct pronunciation of Byhakee.

“Oh,” that helped a little, although she hadn’t the foggiest what a Byhakee was. Probably a space pony. “Where’d yew be off tew this time? Still lookin’ fer the book?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Among other things, one ‘ve my correspondents wanted t’ meet. Were real irked I didn’t see her last time I were in London.”

“Her?” There were so many things to pick out of the sentence but the pronoun stood out more then anything else. Wilbur, ordinarily speaking, was barely interested in people, let alone girls. But then he was growing up, it wasn’t really that surprising, well, no more surprising then anything about Wilbur. Still, Lavinia couldn’t help but smile a bit.

Wilbur picked up on the shift in mood and shrank as much as his nearly seven feet would allow. “Ain’t lak- she’s just a friend, sorta, real keen t’ see sumthin’ alien’s all…” He trailed off into a mumble, face flushing a sickly yellow. It was his turn to pick at moth holes in the table cloth, giant fingers doing so far less deftly then his mother had.

Lavinia’s smile widened, her pink eyes glimmering with delight in the low lighting. She’d been a romantic in her youth, maybe some of that was still left and it was what had her so excited despite Wilbur’s protests. Or maybe it was because this was a sign that Wilbur was more human than he’d care to admit.

This was the sort of conversation you expected to have with your child at some point. The kind of, dare she think it, normal moment she’d all but given up on these days.

“What’s her name?” Lavinia asked.

“Emmaline,” Wilbur answered, sagging as he prepared for an interrogation.

One that came promptly.

A barrage of banal things, like how did you meet, what’s she like, is she a witch?

Wilbur answered in as few words as possible. Trying to stress the very platonic nature of the relationship. Not that his ma was picking up on how uncomfortable he was. Or that he was flushing the shade of an egg yolk.

“Is she pretty?”

“Dun know, and et dun matter anyways.” He snapped, “I ain’t interested in romance and ain’t no one’s goin’ t’ be interested in one wit’ me. Stop badgerin!”

Lavinia flinched at the outburst while Wilbur retreated into a sulky silence.

He’d have felt worse about spooking her if she didn’t absolutely have it coming. Hassling him like that.

After a moment Lavinia gave him a tentative pat on the shoulder and offered her son an attempt at a smile. “Don’t be so down on yerself Wilbur, just ‘cus folks round here are-”

“The wurst.” Wilbur cut in. Not sure what she was getting at but never one to miss a chance to insult the people of Dunwich.

Lavinia nodded.

“Well just cus’ they’re the wurst don’t mean everyone es, an’ I’m sure there’s plenty ‘ve girls who won’t be put off by yer unique features.”

Wilbur’s dark eyes widened as he stared at his mother completely boggled. He opened his mouth to try and form a response and took a moment to do it, mouth hanging open.

“Yew need t’ get yer eyes checked. Since yew clearly dun know just how bad I look.” Lavinia might try to dress it up, but Wilbur didn’t feel any such compulsions.

“I’m a ganglin’ mess ‘ve spare parts an’ I smell wurse ‘en most morgues.”

Lavinia’s pale brows furrowed and her scrunched up into a frown. She’d been hoping to give a pep talk there, but really couldn’t think of anything to refute Wilbur’s statements.

She gave him another awkward pat on the shoulder. “Well, we can dew sumthin’ ‘bout sum ‘ve that at least. Spruce yew up a bit afore yew go callin’ I’ll make yew some clothes that fit proper and an’ yew’ll have a good scrub t’ get as much ‘ve the Dunnich stink off yew as can.”

“No.” Wilbur’s abnormally deep voice reverberated with extra gravitas. Even if there was an underscore of horror to it.

He hated baths. He hated being wet to start with, hated that the tubs were too small for second and then there was the ordeal of actually scrubbing his leg fur and getting soap in his stupid useless hip eyes.

What was the point of being able to see into the fourth, fifth and sixth dimensions when he couldn’t see through the pants he had to wear.

Lavinia looked disappointed in him. A trick that was losing it’s potency over time but still held some sway.

“She already knows I stink like a pig, she’s expecktin’ et, I dun need t’ take a bath.”

“Wilbur, yew only get so many chances t’ make furst impressions, dun yew want et t’ be a gud ‘un?”

“Not that much.” Wilbur scowled at her patronizing, considering hexing her tongue to shrivel right there.

Not that Lavinia wasn’t, technically, to his everlasting vexation, right.

“Guess I’ll consider et.” He conceded after a moment.

The rooster bag twitched and made a pitiable noise.

“I’ve got t’ take care ‘ve that afore it croaks.” He said, standing up and swiping the bag in one motion. Glad for an excuse to end the conversation he shuffled off with an unusual speed to his awkward gait.

#Wilbur Whateley #lavinia whateley #The Dunwich Horror #fanfic #Emmaline #More behind the scenes stuff from the blog timeline

29 notes · View notes

thathopelessromantic · 4 years

Text

As Long as You’ll Have Me

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Rating: Teen Pairing: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Toshinori Yagi | All Might (EraserMight) Note: Originally my piece for the Erasermight zine that was cancelled, now gets to be my piece for Erasermight Day 2020! Warning for mentions of blood

Shouta kicks at him.“I can’t believe you made me get in the shower at three in the morning."

One hand cradling Shouta’s chin, Toshinori spreads antibiotic ointment over the cut and places a bandage over it. “You could have saved us both the trouble if you had at least tried to clean up first. Or slept on the couch.”

AO3: (X)

It takes Toshinori ages to fall asleep on his own. Falling asleep has always been difficult for the retired hero. He’s full of a restless, endless kind of energy he could never quite completely sate even after a long day of hero work, and the older he got, the more complications he had with his health and his running thoughts. Shouta made things easier, somehow. Reassuring and soothing in his own astute, stubborn, pragmatic kind of way.

So, on nights when Shouta works, falling asleep takes ages. And it is both unsurprising, and incredibly frustrating when Toshinori startles awake, after what feels like only a few minutes of sleep. He lies still for a moment, cataloguing the differences in the room and what could have woken him, realizing belatedly it is probably thanks to the wet, heavy form suddenly pressing against his back.

“Shouta?”

The form groans an affirmative.

He chuckles, relieved by the easy answer to his concern, and glances over his shoulder. In the dark he can’t make out any more than the general lump that is Shouta, hanging half off the bed next to him. His capture weapon lies almost entirely unwound in a pile next to him.

“Why are you all wet? I didn’t think it was supposed to rain tonight.”

“Didn’t rain,” Shouta grunts.

“What? Then why are you all wet?”

Shouta doesn’t answer and Toshinori sits up, ignoring the whined protest as Shouta slumps further onto the bed. Leaning over, he turns on a bedside lamp. The light is dim, but it still stings his eyes as it comes on; even Shouta flinches at the change–despite being face-down in the mattress.

At first there’s nothing startling about the image of the dark-haired hero lying sprawled in such a way, or rather there’s nothing unfamiliar about it, but then he sees the color pooling under him.

Toshinori reaches for him. “Is that blood?”

“Not mine.” Shouta grunts again, words muffled by the blankets.

Toshinori tosses the blankets off himself, all but leaping from the bed.

Shouta says something else, but Toshinori can hardly make out the sound, let alone piece together the words between his exhausted slurring and the buffer of fabric under him.

Grabbing him under the arms, Toshinori hauls him off the bed.

That wakes him, and Shouta squirms in his hold. “What are you doing?”

“You’re getting in the shower, right now.”

Shouta sags against him, not making any move to get away, but certainly not making the trek to the bathroom any easier. “I just want to sleep.”

Toshinori ignores his whining, kicking open the bathroom door and pushing on the light switch with his elbow. Shouta flinches again at the harsher light, but still doesn’t fight Toshinori’s hold, letting him manhandle him into the walk-in shower. Toshinori hits the lever to turn the water on. Shouta sways unsteadily under the spray, but he doesn’t immediately fall over, so Toshinori considers it a win.

“Take off your jumpsuit,” He orders. “Just leave it in the shower for now. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He strips the soiled sheets off the bed, tossing them into the corner to be dealt with later. In the morning he’ll regret it, but for now he has more pressing concerns. What’s one more blood stain anyways?

He hangs Shouta’s capture weapon as best he can on its hook on the wall – made for easy, emergency access – but it needs to be washed before he can let the filthy thing anywhere near Shouta’s face again. He pulls a clean fitted sheet onto the mattress and grabs a few spare blankets from the closet before he returns to the bathroom. Shouta’s only managed to get his jumpsuit half-off, but at least he tried, which is more than Toshinori can get from him some nights.

The water falling off him runs red and brown.

Stripping off his own light-weight sleep clothes, Toshinori joins him in the shower. Carefully, he helps peel the jumpsuit the rest of the way off, kicking it to the corner of the shower. Shouta sags against him as he reaches for shampoo, but Toshinori can already feel him becoming more alert under the spray.

“How does this even happen?” He asks, though not expecting much of an answer as he pours a generous amount of soap onto Shouta’s head.

“Explosion and regeneration quirk duo.”

He grimaces, working the soap into Shouta’s hair. The lather turns a dark, rusty color under his hands. “That sounds… well, dreadful, honestly.”

Shouta snorts against his shoulder. “No kidding.”

Toshinori pushes him further under the spray, tilting his head to catch the most of it, and waits until the water finally runs clear before he pulls Shouta back and pours more shampoo into his hands. He washes his hair once more, just to be safe.

Toshnori lathers up a washcloth with body wash and nudges it into Shouta’s hand. “Wash yourself off.”

Shouta only grunts in reply, but he takes the washcloth.

Toshinori grabs conditioner, pouring a generous amount onto the ends of Shouta’s thick hair.

He lets silence settle over them as he combs his fingers through Shouta’s hair, wincing in sympathy as he hits a particularly nasty snag. Shouta, however, seems unbothered. The quiet breaks only once for Shouta to ask for more body wash.

He can tell Shouta’s more awake by the time Toshinori finally deems him clean enough by the way dark eyes follow him around the bathroom as he slings a towel around his own waist before dropping one over Shouta’s head and wrapping a second one around him, but Shouta still lets Toshinori fuss over him, and guide him to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“Stay there, I'm getting the first aid kit.”

“I'm fine.”

“Shut up.”

Shouta huffs a quiet laugh, somewhere between fond and exasperated, and shuts up.

First aid kit in tow, Toshinori crouches before Shouta, looking him over for the most pressing injuries, and ignoring the pointed look he gets for the way his knees pop as they bend. There's a scrape on Shouta’s cheek, and similar, small cuts scattered over his arms. The worst of it seems to be the already-darkening purple bruise curling around his ribs and over his shoulder, and a jagged cut on his leg.

Toshinori starts with his leg, settling onto the floor with a damp cloth to clean the wound, Shouta’s foot propped in his lap.

“This should really have stitches,” he mutters, even as he grabs a handful of butterfly closures from the kit.

“It’s fine.”

Toshinori rolls his eyes rather than arguing. He finishes wrapping Shouta’s calf in gauze, and looks up with an overly sweet smile. Shouta kicks at him with his uninjured leg.

“I can’t believe you made me get in the shower at three in the morning,” he mutters, as Toshinori moves from his leg to his cheek.

One hand cradling Shouta’s chin, he spreads antibiotic ointment over the cut and places a bandage over it. “You could have saved us both the trouble if you had at least tried to clean up first. Or slept on the couch.”

“You would have wondered where I was,” Shouta sighs, and it sounds like a complaint, even as he nudges Toshinori’s leg, so he knows it’s not. “And the last thing Eri needs to wake up to is me covered in guts on the couch.”

Toshinori makes a face. “Oh, only I get that privilege?”

“You can handle it, better than a six-year-old, anyways.”

Toshinori huffs but doesn’t protest. Getting to his feet, he settles between Shouta’s legs to towel off his hair. Shouta reaches out to grab his hip. It’s not a particularly strong touch, but it’s grounding, cementing the two of them in this moment together. The silence is warm and comfortable; and Toshinori can't help but think, even as his eyes sting from being woken suddenly from an already short sleep, and his pulse is only just now back to normal from his initial shock and horror of seeing Shouta return home exhausted and bloodied, that this is what happiness-at least his happiness-feels like; being able to savor this simple moment in time with someone he loves.

“Let’s get married.”

Toshinori chokes on a cough, biting his tongue in the process. He stumbles back, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, just to be safe. The last thing they need is for Shouta to be covered in yet another person’s blood for the night.

Shouta, meanwhile, hasn’t moved at all, his arm still out-stretched, as if Toshinori hadn’t stepped away, though the towel has fallen from his head. He matches Toshinori’s wide-eyed look with one of his own, as if he is just as surprised by the words that have come from his mouth.

“What?” Toshinori asks when he’s sure it’s safe for him to speak, hesitantly lowering his arm.

Shouta’s shoulders hunch and he ducks his head, but there’s no scarf to hide in like there is when he’s dressed. Toshinori can see the ends of his hair start to lift as he glances around the bathroom, as if looking for an answer, or somewhere to hide, a familiar compliment to the faint flush to his cheeks. “I mean… do you want to get married?...Eventually?”

“To you?”

Shouta arches a brow, his surprised expression transforming into something a little more familiar as his hair settles back around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, did you have someone else in mind?”

Toshinori sputters, finally crossing the distance between them once again. “Of course not! I just… didn’t,” his hand goes to cradle Shouta’s jaw again, and Shouta’s hand settles back on his hip but his grip is tighter now, as if he truly had anything to worry about with Toshinori’s slip or him slipping away. “Did you mean it?”

“I did,” Shouta admits. “I didn’t think it would come out today, or like that. But I’ve thought about it before.”

Toshinori feels like his world is spinning. “Really?”

“I love you, Toshinori. And maybe neither of us planned this, but we've made a life together. We’re raising a child together,” he shakes his head. “Hell, we’re raising multiple children. Why shouldn't we?”

Toshinori doesn't have the words, doesn't know if he'll ever have the words to properly express his awe, how he never expected to have even a fraction of this life they’ve made together, let alone get married, or have a family, but he surges forward, holding Shouta's face between his hands to kiss him senseless. They teeter precariously on the edge of the tub, but Shouta reacts just in time to save them from a painful tumble into the porcelain, throwing his arms around Toshinori's shoulders and pushing his weight against him. Toshinori takes it in stride, stepping back to accommodate and pulling Shouta off the tub. They stumble for a few feet before they bump and settle against the sink. It’s as good a place as any to catch their breath.

Shouta pushes Toshinori’s bangs behind his ears. “So, I’m assuming I can take that as a yes?”

Toshinori can’t help himself as he laughs, pressing another quick kiss to Shouta’s lips, and then the tip of his nose and the top of his head, for good measure. “Of course, my love,” he whispers into still-damp hair, savoring the scent of their shared shampoo, of the feeling of Shouta in his arms and his strong hands against his back.

They stumble back to bed, hands straying against naked bodies, but exhaustion hovers over them, lulling their sudden excitement to something soft and gentle. They both drift off to sleep within minutes of climbing into bed. They’ve both been falling asleep easier and sleeping better since getting together, not just Toshinori, and only in this moment does that suddenly seem like a bad thing.

In the morning, when sunlight pools in through the window, the curtains left open from Shouta’s late night entrance, Toshinori is the first to wake. The warm rays brush against his face in a gentle caress. Shouta lies beside him, bathed in the light but seemingly unaware of its warm touch or the way he glows under it.

He doesn’t look particularly comfortable, on his back with one arm shoved under the pillow and another stretched out between them, but comfort has never seemed to be Shouta’s biggest concern. Toshinori follows the sunbeams dancing across his lover (his fiancé now?) – trailing over a relaxed, calloused palm and up the pale expanse of his arm. He presses a soft kiss to the crook of his elbow, fingers brushing gently over the edges of the scar left by Shigaraki.

When he looks up, Shouta is watching him through hooded eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Toshinori continues on, pressing a kiss to his bicep, and another to his shoulder before he noses against his chin. “Good morning, love.”

“You have morning breath,” Shouta complains, nose wrinkling in displeasure.

Toshinori snorts, ignoring the complaint as he leans over for a kiss. “Yours is worse. At least I brushed my teeth last night.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t be kissing me,” Shouta replies, even as he tilts his chin up to meet Toshinori.

Toshinori gives him nothing more than a quick peck before he starts to pull away. Shouta’s hand comes out from under his pillow before he can get much distance, pulling him back down for a proper kiss. Toshinori’s smug smile interrupts things a few times, but Shouta learned ages ago how to fix or work around such a problem.

Eventually, they break apart so Toshinori can catch his breath. Shoving his pillows against the headboard, he shifts to lean against it. Shouta stays prone besides him, reaching out to trace random patterns against his arm.

Shouta clears his throat suddenly, breaking the silence, and pulling his hand back. “Did I have a strangely vivid dream, or did I actually ask you to marry me when I came back last night?”

Toshinori nearly flinches at the question. He looks away, hopefully fast enough for Shouta not to see the flash of hurt in his eyes. He coughs, once, clearing his throat. “Not in so many words, but yes, that happened. If you didn’t mean…” Toshinori struggles to find the words he wants, without showcasing rather clearly the sinking feeling in his chest. “Rather, I understand if… Shouta?” Toshinori trails off as Shouta wordlessly slips out of bed and pads across the room to their shared dresser, crouching to access the bottom drawer– the one Toshinori never bothers with.

After rummaging around for a few moments, he pulls something out and returns to the bed, slipping back under the sheets. He cradles a small, black box between his hands.

“I kept thinking,” Shouta sighs, looking moments away from rubbing at his temples like he does when he has a particularly difficult student or a frustrating fight. “I thought, eventually, I would figure out something profound to say, or a special way to ask, because you deserve at least that much, Toshinori. Even just once. I certainly didn’t think I would just blurt it out, in the middle of the night, after you had just spent the last thirty minutes washing someone else’s blood out of my hair.”

“Shouta…” Toshinori reaches for him, but Shouta holds up a hand, requesting patience, a moment to collect his thoughts, and Toshinori’s hand drops back between them.

Eventually, Shouta reaches over and grabs his hand. “I love you, Toshinori. This is it for me. For as long as you’ll have me, and all my bad habits, late nights and shitty moods, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Letting go of him once more, Shouta opens the box in his hands, turning it to face Toshinori.

A thin gold band sits nestled in a bed of velvet. The surface is a plain, bright gold, but when Toshinori looks closer, he sees a pattern etched into the inside of the ring.

“Is that a-”

“Sunflower.”

When Toshinori looks up again, Shouta is watching him with a familiar, awkward look, which he thinks is supposed to be a smile but looks more like a grimace, that he wore the first time he asked Toshinori out for drinks with the clarification that it was actually a date this time, and again when he suggested they move in together, because Toshinori’s apartment was bigger and Eri needed her own room, and they spent all their time together anyways. It’s one of Toshinori’s favorite expressions.

“The simple band felt like too…little for you,” Shouta mutters when Toshinori still doesn’t say anything else. “But I wasn’t sure what…nothing else seemed-”

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?”

“Shouta,” Toshinori leans over, cupping Shouta’s face. The ring box falls out of his hands between them as Toshinori pulls him into a kiss that has Shouta grasping desperately at his shoulders, blunt nails digging sharp and familiar into his skin. He tries to pour everything can’t say now into the kiss, but they’ll have the rest of their lives together for him to show and tell and prove to Shouta everything he can’t in this moment. “Let’s get married.”

#bnha #mha #erasermight #allhead #eraserhead #all might #aizawa shouta #yagi toshinori #erasermight day #fic #established relationship #fluff #rita writes #1.20.2020

64 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Snippet of Souls of the Sea (Still Belong to Blue Tides)

(since I have no self control and I want to share and some of y’all seem to want to see it, have the snippet I mentioned earlier! In which Nyx’s day goes from Boring to Very Much Not In Just A Few Minutes)

...

Nyx chewed the piece of ration he’d snitched from Libertus’s pack idly as he settled further on his haunches.

Keeping watch was so boring. But that was the front line for you. Endless minutes of boring inaction punctuated by total chaos and bloodshed. Still, he would have thought he’d feel more alert than this. This was the furthest they’d ever pushed Niflheim back. Another aggressive, hit and run sabotage campaign from the Marshal paying off with its usual brutal flare.

He wondered what the Captain would have thought of it, the irony of them making more progress in the two months since Cor the Immortal took over than in all the years Captain had been fighting and bleeding and grouching alongside them. Then he shut that thought down, because wondering about that led to wondering about why Captain had disappeared three months ago and there was no point in thinking about something for which there were no leads or hope. The Captain was still listed MIA, so there was a … thin hope he would return someday, but that would mean he’d been captured.

Knowing Captain, Nyx thought the man would prefer to be dead than three months a prisoner of the Nifs.

Something in the air changed, the sensation of a predator watching him from the undergrowth and Nyx kept his shoulders relaxed even as he shifted his heels under him for a better jump and carefully rested one hand on a kukri hilt. He looked around casually, refused to tense up when he saw nothing but the feeling of being watched by a greater predator increased. If it’s another freaking voretooth pack…

Somewhere to his left, something cracked under the weight of an unseen creature. Nyx stood up, not even pretending to be oblivious as he stared at the wilds outside their temporary base, both hands on his kukri and magic bristling slowly under his skin. He didn’t call out, because it was probably just wildlife that was curious about the foreign presences in its territory. Nifs were rarely this stealthy, considering their love of bombing everything from their ships or unleashing waves of clattering MT units. Still.

All the hairs on Nyx’s neck were standing up. He breathed and was inwardly startled to taste ocean salt on his tongue. No- not ocean salt. That was impossible. But … there was the impression of it. The impression of ocean salt and hissing waves, the glitter of sleek serpentine scales in the corner of his eyes when it wasn’t there. He inhaled and felt something inside him quiver, something that screamed with the same warning he’d felt when he’d wandered too far from his parents on the shoreline when he was boy, had splashed too deep into unchecked waters and had almost been snapped up by one of the great Silver Serpents that sometimes lurked there as they migrated.

Then-, a rustle of leaves, a glimpse of a human silhouette in the shadows of the brush. Nyx drew his kukri and raised his voice, sharp and loud —both to be intimidating and to alert the other glaive in the camp that they had company—, “Hey. How about you get out here and introduce yourself rather than lurk? This is a restricted area.” Nothing, Nyx eyed the spot he’d thought he’d seen the silhouette and was disconcerted that he couldn’t see it anymore. No Niflheim soldier was that stealthy in the wilds, that was almost Galahd skill. A refugee perhaps? Or a Hunter taking a shortcut and surprised to find their base, “If you’re a Hunter,” he called cautiously as more glaives scrambled up the wall behind him to see what he was yelling at, “then come out and say so. You won’t be in trouble as long as you don’t cause any.”

“Nyx?” Libertus breathed in his ear.

“Someone’s out there, might be alone, might have company.”

Tredd twitched on his other side, sniffed the air and muttered, “Why do I smell the ocean?” Oh good that wasn’t Nyx’s senses failing him.

“I have no idea,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, sensed Libertus shivering faintly out of the corner of his eye, just as alarmed by the eerie aura of an ocean predator nearby as Nyx was. Nyx raised his voice again, “Come out or be considered a hostile!”

There was a moment where nothing happened and then-. A boy. No warning, no sound of undergrowth, he was just there, a teenager of maybe fourteen years standing just a few yards away, on the very edge of their perimeter, “I’m not an enemy,” he called in a voice that immediately made Nyx revise his mental estimation of from teenager to pre-teen, “are you really Kingsglaive?”

Libertus narrowed his eyes at the boy still half-hidden in the shadows, “Yeah, and you’re trespassing on our perimeter. Identify yourself!” The boy took a few slow steps out of the shadows, hands away from his sides and safely away from the short sword Nyx could see peaking over his shoulder and Nyx hissed softly.

The kid was a mess. Thin as a twig, his wrist bones on display beneath tattered sleeves, his cheeks too hollow to be healthy even if he wasn’t drastically underweight, his clothes filthy from endless travel, and his stance wide and cautious. Skittish. Either the Nifs are getting more dedicated in their acting, Nyx thought, or this kid is a refugee. Nyx sheathed his kukri and ignored Libertus’s warning hiss as he jumped down from the wall and approached the kid. The boy watched him with too-sharp, too-old eyes that promised a fight if Nyx tried anything. Nyx leaned down a little so they were closer to eye level, “What’s your name kid, and what are you doing out here?” The boy didn’t look Galahdian. He had no braids and paid no attention to the braids in Nyx’s own hair. But that didn’t mean Nyx’s heart wasn’t already going out to him —Nyx had seen too many Galahdian children in this kid’s position, had seen Crowe in this position, had himself been in this position at one point—.

The boy took a slightly shaky breath, closed his eyes, then opened them and very slowly reached for the harness holding his sword. Unbuckling it and keeping every movement non-threatening, he held the sheathed gladius in the flat of his palms and turned it so that Nyx could see the battered crest engraved on the hilt, “My name is Gladiolus Amicitia,” said the boy as he looked Nyx in the eyes, “And I would very much like to go home.”

Nyx reared back as if slapped because that- that was impossible. There was no way this kid was the missing —dead, everyone knew he was dead even if he was officially MIA— son of the Shield. The boy had gone missing in Tenebrae. That was across the entire ocean, through Niflheim controlled waters and then Niflheim-conquered territory. It couldn’t … really be …

Nyx looked into too-old, too tired eyes that burned a war-aged amber in a too-thin face and found himself believing anyway. Nyx ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the incredulous mutters of the other glaives on the wall, “You got any proof other than that sword, kid?”

The boy seemed to think, then hesitantly shook his head, “You wouldn’t know the safe words of my line.” He paused, “If- If I could talk to Cor Leonis, or my father, I could prove it.”

Nyx mentally made peace with the fact that if this kid was not who he said he was then Nyx was going to be in so much trouble and gestured toward the base, “Gimme the sword and we’ll call up the Marshal. How about that?”

With a grimace the boy turned over his sword and followed Nyx into the base under the incredulous stares of the other glaives. Libertus continued to give Nyx a despairing look as Nyx called up the Marshal using their “important business only” communication line. The Marshal picked up with a curt, “Report.” Because of course he did. Of course he had the number of the emergency communication line memorized or labeled.

Nyx took a deep breath and bid his career goodbye if this went wrong, “There’s a kid here who insists on talking to you, sir. Showed up on the perimeter with a banged up old gladius bearing a noble crest. He says-.” Nyx hesitated. Even if the line was supposed to be secure, paranoia made him reluctant to say it, “He’s calling a Code Thunderroc, sir.” Code Thunderroc, the unexpected return of an MIA soldier. Closest he could get without blurting it out.

The Marshal’s voice held a furious growl that made Nyx wince, “What crest.”

“Amicitia crest, sir.”

There was a fragile pause, brittle on the other end and then a subdued, “Put him on the line.”

Nyx passed the phone to the boy, who put the phone to his ear and physically sagged when he heard the Marshal’s voice on the other end, angry as it was. Amber eyes blinked back tears and for the first time the kid looked like an actual kid as he said in a wobbling voice, “Godfather Cor, it’s me. I … I want to go home. Please. I want to see Minn Konungr.”

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #kings skjald verse #gladiolus amicitia #thors (vinland saga)#in case anyone is wondering #his rescued royals #are waiting some fifty yards away from the base for word that it's safe #gladio didn't want to take a chance on the base not being kingsglaive #or them reaction badly to multiple intruders

70 notes · View notes

somepinkthing · 4 years

Link

WANGXIAN! POKEMON AU! WANGXIAN! POKEMON AU!

Summary: Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he’s been labelled the most annoying Pokemon trainer on the face of the Earth at this point, and he intends to defend his title. He’ll start with this stuck up kid who just caught him mud-wrestling a Yungoos.

Eevee and Gengar held him back by his jacket, the little traitors. He hand raises them and this is the thanks he gets? They would allow him to be disrespected by this Yungoos without a fight? Clearly, they've been spending too much time with Jiang Cheng and his incessant nagging. Wei Ying loved his brother, but he lived his life on the straight and narrow too much--what's life without a bit of trouble?!

Trouble, this time, took the form of a thieving Yungoos taking his sandwich.

Did he have others? Yes. Did he need that back? No. The sandwich was filthy now, he couldn't even eat it. But no little rodent was gonna steal from Wei-gege and get away with it that easily… unless his Pokemon have something to say about it.

Wei Wuxian tugged at his jacket. "Hey, come on! Heel! Sit! Lemme at him!"

Eevee shot him a truly unimpressed look and didn't loosen her jaw in the slightest. Ok, fair. Wei Wuxian has never once taught his Pokemon any commands to follow so he probably sounded like a madman screaming orders at them. But still! She understood him! He knows she did! Show some filial piety here, girl!

"Fine!" Wei Wuxian groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. "Fine. Let me go and I won't do anything. On my honor."

This time, his whole team shot him judgemental looks. Mimikkyu even stuck his fake head out from inside the bag to judge him with beady little fake eyes. They weren't even his real eyes and Wei Ying could still feel the judgement rolling off of them!

What is up with that?! Zero respect, he gets zero respect!

"I won't!" he insisted. "Besides, what are you gonna do? Hang onto me forever?"

Eevee looked like she was considering it, but she followed suit when Gengar reluctantly loosened her grip.

"Thank you," Wei Ying said calmly, being the bigger person. "See? I won't do anything. On my honor, I won't."

And he really wasn't going to. He reached into his pack to grab another sandwich, to prove to this Yungoos that he wasn't any broke bitch and could afford his own food without having to steal it from unsuspecting travellers.

...But then he heard a derisive sniff come from the Yungoos. The little creature actually scoffed at him!

"Got something to say?!"

Yungoos only sniffed again and… turned his tail at him?! Showed Wei Ying his ass-end?! Disrespected him in front of his own children!

Oh. It was ON.

He thrust his bag at Gengar and jumped into the fray before any of his team could react.

Sorry guys, he never had much honor anyways.

---

“What are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian freed himself just enough to look up towards the source of the question. He found a boy dressed in pure white staring down at him with a pinched expression.

“Nothing much?” Wei Ying replied, managing to free his shoulder from the sharp jaws digging into his flesh and face slam the screeching Yungoos into the dirt. “Why do you ask?”

The boy’s expression only became more pinched. “Let the Pokemon up, please.”

Wei Ying suddenly realized how this must look from an outsider’s perspective.

“Hey, hey! Listen! He started it!” But he let the Yungoos go anyways. The little demon hissed and ran towards the boy in white who easily plucked the little creature up and checked him over. Oh sure, now it was docile. Determining that it wasn’t truly injured, the boy set the Pokemon down.

Watching Yungoos race off, Wei Ying asked, “Hey… he wasn’t, like, yours, was he?”

The boy shook his head and Wei Ying sighed in relief. At least he could avoid that earful. Though, the boy was still looking at him like he was dirt beneath his pristine boots--which, considering the state of him right now, was kind of fair...

Well! No time like now to make a new friend, then! As soon as this boy spent some time with him, Wei Ying was sure he would be able to wipe this horrid first impression clean from his mind!

...Which could be hard to do if the boy left.

Wei Ying hopped to his feet and gave chase. He couldn’t let this boy leave until he’d at least gotten the chance to explain! He couldn’t lose out on a potentially interesting friend because of a stinking Yungoos. He heard the pitter-pattering of little feet following after him, letting him know that his team was right behind him.

“Hey, wait up!” Wei Ying called out. When the boy didn’t stop, he tried again. “Either you stop or I’m grabbing your perfect white jacket with my muddy, muddy hands!”

The boy halted and turned to grimace at Wei Ying. “What is it?”

Wei Ying wasted no time. “I’m Wei Ying, courtesy name is Wuxian. And you are?”

The grimace got deeper, but apparently the boy was too polite to not answer him.

“Lan Zhan. Courtesy name is Wangji.”

“Cool name!” Wei Ying admired. “You can call me Wei Ying. Or XianXian. Or even A-Xian, if you’d like.”

The boy nodded. “And you may call me Wangji.”

Ouch.

“Lan Zhan rolls off the tongue much better!” Wei Ying pressed on, undeterred.

“Wangji is just as easy to say,” his new pal insisted.

Stingy! Wei Wuxian was sure that even Jiang Cheng wasn’t this prickly! At least his brother would try to get along with anyone who wanted to befriend him. This guy was obviously giving off some very strong “Do Not Breathe Near Me, Filthy Mortal” vibes.

Well! Unfortunately for him, that only made Wei Wuxian more likely to suck in all the oxygen around him! Back home, they called him the world’s most loveable menace (or at least his sister had)! He wouldn’t be giving that title up easily! This boy could obviously use a friend and some lessons in chilling out and Wei Ying would happily provide them for him.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that, objectively, this was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his entire life. Wei Ying would like to think he was good looking for a kid and no one in his family was ugly by any means, but this guy blew them all out of the water! Skin as white as alabaster and as smooth-looking as jade! Features that looked as if they were carved by a master sculptor working on his magnum opus! Long, inky hair flowed with every step he took! Thin, pale lips with no sign of dryness or imperfection! Groomed, broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, tall, well-dressed! He was like a prince out of a fairytale!

And Wei Ying bet that he’d be even prettier with a genuine smile on his face! Though, that wasn’t to say that the look of mild-disdain he was giving Wei Ying now took away from his attractiveness in the least.

He was entirely fascinating! And Wei Ying was definitely staring!

“Well,” Lan Wangji sniffed, turning to leave yet again, “If that’s all then…”

Shit. Wait. He hadn’t at all managed to redeem himself! All he had done was give his name, annoyed the kid more, and stared at him like a creep. Wei Ying hurriedly wracked his brains for something to keep the boy around. Somehow, that translated into him frantically looking around the area looking for something more to talk about. It was then that he noticed….

“OH MY GOD! You have a Glaceon?! Did you evolve her yourself? Oh, look at her!”

Wei Ying didn’t even give Lan Zhan a chance to respond, lunging forward and scooping up Glaceon and swinging her around, making sure to get a good look at her from all angles..

“How did you already get her evolved, you can’t be too much older than me! Eevee, are you seeing this? Evolve into this, she’s so pretty! Woah! Her fur sparkles! What?!”

Lan Wangji cleared his voice sharply, grabbing Wei Ying’s attention.

“He doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.”

Wei Ying felt his fingers go icy-cold. He looked down at his hostage and only caught a glimpse of Glaceon’s glare before yelping at the feeling of sharp claws raking across his cheek.

---

“It’s very minor frostbite,” Lan Zhan told him, “You should recover fully within a day. The scratches should also heal without scarring, they were very superficial.”

He was gentle as he finished applying some antibiotic to Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

"Thanks. For bringing me to your medical bay and for the help. And sorry for scaring your Glaceon."

Lan Zhan nodded his acceptance of the apology and started to pack up the supplies. Wei Ying laughed awkwardly, never any good with silence.

"So your brother's the gym leader, huh?" Wei Ying had gotten to meet Gym Leader Lan Xichen and was embarrassed that he hadn't made the connection until he saw the resemblance between the two brothers. He had helped both boys to the medical wing when Lan Wangji had dragged a bleeding Wei Wuxian onto his doorstep. He was as kind and serene as people said he was, even if he had looked close to cracking once he'd heard the full story.

"Yes. You are here to challenge him, correct?"

And, technically, he was right. Wei Ying and his brother had both set out to challenge trials and gyms, trying to get as many as they could. It was a trial a lot of young trainers underwent and there was no way Madam Yu would ever allow her children to skip it. If they were going to do this, they would do it right! Or so help her, lord….

But now that Wei Ying had seen Lan Xichen's lineup, he was starting to wonder whether or not he should wait. He didn't even know where he'd even begin with a Wailord, how does one take down something the size of two whole houses? That thing could fit a city on his back! The only thing he could imagine might work would be to have Pachirisu zap the water and that was dangerous on so many levels! Even Wei Ying wasn't that reckless, no matter what his reputation was! He wasn't looking to die die. And, well, not to mention that it may not even work--Pachirisu could hardly produce a bolt that strong yet.

Of course, it didn't hurt that the longer he waited, the more time he'd have to get to know Lan Zhan, who only got more and more fascinating the less he talked to Wei Ying. And he really did not want to talk to Wei Ying. At this point, the ever-silent Lan Wangji was practically the most curious thing on the planet!

"I don't know," Wei Ying said with a shrug. "Hey, maybe I'll stick around, see the area. It's beautiful landscape and I'm something of an artist! Maybe… you could show me around?"

Lan Wangji looked like he enjoyed that idea as little as Wei Ying had expected him to. It took everything in his power to not laugh at the sour face the boy was pulling. His face could really get stuck that way at this rate!

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to--presumably to tell Wei Wuxian to get lost and die (probably in much more polite terms but with the same meaning)--when a melodious voice interrupted their conversation.

"If Mr. Wei truly is so taken by our humble little corner, you are naturally welcome to stay as long as you like. We have more than enough empty rooms in this compound," Lan Xichen offered generously as he entered the room with quiet, graceful steps.

"R-Really?!" Wei Ying cannot say he was expecting this outcome. He knew that Gym Leader had probably found him cute enough for a kid, but not enough that he’d want to invite him willingly into his home! Expecially with how much his brother obviously hated him.

Lan Xichen nodded though. "Of course! Presuming you show me the art you produce. I consider myself something of an artist too, you see."

"Brother…" Lan Zhan protested, his voice flat and filled with disapproval, but he was silenced by a single smile.

"Wangji, show Mr. Wei around, will you? Maybe he can even help you on your task.”

"That is not necessary," Lan Zhan cut his brother off as quickly as possible, clearly trying to nip that idea off at the bud.

Too late, Wei Ying heard that.

"Gym Leader Lan, you're as good as they say! I'll be happy to share any of my sketches!" Wei Ying thanked the big brother before turning to hound his new friend (and they would be friends. Wei Ying would get to know this kid if it killed them both).

Lan Wangji’s expression couldn’t be called a sneer, per se. But Wei Ying had a feeling that it was as close as the other boy had ever gotten to sneering in his life.

Excellent.

"Hey, I can help with your task! I'm actually pretty strong, you know. And, more importantly, I'll literally do anything! Nothing is too lowly for me, I have zero use for pride! No need to be embarrassed, just ask away! What do you need? Hey, don't ignore me! I'm saying I can help! Hey! HEY! Lan Zhan, wait for me! I'm coming too!"

Glaceon hissed at him as he made to follow Lan Zhan out the door. Wei Ying happily ignored him.

45 notes · View notes

but-tom · 5 years

Text

Tony’s Rut

Finally a real smut scene.

Hi Tony it’s Peter. I was wondering if I could drop in you know maybe bring some takeout since it’s almost dinner time. I’m like five minutes away from Delmar’s Sandwiches. Or one if I swing over there.

No. Don’t come.

Peter pouts, shoulders sagging at the text. He’s sitting on the rooftop of a run down apartment building in his neighbourhood. The omega is still in his Spiderman suit as he had been in the middle of an afternoon patrol. But how could he even focus when his boyfriend was sick? The omega hasn’t seen his alpha in almost a week! Five days ago, Peter had received a text from Tony.

Sorry sweetheart. I don’t think you should come to the Tower today. I’m not feeling well.

Of course Peter was insistent on coming anyways and being a good boyfriend. But Tony had been stern yet placating. If you got sick because of me I’d be very mad at myself.

But he was Spiderman! He hadn’t caught a cold since he was bitten at the age of fourteen. Unfortunately, there was no way of going against his alpha’s clear orders, leaving behind a sulking Peter. Only Happy had been delighted at the news. Free from having to pick up Peter after school and swatting away nosy teenagers from fogging up the windows of the Bentley.

As time passes, Peter grows increasingly anxious. By Friday, he’s going crazy. Tony’s texts were getting shorter and shorter each day. Which, Peter concludes, could only mean that Tony was getting worse. During lunch he consults his two beta friends.

“Surprise him. Show up in a sexy nurse’s outfit.” MJ advises.

Ned makes a face. “Gross.”

“Why? A male nurse in a skimpy outfit doesn’t conform to your stereotypical gender roles?” MJ doesn’t miss a beat.

Peter masterfully tunes them out and he knows he’s already made a decision. He’s going to the Tower after school.

———————————————————-

Impatient, Peter swings his way to the Tower. By the time he’s reached his destination, his web fluid is empty, but that’s fine he has no intention of going home today.

He climbs along the side of the Avengers Tower, making his way towards the discreet glass entrance near the top floor of the Tower. One that was designed and installed entirely for the Iron Man armor’s convenient access. It leads directly into Tony’s own master bedroom. And FRIDAY’s security is authorized to grant access for only two people.

As soon as he is inside, Peter peels the mask from his face and almost buckles over at the unmistakable and overwhelming stench of alpha. But what was usually the familiar and comforting scent of his boyfriend is now an attack on Peter’s already sensitive senses. The smell makes him want to sink to his knees and whine. It’s an instinct that the omega only feels during a heat.

The sound of running water draws Peter hesitantly towards the bathroom. As the scent gets stronger, his knees start to buckle and slick is already starting to run down his legs. He shakily opens the door and the omega’s breath hitch when he finally sees Tony, past the fog and shower glass, eyes shut tight, lips parted as he pumps his own cock.

The omega’s body reacts faithfully and new slick dribbles from the cleft of his ass, his body getting ready to serve his alpha’s needs.

Tony’s eyes snap open at the scent of a fertile omega, his omega. Peter visibly gulps when angry, dark eyes burn into his own.

Tony growls, “I thought I told you not to come.” And he slams the shower door open, pulling Peter harshly inside, suit and all. Peter’s slammed against the wall but he has no time to care when all he can think is more, more, more. He barely feels the fabric fall past his shoulders onto the ground in a useless heap. The omega keens when he feels an unforgiving bite to his exposed throat. He gasps, “Alpha.”

“You never listen do you. Every single time. Only bad omegas disobey their alphas.” Tony says lowly. “What am I going to do with you?”

Peter whimpers, wanting to be good. He never ever wants to disappoint his alpha.

Tony’s breath is hot against his own burning cheeks. “How should I punish you omega?”

Peter doesn’t get a chance to answer because Tony’s mouth devours his own. The kiss is absolutely filthy, he can feel the drool down his chin all the way to the base of his neck. Tony bites down on his lips before licking into his mouth again. Peter cries out when he feels a rough tug on his wet curls. But his alpha under the haze of his rut, is unconcerned. A hot mouth is busy bruising his neck and shoulders, marking what is his.

Tony’s crushing him against the cool marble of the shower but still he doesn’t feel close enough. There’s a desperation in Tony’s touch and Peter knows his alpha feels the same. “Need you, alpha. Please. Want to make you feel good.”

His answer is a groan and suddenly Peter’s feet are dangling in the air as he is hoisted up against the wall. He quickly wraps his lean limbs around his alpha, just in time as two thick fingers work into his soaked underwear and plunge into his heat. “Ah! Tony!”

It burns so good. The walls of the omega’s anus, in welcome, clench tighter around the intrusion. Peter’s eyes roll to the back of his head when he feels the pressure on his prostate. Tony is merciless as he curls his fingers to change angles. He cums with only the fingers in his ass and the omega is shaking so hard he can barely keep his grip on Tony.

There’s no time to catch a breath because the head of Tony’s cock is at his entrance. It feels solid and heavy against his sensitive rim. The boy is leaking from the anticipation. He whimpers, “Please.”

And Tony is pushing into his heat. “Tight.” His alpha grunts pleased.

Peter’s voice is hoarse as he cries out in what’s both pain and pleasure. He’s already come twice on his alpha’s cock but Tony is still relentless as he drives in, deeper and deeper each thrust. It’s too much for his abused prostate but he can’t get away. Tony’s hands leave angry fingerprints on his hips with how hard he’s gripping. Forget his spider strength, Peter can’t even remember his own goddamn name. “Tony, tony please no more. It’s too much. I- I can’t. It hurts now. Please.” Peter sobs.

“Peter,” Tony breathes out, the smouldering desire still heavy in his voice. “You said you want to be good for me. You’re perfect right now. Fucking perfect for me. Just made for my cock.” Peter is screaming as he comes again. He blacks out.

When he comes too again, he’s still damp and on a bed, and a hot, wet appendage is pushing into his asshole. “Oh my god!” Tony’s large, calloused hands hold his pale legs embarrassingly wide apart. Peter is utterly exposed and at his mercy. Tony blows into his hole. “Come on my tongue, baby boy. Just like you came on my fingers and my dick.”

Satin sheets wrap up his small frame and he’s completely surrounded by Tony’s smell. That only drives him madder and he clenches the pillow to keep the last shred of his sanity when the orgasm rips from his body.

“Delicious,” Tony looks up and grins, with a face full of slick, a tongue purposely licking his lips. When Tony crawls up to to kiss him again, Peter can taste himself, salty and sweet.

He gasps out loud when Tony pushes in without warning. “Tony please I can’t! Not again. I can’t.” He’s babbling at this point, fear creeping up on him when Tony doesn’t slow down. His cock is spent and red from coming so many times but never once being touched. Tears run down his face at the sensations building up again, “No I’m gonna- I’m gonna die. I feel like I’m gonna-.”

“Peter,” Tony soothes. “It’s OK just one more. You can do it. I know you can. My good boy. My perfect perfect boy.” And finally a hand wraps around his neglected cock, pumping slowly compared to the sharp thrusts to his insides. Peter doesn’t know to cry in relief or pain when finally Tony’s knot swells and he’s pumped up with cum.

Exhausted and overheated, Peter tries to roll away from under the weight of his lover as Tony’s knot dies down. A firm pressure on the bulge of his tender stomach stops him. Tony’s lips brush his ears, sensual and full of promise. “Sorry love, last one this time.”

The night is young after all.

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #smut #mine

643 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 5 years

Note

I love your writing so much 💕 💗 ❤️ and you write so much I don’t know how you do it. You write newt and hermans characters perfectly. Could you write about Herman finding newt trying to test his drift theory, or perhaps finding the tape newt left after everything is over and they’re together. Love 😋

ohohohoho finding the tape is such a classic vintage newt/hermann fic trope that ive somehow never written before (also thank u for ur lovely kind words!!!)

Packing up the lab takes a lot less time than either Newt or Hermann expect; they’d spent five years of their lives in that lab, after all, five years of deep research (broken vials and useless equations scrawled on graph paper and slowly decaying specimens), five years of cohabitation (mugs and dirty sweatshirts and the odd decades-old family photograph), five years of accumulating random junk (posters and dusty books and weird little trinkets Newt found in the city and gifted to Hermann), and that’s to say nothing of the contents of their bunks just off of the lab. Newt thought it would take them weeks, months, even, but the whole process only takes a few days. He supposes it helps that a lot of it is PPDC property and, thus, highly confidential and nothing they can take with them, and the stuff that isn’t highly confidential is useless at this point anyway.

What isn’t repossessed in the dead of night by Higher-Ups (Newt never even got to bid his samples farewell) mostly goes in the trash--Newt’s stash of disposable gloves, his work apron, pencils he’d stolen from Hermann and chewed beyond recognition, orange peels and dried teabags that littered Hermann’s desk, tiny nubs of chalk that were physically impossible to write with but Hermann refused to let go of until now. What isn’t repossessed or thrown out goes in cardboard boxes marked with Geiszler + Gottlieb in thick black Sharpie (because Hermann not-too-subtly indicated he wouldn’t mind continuing this trend of co-habitation with Newt even beyond their working relationship, and by “wouldn’t mind” Newt means, of course, that he caught Hermann looking up vacant apartments within walking distance from universities in every major city they had even the smallest emotional connection to, and not even specifying more than one bedroom).

All that’s left to do is finish going through their desks, which is proving to be the most demanding task of all. They have a lot of crap.

“You should save that,” Newt remarks, as Hermann attempts to throw one of his old work journals into the industrial-sized trash bin they’ve moved near the lab’s entrance. Newt’s on his hands and knees doing his very busy to peel up the hazmat tape that divides the lab.

“It’s just old, useless coding,” Hermann says, waving the book. “And I really do mean useless. Random scribbling. Not even a rough draft of a draft.”

If Hermann’s willingly parting with some of his precious math, it really must be useless. Still: Newt sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows. “Could be worth a lot of money, dude,” he says. “You could sell it to the Smithsonian.”

Hermann snorts. “It’s garbage, Newton.”

Newt holds his hands up and mimes the shape of an imaginary plaque that would, hypothetically, adorn the museum exhibit for him and Hermann that will definitely exist one day. “‘Authentic jaeger coding by Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar, nerd savior of the world.’” Hermann laughs again, and Newt shrugs with a grin.

“Mm,” Hermann says, and tosses the notebook in the bin. “I’m sure. What about these?” He holds up more dried orange peels. (Where the hell was Hermann keeping all those? Why didn’t he just throw them out right away?) “Are these also worthy of a museum?”

“‘Authentic sustenance for Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar--’”

The orange peels go in too.

“Fine,” Newt tsks, scraping up another bit of tape, “but when I make a profit off my old tissues don’t expect me to spend any of it on our rent.”

“Our rent,” Hermann echoes, and Newt goes hot in the face and scrapes even harder. He spares a glance up once the clacking of Hermann’s cane fades to the opposite side of the lab: Hermann is smiling. Something flutters in Newt’s chest.

He can do this, Newt tells himself, heart pounding, scraping at the hazmat tape. He and Hermann can do this together, like they do everything. They can live together. They can navigate a relationship together. A relationship relationship, something clear and defined and real and more than just the confused jumble of emotions they’ve existed in a state of for years and years. They have time. They have all the time they could ever want, and they have each other. Another few inches of filthy, faded tape come up, and Newt turns it over thoughtfully in his hands. How poetic, really, that it’s one of the last things to go before he and Hermann--

“Is this yours?” Hermann calls over.

He’s holding up a very familiar tape recorder, and the bubbling warmth and hope in Newt’s chest deflates quickly. It must’ve gotten mixed up with Hermann’s things after Newt drifted with the kaiju brain. “Uh,” Newt says, scrambling to his feet and stumbling over to Hermann, because Hermann cannot listen to that tape, “that’s mine, I just--take notes on it, let me--” He swipes for it, but Hermann--giving him a rather bewildered look--tucks it to his chest and presses play.

“Kaiju-Human Drift Experiment Take One,” the Newt of four days ago says, and Newt shrinks back.

Hermann does not look away from the tape recorder the entire time, not when Newt explains what he’s going to do, not at Hermann, if you’re listening to this, not even when Newt’s monologuing devolves into half-shouts and gasps and a loud thud that means he’s fallen against Hermann’s desk and to the ground. The tape runs out just as Hermann enters and cries out his name, cuts off with an audible click in the middle of a long stream of no, no, nos that twist the knife of guilt deeper and deeper into Newt’s stomach. (He knew Hermann was the one who found him, the one who yanked Newt back to reality and cradled him in his arms and brought him water and tucked his glasses carefully into his pocket, but he didn’t think--well--he didn’t realize how it must’ve been for Hermann to find him.)

When Hermann does look up, his smile has vanished entirely. “I see,” he says, icily. He thrusts the tape recorder back at Newt.

“Okay,” Newt says, “okay, listen, I know you’re probably thinking what an asshole I am right now--”

“Oh?” Hermann says, in mock-surprise.

“--but in my defense,” Newt continues, weakly, “I didn’t really think I was gonna die?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Hermann throws the tape recorder aside to the lab floor and pushes himself to his feet. “Hermann,” Newt says, “Hermann--” Newt grabs his arm, and Hermann shakes him off.

“You very nearly did die,” Hermann snaps, “and the very last thing you ever said would’ve--”

Newt grabs for him again. “I didn’t really mean--”

“Newton,” Hermann says, furious and commanding, and Newt flinches but doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says quickly. Hermann scoffs, but Newt presses on. “I’m sorry, seriously, Hermann, I mean it. I was pissed at you for treating me like an idiot, and I thought--I don’t know. I wanted to piss you off too. I wanted to prove you wrong. It was...petty.”

“It was,” Hermann agrees. He doesn’t look like he’s going to storm out of the lab anymore, which is good, even if he’s still scowling. “It was petty, and it was cruel, Newton.”

It’s Newt’s turn to scowl. “And shooting down all my theories for six months like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and making me feel useless isn’t?”

Hermann does wrench his arm away this time. “I was worried your complete lack of self-preservation would get you killed, you imbecile, that’s the only reason I shot down your theories!” Newt snaps his mouth shut, but Hermann keeps shouting. “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you--!” His voice breaks.

Newt’s kissed Hermann before (clumsy and drunk at Shatterdome parties, hard and furious during their not-infrequent no-strings-attached fucks on the floor of the lab or against Hermann’s chalkboard, sweet and gentle the night they closed the Breach and Hermann swept him into his arms and laughed and smiled), kissing Hermann is nothing new, not even when Hermann’s pissed at him, but they don’t hug, they don’t touch each other much, so Newt surprises them both when he flings himself at Hermann--who stiffens quickly--and wraps him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Newt says, eyes prickling hot (Hermann saved him twice, Hermann found him seizing and bleeding and cradled him in his arms, Hermann drifted with him and for him, Hermann loves him and Newt was careless and cruel), “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

He hears Hermann sigh, feels him sag as the fight leaves him, then touch Newt’s back tentatively with his free hand. “Newton,” he murmurs. “Oh, darling--” Newt sniffles pathetically; Hermann slides his hand up to stroke gently at Newt’s hair instead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly, and Newt clings to him tighter.

They throw the tape recorder out together.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #feeding MYSELF on some Nourishing hurt/comfort #Anonymous

98 notes · View notes

verdant-gardens · 5 years

Text

Last Minute Lore(tm) | Trik and Jack | Trial Results + Angery Argument

Yasu needs comfort and Trik has priorities, so he ignores everything that isn't his best friend or the screens around them. It seems like the time for the trial has run out, and his heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he can feel it in his throat. Even as he strokes Yasu's hair and murmurs soft reassuring things to him, Trik's eyes keep darting around the screens anxiously. The theories felt right, or at least plausible, but... was it Sen, or Komugi? Should he have voted for her instead of him?

The uncertainty lasts until Ayame appears on the screen, announcing the results... he wrinkles his nose a bit as she glitches out, and then sags with relief at the final verdict. So they were right! It was Sen! Duh, of course that was right. Now he felt foolish for even being worried, ugh, and if there was anything still questionable going on then... whatever, they could worry about it later. It was weird that they didn't get more of an explanation, and that they were just being let go... but Trik is so fucking ready to be out of here that he doesn't want to think of anything else. Probably just lingering paranoia.

"This is all fucked up, but Sora's right. Much as I'd like to sweep this traumatic shit under the rug, I can't. Like, partially 'cause I'm down a fuckin' eye an' that's gonna be a reminder every single second of every goddamn day, but also you've all like... had some serious emotional impacts on me. I think I might have grown as a person a wee bit an' I blame all of you." His tone is wry, but there's a faint grin tugging at his lips as he helps guide Yasu to his feet again.

"So, and I swear this ain't sarcastic, thank you. All o' ya." He gives warm nods around to all his classmates... almost all of them, anyway.

"Except you Giorno, you can choke." Trik's smile drops and his expression becomes a cold blank slate that he directs towards Jack. "Ya wanna dish out threats? Okay. Cool. Ya wanna murder me like ya murdered your own brother, Mr. DiCosta? I don't really feel the need to keep your secret, actually, now that it comes to it, you filthy hypocritical traitor. Teru deserves to know the trash they're holdin' hands with. Your brother avenged your mum after your dad murdered her for tryin' to leave him, an' like a chip off the old block ya go an' kill your brother too. Good fuckin' job. Y'know, where I'm from, killin' your siblings is heavily frowned upon."

There's a brief pause as he waits for that to sink in, Trik's eyes narrowed and his tone is wry and disdainful as he continues.

"Now, I ain't gonna attack ya, 'cause for whatever reason they like you. But if ya attack me, I will fight back. An' what I said before still stands. I don't care if you're scared o' me or not, I don't need ya to be scared, I really cannot emphasize enough how much I do not care about a single one o' your feelings or opinions. Anyone who would side with a domestic abuser over their own brother is not someone I'm impressed by. So as long as ya just make Teru happy, I'll go about my life pretendin' ya don't exist. Don't reply to me. Don't talk to me. Either square up an' come at me or just nod an' go about your business. Anythin' else is a waste of my time an' yours. Oh, by the way- Teru, if ya ever get tired o' this asshole, I got friends in the FBI who would probably love to put fratricidal garbage like him in prison. Fun fact, I've put a lot o' criminals in prison. So y'know, that'd be no problem."

Jack raises an eyebrow. So he really was going for it, huh? Really going to take that bait? How intriguing. He listens, an unimpressed look glazed over his face. At least, only for a moment. As the pyrotechnician continues, his expression contorts and he’s taken aback for a moment.

“Me, a traitor? I’m anything but!” He hisses, squeezing the hand in his own once more to keep himself at bay. “What, is that bologna seriously what th’damn dongle gave ya? M’dad was a good dad! He loved us! What are you fucking supposed tah do when you find your brother hanging over one of tha only people you’ve ever really loved with a knife, hah? He was the traitor. He was the one that betrayed my trust. So maybe that’s why I’m so skeptical about ya after last trial, ya fuckin’ Leprechaun.” He pauses for a moment, letting himself inhale deeply, to push any sort of rage away. Right now wasn’t the time to fight, despite desperately wanting to punch something, anything at all. His eye flickers down to the floor as his feet shift slightly, giving himself more sense of balance.

“And besides, he didn’t… M’dad didn’t kill m’mom over somethin’ petty like that. She betrayed us, betrayed th’family somehow, so she fuckin’ deserved it. That’s what he told me. He wouldn’t lie tah me about that.” His grip around Teru’s hand remains firm. The last thing he wanted was for some prick’s misconstrued information on him change anything here. “Though it’s a small group, almost everyone I’ve ever loved’s been taken away from me and I ain’t lettin’ ya do it to me again.”

Trik is still glaring, though he's also still holding up Yasu. And as Jack talks his expression shifts to one of incredulity, and then a mixture of that and pity.

"Wait, seriously?" He tilts his head, eyebrows raising, "Ya seriously didn't know your dad was a terrible fuckin' person? Seriously? There was no reason for the info on that drive to be fake, I know for sure some was real, an' you're tryin' to tell me your dad wouldn't lie to ya but he made up some vague bullshit about her betrayin' ya "somehow" an', what, it never once occurred to ya that lack o' detail was suspicious? Or that maybe your brother had a reason for killin' him? Jesus and Mary. Did ya even ask your brother what happened? Did ya ever look into any of it? Or did ya just take a murderer's word for everythin' like a goddamn sucker? 'Oh sure I murdered your mum but she betrayed us so it's fine, don't ask how or why.' Are you stupid? I ain't tryin' to take anyone from ya, I'm tryin' to make sure someone who my friend is attached to isn't gonna treat them the way your dad apparently treated his partners. An' maybe if ya actually had two brain cells to rub together an' used them ya wouldn't have lost almost everyone ya loved, maybe you'd still have your brother if ya bothered to stop and think for five minutes. He didn't betray you, but you didn't even hesitate to murder him, did you? Wow. Just, fucking wow."

At that point, Jack’s exasperation could only grow, before falling flat into pure disinterest.

“...You don’t fuckin’ know anything about m’family and the way I grew up so I’d suggest ya stop implyin’ I’m an idiot when I gotta be on m’tip-toes on who I trust constantly!” Jack groans, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “As I took it, Betrayal in a fuckin’ American mafia family can be a valid reason fer death. So fuck you for thinkin’ I should’ve questioned it. And what, would you fuckin’ stop and ask someone why they killed yer boyfriend, or any of yer family that you love, if ya just walked in on em doin’ such? No you fuckin’ wouldn’t, would ya? And even if m’dad did do shit like that, fuck you for assuming I’d ever do tha same. My dad loved tha both of us and maybe if my brother tried fucking talking tah me maybe I’d still have them both! I ain’t the one at fault here, I’m not a fucking imbecile! Quit tryna start shit. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna be the adult here, Love, and quit taking up to yer bullshit.”

"I'm sorry, fuck me for thinkin' you should question why your own mother was murdered? Do ya even hear yourself?” Trik snaps right back, “I can't believe your whole argument here is "sometimes murder is valid" like, yikes. So ya gotta 'be on your toes' about who ya trust unless that person is your murderous father who is also apparently a criminal that loved his kids so much he made them complicit in his crimes. Yeah, you're so wary but you trusted him without question. No, whatever, ya wanna add ignorant to brother-killer, have fun with that, ain't my job to help ya work through your denial. That's your business. You say fuck me for assuming anythin' about you an' then turn right around an' assume shit about me. You didn't attack "someone" standing over your dad, you attacked your brother. And for your information I would actually not immediately murder my sister, or anyone else I love with no questions asked, if I saw her standing over someone's body, no matter whose it was. But sure, you're the adult here whining about how it's not your fault you murdered your brother. I don't know who ya think you're kiddin' here, or if you're just tryin' to convince yourself, an' I don't care. I already told ya to stop talkin' to me or make good on those little threats of yours. So please, by all means, shut the fuck up." And with that he pointedly turns his attention back to Yasu, albeit keeping his right side towards Jack so he’ll still be in his peripherals.

Jack narrows his eyes once again, but does not speak. He isn't about to pull back on his own remark, no, not when that'd make him look like a fool. He asked for this, anyways, did he not? There were no regrets or arguments left. He couldn't keep saying that 'you don't get it' despite that being the truth, as far as he was concerned. A cycle of the same thing over and over in front of so many people was the last thing he needed. His eyes, full of rage, only seem to simmer when he turns back to Teru to whisper something to them. They... they needed to hear this, but they didn't need to see it.

#vg ch45 vg trial 5 #jack #trik #submission

1 note · View note

gumnut-logic · 6 years

Text

The Subject of Virgil

Title: The Subject of Virgil

Sequel and epilogue to ‘Access Denied’

Author: Gumnut

25 - 31 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool.

He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface.

“Ah, hell.”

Word count: 8388

Spoilers & warnings: Season 2 in general. Occurs sometime before 2.07 Home on the Range. Possibly AU due to the time length involved. You can read this without reading ‘Access Denied’, but it would make more sense if you read the first fic first. Angst and a little whump.

Author's note: Apparently I was a little too mean to Virgil in the last fic and he demanded some reparations – that and I felt ‘Access Denied’ didn’t quite end the way it should have. Having said that, once again this fic ended up somewhere completely unplanned (there is an entire scene missing that I’ll have to use in another fic). Whether it is satisfactory to meet the demands of the first fic, I don’t know. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool.

He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface.

“Ah, hell.”

He put the glass down and rubbed his eyes before wandering over to the main table and hitting the comms. “John, what is Scott’s status?”

“On his way back, ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Grandma and Alan?”

“Still in Sydney. Apparently, she has dragged him into The Rocks. We may not see them for a while.” Gordon smirked. Grandma was notoriously attached to craft markets and would, no doubt, arrive home dressed in tie-dye and sandals, sporting jars of homemade jams and pickles.

“Kayo still in Argentina?”

“No, Peru.” Gordon didn’t bother asking why Peru. Since the incident with Virgil’s exo-suit, she had hardly been home, scouring the planet for their nemesis. If she ever managed to get her hands on the Mechanic, they would likely no longer have a nemesis. Kayo was pissed. And Virgil was right, she was scary.

Fortunately or unfortunately, that left just Brains on the island with Gordon, and he was pretty much as irate as Kayo. Though his anger management tended to involve locking himself in his lab to conspire with physics and chemistry. Multiple cool new gadgets had been birthed just recently as a result.

Gordon’s sudden lack of conversation had John filling in the silence. “How’s Virgil?”

“The piano stool just landed in the pool.”

An exhale. “Ah, hell.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

There was another silence. “Well, you better go yank it out. Scott’s ETA is now five minutes.”

“Thanks, John.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

He managed to fish the stool out of the pool quite easily. It looked a little worse for wear and was soaked, but some time in the sun would fix that.

Looking up at the balcony revealed no sign of his second eldest brother. Gordon bit his lip. He loved his brother but be damned if he understood him.

He eyed his mother’s piano stool and sighed. Better go check that Virgil hadn’t done anything more stupid.

Climbing the stairs two at a time he entered the comms room and into the wake of his brother’s anger. Music sheets were scattered everywhere, the piano had been shoved almost to the far window and a glass, its former contents in halo, lay in pieces all over the hardwood floor.

Gordon would have said it was unlike his usually calm brother, that there was definitely something wrong, but that had already been clearly demonstrated earlier that day. No conclusions needed to be drawn as they were already known. This was just the result.

Perhaps it was a sign of Virgil’s calm personality. Gordon doubted the villa would still be standing if it had happened to him. As it was, he had the urge to destroy something anyway, preferably the Mechanic.

He couldn’t see his brother at first, but stepping further into the room, he spotted him sitting out on the floor of the balcony. Almost at the edge. His favourite flannel shirt was missing, hopefully not also a victim of this moment, just his grey undershirt hunched over in the late afternoon light. Gordon didn’t hesitate, just walked out the doors and sat down beside his brother.

“You know Scott is due in any minute. It’s going to get blustery out here.”

No answer.

Virgil had his head in his hands, one leg stuck out to the side awkwardly as if he had half fallen into position. Unsurprisingly he was wearing shorts, no doubt to keep the pressure off the large bandaged burn on his left thigh.

“I’m not going to ask if you are okay, as it is obvious that you’re not.”

No comment. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

“But I will ask if there is anything that we can do to help.”

Still no answer.

Another moment and the pool began to retract and a distant roar encroached on the sounds of the island.

“You sure you want to stay out here?”

If there was a response, it was lost in the roar of approaching Thunderbird.

A click and the large glass doors both behind them and beneath in the kitchen slid slowly closed, protecting the villa’s interior.

“Okay, but I’m borrowing your hairdryer this time.”

Thunderbird One had come to a vertical above the island and was dropping slowly, ever controlled by her pilot. The roar of approaching exhaust enveloped them, hot air swirling and catching his hair. Gordon held his breath, resistant to breathing the fumes, harmless though they were – after all Thunderbird One was hardly your typical rocket and the fuel it ran on, far more kind to its environment. Didn’t mean it didn’t have its own flavour, though. A cough and a splutter. Yes, he’d be scraping that out of the back of his throat for the next hour.

Then the exhaust was consumed by the hanger and the long, tall body of the rocket plane was slowly passing. The cockpit came into view and one exhausted, dirty and frowning Scott Tracy peered out at them momentarily before disappearing below the edge of the balcony.

“You know he’s going to be pissed.” But he could barely hear himself, and wouldn’t until the pool finally slid back into place.

Virgil hadn’t moved. His head still in his hands, but now his hair was whipped into a frenzy. Gordon had no doubt his was little different. He also needed another shower.

As the pool closed, the doors behind them retracted again and the island returned to its former idyllic tropicalness.

Of course, there was now a countdown in place. Scott would be here any moment.

Gordon sighed.

“I’m really sorry, Virgil. It sucks. Kayo will find him eventually and he will regret everything.”

Everything.

There was the sound of a sob. Gordon’s eyes widened and then his heart tore in two.

Virgil was crying.

He wrapped an arm around his brother, gently turning the bigger man into an awkward embrace, hampered by his leg. A hand ended up full of trembling dusty dark hair, and then Virgil was shaking against him, letting out not the anger, but the anguish behind it.

Hurried footsteps slowed behind them, and Gordon blinked away his own welling tears to look up at his eldest brother.

Scott was filthy. Soot and mud, the main contributors, almost hid the blue of his uniform. But it was the echoed horror in his eyes that marked his appearance more than anything.

In Gordon’s arms, Virgil was muttering between his sobs. “I’m sorry.” A harsh heaved in breath strangled by tears. “Sorry. Sorry. So-rry.” Gordon squeezed tighter, partly to reassure, partly to keep his own insides in place.

Scott crouched down, placing his hand on his shuddering brother’s back. “Not your fault, Virgil.”

A shuddering gasp. Virgil’s head shot up and Gordon saw his face for the first time since this morning. Pale skin and tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes screamed without sound. “But it is. I should never have been out there in the first place.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “If you hadn’t been there those people would have died.”

The anger returned as his brother pulled away. “If I hadn’t… she wouldn’t have gotten burnt!”

“She would have been dead, Virgil! You saved her life and the lives of her family.” Scott had fire in his eyes, determination, clarity and defence of his brother, but Gordon knew it was also fuelled by fear.

Fear of what this could mean.

“C’mon, Virg, you know he’s right. You did good today. Accidents happen. We’re not perfect. It’s gonna happen whether we like it or not.”

Those pain-filled brown eyes caught his. “How do I tell a ten-year-old girl that she is going to be scarred for life because her rescue operative froze in the middle of saving her. Literally held her over the flames, Gordon. Simply because he couldn’t keep it together.”

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “You did your best.”

“Well, I guess that is just not good enough anymore.” He pulled away, hands scrabbling at the decking as he struggled to stand. Scott straightened and reached down to help him. The moment Virgil was on his feet, he pulled away and limped back into the house.

Gordon stood up, watching Scott as his eyes followed his brother. A door slammed in the distance.

Blue eyes flickered back to his own.

“Damn.”

-o-o-o-

It hurt to walk, but Virgil didn’t care. Hobbling through the house, he stumbled out the back door and slammed it behind him.

His feet hit the gravel path and he was moving. Where, he wasn’t sure, he just had to move away. Get away. Be somewhere else.

The look in Scott’s eyes…it asked questions Virgil wasn’t ready to answer. He scrubbed a hand over his wet face, the fingers of his left hand complained loudly. A flinch and a flashback of memory.

This morning has been so normal. A situation, a spin down his chute, Gordon on his tail. Both Thunderbird One and Two attending a rockslide just north of Santiago in Chile. They had been pulling people to safety by the droves. The side of the mountain had collapsed on a small town. While Gordon had been manoeuvring the earthmoving pod, Virgil had donned his exo-suit and had been pulling people out of buildings who couldn’t get out by themselves.

He hadn’t even thought about it. It had been months since the incident. He and Scott had been down to the module bay every day, confronting any issues that popped up, which had been surprisingly few. If anything, Virgil had felt that Scott had been having more issues than he had. Apparently, it helped to hardly remember what happened when life screwed you over.

There had been nothing. If there had been, he would have pulled himself off active service. You don’t mess with psychological issues in this business, it wasn’t worth the risk.

But halfway through the morning, Virgil had had to tackle a house on fire. Probably a severed gas pipe, and he wasn’t wearing the fire exo-suit, but there were lives to save, so he jumped in feet first.

A couple of parents and two kids. He had three of them out and was carrying the last one, a young girl on his right arm, when some kind of burning debris fell across his left side.

There was pain and he whited out.

For a moment there was memory. Memory so painful, it outshone the physical burning of his uniform. Someone was screaming.

It was Scott’s shouting over the comms that snapped him out of it. But those precious moments had been lost. The girl in his arms was shrieking, her hair on fire.

He made it out of the building, stumbling to hand the girl to the paramedics. There were hands on him, but he brushed them away, staggering around the nearest building before falling to his knees. He only just managed to rip off his helmet before dumping his breakfast on the rocky ground in front of him.

Almost choking on his own breath, hands trembling, he disengaged the exo-suit, letting its weight fall off him, shoving it away. Free of its confines, he slowly tipped sideways, unable to support himself any longer.

He didn’t know how long he lay shivering on the rocks, but the next face he saw was Scott’s, his worried blue eyes frantically scanning him for injury.

There was a stretcher. There was Gordon.

There was the wonderful roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines.

And then there was sleep.

-o-o-o-

Tracy Island was a lump of volcanic rock in the middle of the Southern Pacific. It was a harsh environment, the rock geologically young, the elements having not yet quite had their way with it. Any and all paths around the island were steep and challenging and certainly not suited to an injured rescue operative just out of bed.

Virgil stumbled several times, the painkillers wearing off by the minute.

He’d woken back on the Island in the infirmary with Gordon hovering over him. Apparently, they’d both been dismissed from the rescue site. Scott was still there, finishing up with the local crews.

Virgil hadn’t been out long. Just long enough to have his injuries attended to and for the painkiller to kick in. There were bandages scattered all over the left side of his body. He rated burns in the second degree according to his brother.

All Virgil knew was that there was a great gaping hole in his chest. There hadn’t been words, so he hadn’t said anything. Eventually, having failed to get a peep out of his brother, Gordon excused himself for a moment.

Virgil took the opportunity to drag himself out of bed and head back to his room. The emptiness in his chest drove him towards solace. His rooms gave him familiarity, his clothes gave him comfort. He wrapped himself in his familiar grey t-shirt and he sought something to soothe his whirling thoughts.

He found himself in front of his piano. So he sought his solace in his music.

The fingers of his left hand were stiff and stunk of medicated cream, but he forced them to move. He needed to find the music, to find that place. A place of safety where his mind could hang suspended between the notes, held up by the rhythm and comforted by the melody.

But his injured fingers wouldn’t obey him. There was a spark of pain and he lost it. Just lost it. Everything hit him at once and he simply reacted in fury.

God, he hoped that piano stool had survived his weakness. Mom…

Fate broke that train of thought by placing a rock in just the wrong spot, causing him to stumble and knock the burn on his thigh. He gasped and grit his teeth.

No, just keep walking.

Walk, damn you.

And walk he did.

He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, so it was a surprise when the familiar sound of a jetpack zooming overhead was enveloped by the pink and orange sky of a sunset. He stopped on the path, his whole body throbbing and complaining. He looked around. Hell, he was all the way over on the other side of the island.

The blue figure in the sky circled once before dropping rapidly.

Great, he was going to get it now. Not that he didn’t deserve it, wandering off like this, but…

Aw, hell.

-o-o-o-

Scott had been frantic when they realised Virgil was no longer in the house. They had assumed the slammed door had belonged to his brother’s rooms, but an hour or so later when his meds came due, investigation had revealed his rooms to be empty.

By then Scott had showered and was in more comfortable clothing. He would have loved to have been sleeping, but he knew his brain would not let him. Not until he’d had a chance to speak with his brother. Speak properly. To reassure both Virgil and himself.

But now he was gone.

A quick word with Thunderbird Five had a lifesign pinpointed on the other side of the island. Shoving on a clean uniform, he grabbed a spare jetpack and took off.

Gordon was told to wait and answer any questions Grandma and Alan had as they had now been informed of the morning’s events and were due back any moment.

The sun was heading towards the horizon and the island was lit up in gold. The breeze was cooling against his bare fingertips and he shivered.

God, he was tired. More from emotional stress than physical. The sight of his brother curled up on his side, his uniform charred through to skin in places, practically non-responsive…

The Mechanic could rot in hell.

They’d both thought the worst was over. The pain had dulled somewhat. Scott had been processing his issues and Virgil had shown no signs of extended psychological damage.

Perhaps that should have been obvious.

Perhaps he should have forced him into that counselling he had refused.

Perhaps… He sighed. The ten-year-old had lost most of her hair. There would be some scarring, but she was alive. She had survived.

He wasn’t sure his brother would.

A whip around the area John indicated and he spotted the hunched over figure he was looking for. A glance up and he knew he had been spotted. A flick of his thumb and he was descending.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he touched down beside his brother. As expected, Virgil looked awful - cold and exhausted. Scott didn’t bother to ask why his brother was out here, he simply walked over to him, wrapped an arm around him and gently pulled him close.

“Time to come home.”

-o-o-o-

Days passed, then weeks. Burns healed, but Virgil’s heart didn’t.

He’d been pulled off active duty. Gordon and Alan now flew his beloved ‘Bird and Virgil did his best to ignore it. He stepped back into a supportive role, providing maintenance to the big machines. If it broke, he fixed it. One day might see him clambering up the side of Three, the next might have him under the belly of Two or buried in a module realigning pod equipment.

But he didn’t step a foot off Tracy Island. And he rescued no one.

He couldn’t risk it.

Scott was worried, he knew it. His big brother continued to try and corner him. To talk to him and bare his quivering soul. But Virgil didn’t want to share. He shut it all away and focussed on the here and now – the spanner in one hand, the power meter in the other and the job in front of him. Where he could do good, despite being broken inside.

And then the memories started to return. And they had to be memories, because he could not have imagined this amount of pain. It was as if the fire incident had been a trigger, a release, and bit by bit those forgotten moments had begun to return.

Flashes of the terrified look on Scott’s face. Skittering insect legs on his skin. Ice, goddamn, ice. He would be happy never to see any ice ever again. And the pain. He woke up screaming and twitching in the night, often a member of his family beside his bed worriedly shaking him awake.

It was humiliating. It was exhausting.

I wasn’t getting better, it was getting worse.

And he couldn’t function like this.

-o-o-o-

EOS knew something was wrong. John’s mood had been bad for the last week and while everyone was being civil, the under current of strain was slowly tearing their network apart.

John had mistakenly referred to the youngest one as Virgil earlier today, which was understandable for a human as Virgil was usually the pilot of Thunderbird Two. The fact that he had been ill for some weeks now didn’t immediately erase human habit of years. The silence that had followed the error had been filled with unspoken anguish and the expression on John’s face as he apologised had been equally painfilled.

The subject of Virgil was an ignition point for all sorts of arguments.

As for EOS herself, she had kept an eye on the engineer, following him through the system. He was an efficient worker, completing tasks accurately and at speed. Of course, he wasn’t John, he was Virgil and sometimes his actions were completely lost to her. John claimed it was his brother’s artistic streak. EOS was 87% sure it was just stubborn contrariousness.

But this made her no less surprised when one day Virgil just simply stopped working.

She had scooted down to the maintenance bays for her daily observations of the man only to find him absent. Further investigation and she found him in his bedroom lying on top of the bed, unshaven, shirtless, an arm over his eyes, but clearly not asleep.

An instinctive scan of his vitals found him healthy, though not at peak. There had been some weight loss due to his convalescence and his pale bare skin still sported the red remains of his burn injuries, but he was not making any attempt to rise for the day. He had a job list as long as his arm awaiting completion – she had checked, but he was making no move.

A quick query to John resulted in a sigh and a muttered ‘sick day’, so EOS had left the second eldest brother undisturbed.

But it happened again the next day. And the next. Why was he not addressing his duties? When asked, John had looked pained and told her to leave Virgil to himself.

So she did.

But he still didn’t attend to his duties. He ate. He slept. He managed the physical necessities of life, but little more. She watched as his family came to him in turn and attempted to cajole him into movement, but he refused them all. Even the eldest brother, who she had suspected would be the most successful, had ended up out in the hall, his back to the wall, hands running through his hair, desperation on his face.

So the subject of Virgil became very sensitive and she dare not mention it.

Until the day John got stuck in his bathroom.

EOS had access to all electronic equipment aboard the station, but there was a compliment of manual systems left so for safety reasons. The lock on the toilet door was one of them, and it broke. With John inside the small room.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, John, but the mechanism is jammed. I am unable to help you.”

The astronaut let his head drop against the door. “I am never going to live this one down.”

“Chances are very small.” She let a smirk into her tone.

John sighed. “Who is available?” The question could have been phrased ‘Who gets to laugh at me first?’

“Virgil Tracy is currently on the Island.”

She could see him calculating variables. She really didn’t need to tell him who was available. He knew where everyone was. He was the one who sent them there. Thunderbird One was in Buenos Aries with the eldest, Thunderbird Two was in Bangladesh with the two youngest, Thunderbird S was in England and the Chief Engineer was in California for a conference. That left the Grandmother who would be needed to take over monitor duties…and Virgil. She waited.

A sigh. “Hail Tracy Island. Voice only.”

-o-o-o-

The days had begun to blur into a repetition of grey nothing. He’d originally taken a break to see if he could get his thoughts in order, but somewhere amongst it all he’d lost…something…maybe even himself. The nights wracked by nightmares, left the days only a little less so, and he lost the energy and motivation to do anything.

His family came. They talked, they badgered, and, in Scott’s case, there had been yelling. He knew he was hurting them, but he was hurting so much himself, he had no resources to spare. So he just focussed on the basics, getting from one day to the next and kept to himself.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a sketch pad and pencil, once again staring at a blank page that refused to absorb anything he attempted to throw at it, when John’s voice echoed through the room.

“Uh, Virgil, I need a favour.”

He blinked. “John?” A frown. “Are you okay?”

“Um, I need you to come up to the station.”

“Why?”

A sigh. “The locking mechanism to one of the bathroom cubicles is jammed.”

“Huh?”

“While I’m in it.”

It took a moment for his brain to do the math on that. “You’re stuck in the toilet?”

“Yes.”

Despite everything…everything…Virgil’s lips couldn’t help but smirk. “Really?”

“Yes, really. And I can’t get out. EOS has transferred monitor duties to Grandma, but I need your help to get out of this…predicament.”

“Gordon’s gonna love this.”

“Gordon isn’t going to find out about this, is he?” The glare made it across thousands of miles of space and atmosphere even without visuals.

“We’ll see. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Thanks, Virgil.” And John signed out.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile.

-o-o-o-

A misstep in the direction of his chute soon sobered him up. He swallowed and instead made for the uniform lockers. He didn’t let himself think as he put on his uniform on. Didn’t think as he buckled on his sash and tool belt. Grabbing his helmet and extra tools, he entered the access shaft for the space elevator that was just now connecting with its staging platform, no doubt sent by EOS.

He could count on one hand the number of times he has used the elevator. Out of all the team, he was the least likely to visit Thunderbird Five as he usually had his hands full down here with Thunderbird Two. There was a pang in his chest, but he ignored it. There was a job to be done. A brother to be saved.

From his bathroom.

The smirk appeared again.

Latching himself in the seat built for his younger brother, he leant back and forced himself to relax.

“Hello, Virgil.”

“Hello, EOS. Are we ready?”

“Finalising pre-launch now.”

He closed his eyes waiting for the subtle movement of release.

“Launching now.”

The craft shuddered just slightly, its boosters fired, and the pressure across his body increased as they accelerated up into the atmosphere.

“Thank you for coming to John’s assistance, Virgil.”

Virgil opened his eyes and peered to look up at the camera manifesting the AI. “No problem, EOS. Anytime.”

There was a silence, but Virgil felt she hadn’t left. “Do you have a question, EOS?”

“What is wrong?”

He blinked. “With what?”

“With you.”

A frown. “What do you mean, EOS?”

“For the past two weeks you have been functionally inoperative.”

“I’ve….I’ve been unwell.” He fidgeted. He did not want to talk about this.

“Incorrect. Your body has healed and you are fully capable of resuming at least the basic duties you were attending to prior to this fortnight. Why have you not returned to the hangers?”

“I-“

“Thunderbird Two’s performance has dropped 3%.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“The youngest brothers’ schedules are full. They have their responsibilities as well as yours to consider. Why are you not helping?”

Virgil sagged in his seat. “I needed the time.”

“We need you.”

His voice was small. “I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-“

“And John is worried.”

What could he say? He wasn’t sure she understood the half of it. When it was stated so simply, the answer seemed obvious. But it wasn’t so simple.

“EOS, do you dream?”

“I do not sleep.”

He sighed. “You have my envy.”

“Why?”

So young, so naïve at times, yet so powerful, EOS was amazing. His brother had created life, no matter how inadvertently. Did that make him an uncle? In any case, they all had a responsibility to assist with her education. EOS was family.

“EOS, it is complicated. Human health is not simply reliant on physical systems. Sometimes an event can have emotional connotations that can affect physical functioning.”

“You have injured your mental health?” She seemed surprised. “Why have you not sought medical assistance?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How?”

Well, this was turning out to be one of the longest eight minutes of his life. “John? How are you doing?”

“John is fully functional and sitting on the toilet.”

That was an image in itself. “EOS, why aren’t you letting me speak to him.”

“Because I want to speak to you.”

Okay, mini-tantrum in place. “EOS-“

“No, I want to understand why you aren’t looking after yourself. I miss our time together. If you are mentally ill, why not seek out treatment and get well? Then we can spend time together again. Don’t you miss me?”

Oh, god, this was getting into difficult territory. “Of course, I miss you, EOS.”

“Don’t you want to get well?”

“Of course, I do!”

“Then why have you not sought assistance?”

He wished he didn’t have his helmet on. Then he could rub his face with his hands and possibly gouge his own eyes out. As it was, it wasn’t worth the fingerprints on his faceplate. “I need time.”

“You’ve had time. You appear to have cut yourself off from all family aid. If I measure your health in relation to familial interactions, it is declining.” She paused. “You yelled at your eldest brother.”

Oh great, now she was accessing further information and checking the logs. “EOS-“

“You have rejected all the attempts of help offered by your family.”

“EOS!”

“Are you going to yell at me, too?”

He closed his eyes, squeezing his face shut, biting back everything. “No.” His voice was hoarse.

“Approaching dock. Stabilisers firing.”

The little craft shuddered and his stomach sank as momentum was shed. The clunk of the grapple was a very welcome sound.

“You may now depart. Thank you for flying with IR Elevators.”

Virgil simply stared up at the camera. What? But EOS didn’t say anything further.

He felt like he had been through an emotional wringer. Did the kid have any idea? He knew enough to not underestimate her.

A sigh and he clambered up out of the support chair and made his way onto the station.

-o-o-o-

This was humiliating.

John glared at the mechanism holding him for the bounty of his brothers’ laughter.

“Your brother has arrived and will be here shortly.”

“Thank you, EOS.” And thank goodness.

“John?”

“Yes, EOS?”

“Why is Virgil refusing to seek treatment for his mental illness?”

Mental illness? “EOS, what did you say to Virgil? I told you to let him be.”

“But it is not working. He is getting worse, not better.”

“EOS.”

“I miss him.”

“We all do.”

“Then why don’t we help him?”

There was a thud on the other side of the door and it was flung open. His brother hovered in front of him. “Hey, John.” There was the expected smirk.

But John didn’t return it. Virgil looked awful. He’d lost weight. He was pale. His uniform was baggy on him. His broad shoulders appeared stooped and where his quietly confident brother had once stood now hovered a shadow of his former self.

“Virgil?”

“So you like it so much in there, you want to stay?” At least there was a spark of humour in his eyes.

“Thank you for coming.”

A hand reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Any time, bro.” Another smirk. “So what do I get for not telling Gordon?”

John pushed off and sailed past his brother. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. Blackmail has an expiry date.”

“I’m sure it does.” He rolled his eyes, but worry was roiling in his stomach. He bit his lip. “I just need to go and check on Control. See you up there?”

“Sure. I’ll fix this and meet you there.”

“’Kay.” He turned and left.

-o-o-o-

The lock only took moments to fix. A bit of oil and a replacement tongue did the job, but he did make a note to log it with Brains. This could have become a serious situation and they didn’t need two pieces of poorly designed metal making their lives even harder.

Finishing up, he packed up his tools and headed for the ring. He had to admit it felt good to be away from home. He wouldn’t have thought it would, but it did. Stepping onto the glass of the gravity ring only made it better.

Far below him spun his planet. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had been in space, he was a Tracy after all, but having time to actually take a moment to just look and not have to rush to save a life? He wasn’t sure that had ever happened.

He found himself sitting down on the glass, tools discarded beside him, the gravity ring spinning slowly, Earth, then stars, Earth again, stars again, it was almost hypnotic. The monsoon crackled over northern Australia, a cyclone brewing to the far west. He could see the snow-capped peaks of New Zealand.

Soft footsteps found him and his brother folded himself down elegantly beside him. “It’s beautiful isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Say, how long has it been since you’ve been up here?”

Virgil frowned. “At least six months.”

“Eight months and twenty-nine days.”

“Thank you, EOS.” His eyes darted back to Virgil. “Would you like to stay for a while?” A shrug. “I could do with some help with maintenance, if you need an excuse.”

Virgil looked up at his younger brother but saw no conniving demand to talk or need to help. John was…well, John. His honesty and directness came with the territory. “Sure.” A pause. “Thanks.”

“Great. I’ll ask Grandma to send up some of your stuff.” His brother unfolded smoothly to his feet.

Virgil stared down at the Pacific Ocean.

It was certainly a change of scenery.

-o-o-o-

It was unexpected, but it somehow helped. Virgil found his feet returning slowly to the ground now he was nowhere near it. At first, he was just a passenger. He spent his days sitting on the glass of the gravity ring simply watching. Thunderbird Five operated around him, emergency calls caught and handballed by his brother in the smooth flowing functionality that was International Rescue. But slowly, here, away from Thunderbird Two and the complications inherent, he was drawn into the flow. Soon calls to Thunderbird Five were also being answered by a deep baritone. Scott had stumbled over his words the first time but hadn’t commented. Gordon and Alan were just their usual amusing selves and they poked fun at him as they always had. For the first time in months he began to feel the cloud lifting. He found himself smiling.

John was quiet company. Simply there, often buried in reading or research. No demands to talk, no questions about his health. Simply there.

EOS was a challenge at times. Her questions were endless, but at some point John must have spoken to her and the torrent slowed.

Virgil finally found space to breathe.

There were still nightmares. He was pretty sure they were never going to leave. But they were fewer and he handled them better. In space EOS heard you scream. EOS got into the habit of telling him where he was, what time it was, where everyone else was and that he was okay.

It was a different world.

Apparently different helped.

Of course, he wasn’t John and it wasn’t long before he was thoroughly missing his family. Holograms couldn’t replace that hand on his shoulder or simply sharing physical space with a loved one. But he made do. For the first time in weeks, he finally felt like he was making progress. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

And then a building collapsed on his eldest brother.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!” Alan’s yell across the comms scraped bone.

“Alan, report!” Virgil floated beside his brother far above the planet and too damn far away.

“The supports are giving way! Scott, move it, damn you!”

The roar of concrete and masonry could be heard over the comms. Virgil flicked through scans, then logged directly into TB2’s external camera.

The six-storey building was coming down. He saw a flash of blue through a window before dust and rock obscured everything.

“Alan, report!” His voice roared over the comms.

“Virgil.” John’s calm voice, usually heard over the comms, was in his ear. “He’s okay.” His brother’s hand flicked up the readouts from Scott’s uniform. Virgil’s eyes skipped across the numbers, his paramedic training drawing a picture. But his own heart was pounding.

A touch quieter. “Scott? Scott, status?”

Alan finally cut in, coughing loudly. “Thunderbird Five, do you have him?”

John answered. “Scott’s vitals are stable. We are getting no response, but he is alive. Two life readings.” So whoever he had dived in for had survived as well. Virgil pulled up the scan of the situation, chunks of holographic masonry still settling above two life signs.

“I’m going down.” Virgil moved towards the door.

John intercepted him. “Virgil, you’ve been in space for weeks now. Are you sure you are up to this?”

He caught his brother’s eyes. “I better be.”

-o-o-o-

Alan was covered in concrete dust and he couldn’t stop coughing. Even after grabbing his helmet and upping the oxygen level. Scott was going to carve him a new one when he found out he’d removed it in the first place.

Well, once he answered his damn comms. “Scott?”

The woman whose child Scott had run into the building to save, was clinging to his sash, jabbering at him in what he assumed was Indonesian, tears running down her face.

“Virgil is on his way down.” John’s voice was firm.

“What?”

“ETA five minutes.”

Alan looked up at the clear sky but couldn’t see anything…yet. Oookay, maybe the carving would start earlier.

“John, can you give this woman some reassurance?” He needed to start moving.

John’s voice, speaking whatever, spouted over his external speaker. The woman finally let go and babbled back. “I’ve told her that her son is alive and that we will do our best to get them out.” Alan grabbed her shoulders with gentle hands and did his best to smile reassuringly. Her head bobbed in desperate gratitude.

He stepped away just as the hiss and roar of deceleration thrusters fired above him. Looking up, the elevator came into view. Not exactly the safest way to travel. Alan bit his lip with concern only to get another mouthful of concrete dust. He sputtered.

“John, can you see a point of access to reach him?”

“Scott and the child are caught in a space beneath a large section of wall. We’re going to need Thunderbird Two to lift it.”

Damn. That made it harder. It also explained why his brother had jumped ship. It would have taken him only moments to assess the rescue site.

The Space Elevator landed off to one side. Alan hurried over as the hatch opened and his brother climbed out, his feet hitting Earth in a little puff of more dust.

He turned…and tripped, falling on his face.

“Ow.”

It would have been absolutely hilarious in different circumstances. Alan reached his brother and gave him a hand up. “I guess you are never laughing at John again.”

Virgil glared at him. Alan couldn’t help but feel his heart lift at the sight of it. Virgil looked, well, better. Not one hundred percent, but his spark was there.

“Situation?” All business.

As the Elevator retracted into the sky, Alan reported the dot points of the lead into the collapse and the status of equipment available. His brother strode directly over to the towering Thunderbird Two, prodding his remote. She responded immediately, the pod bay door opening so fast he didn’t need to alter his stride to enter.

“Alan, take the pod, multi-claw and leg combination. We’re pick and throw initially. I’ll take the exo-suit.”

He shot his brother a look, but didn’t comment on that last, no matter how much he wanted to. “FAB.”

He busied himself setting up the pod, only the occasional glance in his brother’s direction. But he did watch as the man approached his suit.

No hesitation. He lent back, slipped his arms into the sleeves. The suit snapped on, attaching its support framework to his uniform. And Virgil was moving.

Alan jumped into the pod and slid the hatch closed. “John?”

“Alan?”

“Keep an eye on him.”

“Always do.”

-o-o-o-

It was a blur of concrete and dust. Manual labour, an old friend. Virgil grunted as he lifted a particularly heavy chunk of masonry, near the suit’s limits, an alarm sounded in his helmet.

Okay, I got the message. He lowered it and signalled to Alan to retrieve it.

His body ached. Space had made him soft.

Scott still hadn’t responded and despite John’s continued reassurance, Virgil’s heart was in a knot. They weren’t moving fast enough. They had to clear the rubble above the large section of wall to enable Thunderbird Two to get a good grip on it, and to make sure random rock didn’t then fall in on the trapped victims.

“A-alan?”

“Scott?!” Virgil paused.

“Virgil?”

“Scott, status?”

“I’m…I’m stuck. My head…augh.”

“Are you injured?” There wasn’t an immediate answer. “Scott?”

“My head…what are you doing here?”

Virgil swallowed and immediately started shifting masonry again. “Digging you out, dear brother.” He grunted as he threw away another large chunk of concrete.

“But…you’re sick. In space.”

That was worrying. Scott did not sound himself at all. “Well, apparently I don’t get to stay up there if my brother lets a building fall on him.” Another grunt of effort. “What is the status of the child you were attempting to save?”

“Can’t see.” Sounds of movement. “I think he’s unconscious.”

“Hold on, Scott, we are getting there.” The pod reached over him and lifted up a particularly large block and Virgil moved in to clear the smaller chunks left behind.

“Good…miss you…” His brother muttered unintelligibly, his voice going quiet.

“Scott! Stay awake. Talk to me.”

“Y-you didn’t want to talk to me. You left.”

Virgil didn’t have time for recriminations right now. However, the piece of rock he threw this time did land quite a bit further away than the last.

“I had to, Scott.”

“Why?”

“I needed time.”

“For what?”

To get better? To think? To hide? He threw another chunk of rock and there was a yelp from Alan. “I don’t know.”

“Wanted you to get better. Miss you.”

“I know.”

“Virgil, the slab is clear enough to excavate.” John.

“Copy that, Thunderbird Five.” He turned to Alan, looking up at the pod beside him. “Alan, you have Thunderbird Two. Use the grapple guns and secure the wall. Spread the weight as much as possible. “I’ll manage down here.”

Alan stared at him through the cockpit, but only for a second, and that was followed by a muttered, “FAB.” The pod stalked back to the module bay.

“Scott?”

“Vir-gl.”

“Stay with me, Scott. We’re about to get you out.” Behind him, the sweet, familiar sound of his ‘Bird’s VTOL firing up. A wave of dust and hot air swirled around him.

“Want to stay with you. Miss you.”

Just for a moment Virgil closed his eyes. Guilt and pain swirled around behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

And then loud multiple thunks as Alan fired the grapple guns and secured the wall. Virgil stood ready to catch or steady anything they had missed. He could almost feel John’s eyes far above casing the scene, as Alan slowly elevated the concrete slab.

“To your left, Virgil.”

He grabbed the sliding rock and flung it away. “Keep it going, Alan. All steady here.” And finally, the masonry was lifted high enough for him to see his brother sprawled face down, a young boy held protectively beside him.

There was a groan over the comms and Scott struggled to roll over. “No, Scott. Stay still. We’re almost there.”

Thunderbird Two shifted the slab sideways and at last he could run over to his brother. He shed the suit in two steps. It clattered to the dust behind him, and he was on his knees.

“Hey, Virg…” Disoriented grey blue eyes smiled up at him as Scott twisted around to see him. They blinked away crusted red blood.

“Hey, hey, stay still.” Virgil reached out to cup his brother’s helmet. His fingers ran over a good solid dent in its side. Source of concussion found.

Scott grabbed his arm. “You stay?”

“Of course, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Scott visibly relaxed. “Don’ go’way.”

And then there were paramedics, vital signs and stretchers.

-o-o-o-

Scott had been lucky. Somehow, other than a doozy of a concussion, he was uninjured. The little boy had a milder concussion and a broken arm. Both had been so, so lucky.

The doctors wanted to keep his brother in hospital overnight, but Virgil knew Scott would hate every second of it and wouldn’t be able to relax properly, so he convinced them that as an International Rescue operative he had the skills needed to care for his brother – which he did.

Alan landed Thunderbird Two on the hospital helipad and, before the sun set, they were on their way home.

“Virgil?” John’s voice startled him as it echoed around the medical bay.

“Huh?” He lifted his head off his arms. His eyes automatically scanned Scott’s somnolent form on the same bed he was leaning on. Sleeping soundly.

“You’re exhausted, Virgil, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later. Need to keep an eye on Scott.”

“You’re practically dead on your feet. A zombie. You’re not doing him or yourself any good. Go and lie down. I will keep an eye on Scott.”

Virgil let his head drop onto his arms again. “Can’t, gotta stay.”

There was a soft muttering over the comms and only two words were clear enough to understand – ‘two’ and ‘blockheads’.

“What?” But then he decided he didn’t really care and let himself drift. “Gotta stay.”

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy woke with one hell of a headache. The first thing he saw was the ceiling of the infirmary. The second was his sleeping brother.

Virgil lay on the bed next to him, on his stomach, with his face smashed up against his pillow, snoring softly. Scott’s eyes automatically scanned him for injury but could find nothing obvious.

As to how either of them had ended up here...something must have happened on the last mission, but he was having trouble recalling exactly what the last mission was.

Virgil snuffled in his sleep, a frown briefly creasing his brow before settling again. Scott’s insides tensed. Sleep hadn’t been Virgil’s friend for some time. He silently wished for this moment to be quiet and undisturbed. It was relaxing to just share a room with the man.

He had missed Virgil. His youngest brothers were excellent rescue operatives and he loved them dearly, but Virgil...working with Virgil was seamless. They communicated without words, they knew each other so well, that they could anticipate exactly what was needed and when. And his quiet brother’s silent support was all he needed to face anything.

It had been like losing a limb when Virgil was injured. And he had been hobbled ever since.

“He refused to leave you.” John’s quiet voice startled him. When he shifted on the bed looking for a hologram and found John solid beside him instead, he was surprised even more.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Splitting headache.”

“That’s what you get when a building falls on you.”

“What about Virgil?”

“He’s fine. Just exhausted. He and Alan dug you out.”

Something twinged in his gut. “How?”

“Pod and the exo-suit.”

“He okay?”

John shrugged. “You needed him, he was there. I honestly don’t think there was anything else in the equation.” Green eyes shone at him. “You would have been proud.”

Quietly. “Always have been.” Of all of them. He looked back at his sleeping brother. “Thank you for taking him, John.”

John smirked. “If Gordon finds out about the bathroom incident, you are going down, big brother.”

A smile twisted Scott’s lips. “I’ll take it for the team.”

-o-o-o-

To say things got easier from that point on would simplify it all too much, but they did. Virgil got his feet back on the ground.

After space floppy muscles were toned back up into their original condition, once he started eating the diet of an active man, his uniform tightened up, his strength returned, and with it his spirit.

He would never be the same Virgil again - too much, far too much, had happened to not leave scars. There were touchy subjects and the nightmares still made visits, but according to EOS he was now ‘functionally operative’. And there was the occasional smile.

Scott healed quickly. He still claimed to remember pretty much nothing about the building collapse. Virgil had questioned him thoroughly on that on several occasions, but his story ran true. There was a building, possibly a child, then a complete blank until he woke up in the infirmary.

Having had a similar experience not so long ago, Virgil didn’t hesitate to drag his brother to a specialist on the Australian mainland, just in case. But the answers were once again inconclusive. Scott may remember some of it, may never recall any of it.

Rescues dropped off in number. With two operatives down, they were limited in any case, and Virgil suspected John was intercepting and delegating at a higher rate.

Virgil knew he was going to have to step back up to the plate at some point. He couldn’t hide much longer. And yes, ‘hide’ was the word he was using now. He was back in shape, he just needed to make that last step.

So, it was on a quiet afternoon while the comms room was empty that he approached his piano for the first time in months.

The stool had been lovingly cleaned and repaired. Apparently, Gordon had seen to that. Virgil ran his fingers across the soft material before sitting down. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the instrument. Someone had kept it clean in his neglect.

Ivory beckoned, so he reached out and played a note, another, and then a spritely little tune that spoke mischief as if he was sneaking to play his piano against the rules.

Virgil smiled and let go.

-o-o-o-

Down by the pool Scott looked up as if he could see the music in the air. Gordon surfaced from the water and he caught his brother’s eye grinning like a madman. Alan walked out of the kitchen, his neck straining to look above the balcony, so distracted he nearly joined Gordon in the pool.

Scott nudged a comm. “Hey, John, listen to this.”

There was no answer at first, but then, “Oh, thank god.”

Scott smiled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gumnutfic

32 notes · View notes