#it's been over a week and I have still not recovered from the brain rot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ms-demeanor · 2 months

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Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

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lace-coffin · 4 months

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Hii! I hope your having a good day/night so far, but I js now thought of this and I lowkey cannot stop having brain-rots over it… so yknow how like, men are sometimes called ‘bears’? I was wondering if you could write a fic abt Asa getting his hands on a so called ‘bear’ of a dude who’s much beefier and taller than him, but still submissive asf? 👀

How would Asa Emory feel about a gay bear s/o? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x male!bear!reader

Tw for kidnapping, power exchange/power dynamics, general Asa Emory things

Requests are open!

I was literally about to go to bed when I saw this request and I was like I NEED TO DO THIS NOW OMG. Safe to say I absolutely love this idea and loved writing it💖 hope you enjoy!

Asa didn’t think he had a type until he met you..now he’s sure he couldn’t ever go back.

You were the lecturer in the classroom next door, sure Asa knew of you but he didn’t know you personally, never caring enough to go introduce himself to other lecturers like some kind of newly moved in house warming party, he was solely interested in teaching his classes, getting out, and tending to his collection, hopefully managing to cram a few hours sleep in until he has to wake up and repeat it again.

The class had finally began to pick up as all the students had settled and the lecture was underway, until a timid knock sounded on the door. Asa was pissed. If he has to sit through his students fussing again he’s going to lose it.

That was until he pulled open the heavy wood door and revealed you, looking professional but still boyishly handsome. Your tucked shirt pulling taught where the largest part of your belly settled, folding softly over your belt. Sleeves rolled up to reveal thick arms, spattered with an ample amount of dark hair, knuckles equally hairy to match. Asa’s face heats up and he curses in his head, only making matters worse as he drags his eyes over your ample chest subtly, well as subtly as you can when your practically eye fucking the bear of a lecturer that just interrupted your class.

“-came to ask if I can borrow some empty work books…excuse me..sir?” Asa’s head snaps back up to the stranger’s face, realising he hadn’t been listening to a word the man was saying, completely lost in eyeing him up. “Ah, my apologies, I’m a little out of it today, this way.” Asa tries to recover the interaction and guides him to the empty work books, picking up a load with a grunt and placing them in your hands, not missing the way your knuckles brush his during the exchange.

You take the books from him like it’s nothing, not even a strain or flinch, fuck, that was hotter than it should’ve been. You thank him and leave, presumably back to teach your class, whatever it is you actually teach, he’d been to caught off guard to ask anything of importance.

For the rest of the day Asa can’t forget the way “sir” sounded coming from your lips.

He wants to find out more about you and he does, under the guise of bumping into you in the teachers lounge or offering you a ride back to your house. he now knows you teach English, it’s not really what you wanted to do but it pays the bills. He knows you usually wear suits apart from on Fridays when you choose something more casual for the end of the week. He knows you live alone and your daily schedule, knows when the best time to strike is. He knows no one will look for you.

It’s Months later and everything has changed, Asa has more of a spring in his step as he returns home, the weight of the day not affecting him as harshly when he knows he’s coming home to his favourite pet.

It wasn’t hard to gain your trust, easy to believe in peoples kind words and actions, it was almost laughably easy to find out where and how you live, oblivious to the turtle neck clad figure trailing a few blocks behind. You hadn’t gone down easy into the box but that’s the way he likes it, likes a bit of a struggle.

Now Asa has you at his beck and call, only needing to snap his fingers or say one word to have you scrambling to follow, eager to impress. You would think due to your large structure that you would be in control, no questions asked but it was obvious to any onlooker that wasn’t the case. Asa had you wrapped around his finger, always following his heels like a well trained attack dog willing to do anything for his masters approval.

Now Asa had you where he wanted he wasted no time in admiring you, all soft curves and dark hair, masculine and sexy. Your daily wear now mostly consisted of leather harnesses, loving the way the straps wrapped around you, making your flesh spill over them but constricting you at the same time. He could stare at the way the harness pushed forward and presented your hairy tits to him for hours, now adorned with two shiny barbells to Asa’s liking. Tugging on your harness when he needed to move you was always a plus in the design, and always and excuse to run his hands over your warm skin.

Despite what anyone may presume you actually turned out to be naturally submissive once broken down, “the bigger they are the harder they fall” as they say, Asa’s not sure that applies to kidnapping grown men but he can’t find it in himself to care. Your doe eyes look to Asa for guidance in even the simplest things, loving the attention and not having to think for yourself. Just wanting to be a mutt for your master and nothing else.

Asa thought you were perfect, the way your eyes water as you drool dumbly behind the bone shaped gag tightly in your mouth. The way your hairy thighs wrap around him as he fucks into you obscenely. The way you sit at his feet obediently and keep his cock warm in the back of your throat as he works at his desk, only making small noises of complaint when you run out of air. Nothing asa can’t fix with a sharp slap on the cheek and a kiss on the forehead.

You take well to the cage, having just enough room to stretch out and sit up but that’s it. You crawl back in when ordered, letting sir lock you in with one last kiss on the lips and a request to be good and sleep well. You’re always excited to see him again in the morning, pressed against the cage needily and wiggling your behind in a cute imitation of a dogs wagging tail.

“Bark” you let out a sound similar to a woof, not completely the same as an actual dog but you’re not completely confident in it yet, still humiliated by the action. Asa’s lips thin out into a straight line, not completely satisfied with your effort.

“Again, put your voice into it” you let out a sigh of embarrassment and close your eyes, breathing in and letting out a more solid bark. Asa smiles this time, running his gloved hand over hair, abruptly grabbing a handful and wrenching your head back so you can meet his dark eyes. “Good boy, always so eager to please master, aren’t you my mutt?” You make a weak noise at being grabbed so harshly but reply “y-yes sir” Asa tugs your hair harder causing your scalp to sting in a way that makes your thighs rub together. “Again, louder.” He orders back, not making any room for excuses. “Yes sir! I love being a stupid mutt for you! Love following orders and making you proud!” You pant back, a lot louder and more desperate this time.

A satisfied smile slips onto Asa’s face as he releases your hair from his grasp, easing the pain in your scalp. Your master tugs the ring of your collar, pulling your chin up with it to look at him.

A moment passes and looks are exchanged, yours of need and Asa’s of smugness. Your lips meet in the middle for a searing kiss, lips and teeth clashing. “Good dog” Asa mutters in between kisses.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collection #writing #my writing

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frizzle-mcshizzle · 2 months

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[crawling towards you, I am translucent pale and my lips are cracked. You feel pity. It’s as though I’ve crawled through the desert just to find you. I reach out]

Dex Dizznee… I need headcanons… [coUGh]… please

this literally the funniest ask ive ever gotten this was amazing to wake up to

you also have amazing timing i have been brain rotting about Stinex (or as im calling it now Copper Mares) for the past two days so hes very much on my mind rn

he's self taught ambidextrous, and intentionally uses it as a pun with his name

he has curly hair and a ton of freckles

while his dad has five older siblings he only has three cousins that are around his age on that side and his family doesn't have a good relationship with his uncle so he doesn't see two of them at all

he has been helping Kesler in Slurps and burps since he was 8, and when he was a baby the first thing that made him laugh was the burping doors

the Dizzee's and Ruewens have weekly movie nights where they will all (including the adults and bodyguards) take turns choosing the movie

he has a collection of human technology that his mom got him that he consistently uses to make better weapons or things that can help around the house

his entire family has panic-switches and he has a master panic switch ring that will let him now whos in trouble where they are located with the projectable screen

he ends up telling Rex he will be talantless after talking to his parents about it, instead of that putting strain on their relationship it made Rex and Dex closer as he did everything he could to make things that would give talentless some kind of ability

he made Livvy a light projection tool so she doesn't have to hold Candles while doing her job

Dex and Stina were friends when they where very little but when the Heks realized that distancing themselves from the Dizznee's would increase their social status they quickly cut them off

when he was growing up he only saw Edaline and Grady during their quarterly exiler refills at slurps and burps, Juline invited them over for dinner more than once but they couldn't handle being around children for that long so they never came.

after he was hit by the melder he couldn't go home for two weeks he was constantly having full body spasms and had constant migraines, the triplets where so worried about him that they took turns visiting and being unnaturally quiet so they could see him

he's terrified of fire but tries not to show it, but when she's around it he can't help but stare at it like it's going to jump out and attack him. hes afraid of Marella after she maifested but doesn't want to be because he know she's wont hurt him. but when he sees her control fire all he can think about is getting burned by brant

when they where kiddnapped he wasn't constantly sedated like Sophie was and remembers much more than she does, he remembers her screams and them forcing sedatives down her throat, he rarely talks about it because no one asks and if he mentions it in front of his parents they get these galzed over looks on their faces and Juline's hands start to ice over, so he stops because hes already put then through enough

he has nightmares that make him wake up screaming, sometimes Lovise will the only one to hear him because he stops before the rest of his family wakes up. she will sit with him and teach him calming techniques that Goblins soliders use, other times his parents would wake up and sit with him for minutes yo hours, sometimes in silence sometimes he would cry, it happens at least once a week, sometimes more.

he has a stuffed griffon Ewlin got him while he was recovering called called feathersworth, he keeps it under his pillow whenever he's sleeping and

sometimes he will stay up into the odd hours of the morning just to avoid going to sleep because he doesn't want to have nightmares, Lovise will have to physically pull him to his bedroom because hes been awake for more than 24 hours and is still fighting sleep

he missed his mom and dad more than anything while he was with the black swan desperately wanting to talk to them. when he found out that Juline was squall it took him forever to forgive her, it put a lot of strain on their relationship and while Juline did her best to make it up to him it, it was just something he had to forgive her for because nothing can make up for that.

he is one of the only people that Tinker will have actual conversations with, and he knows almost as much about her as wraith does, he likes working with her more than lady Iskra because she actually lets him use his unorthodox methods of making things instead of forcing him to make things the traditional way

his extended family has get togethers once a year, not all of Kesler's siblings attend every year but he knows his grandparents very well and spends a lot of time with them

less a headcannon but i think he should lose his arm, his names means righthanded and i think it would be funny if he just didn't have a right hand anymore also because angst

is that enough headcannons, are you alive now, this made me want to write dex's pov when he was kidnapped so...

#ask me about Keslers siblings i dare you #or about Copper mares #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #dex dizznee #kotlc dex #kotlc juline #juline dizznee #kotlc kesler #kesler dizznee #kotlc tinker #kotlc headcannon #kotlc headcanons #kotlc headcannons

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thelaisydazy · 2 months

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The Banshee Calls - Chapter 1

John "Soap" MacTavish x Aoife "Banshee" Finny

Next Chapter

One year ago, Johnny woke up in a hospital room, his mind foggy and his head throbbing with pain. He’d been confused, lost.

His lieutenant had been waiting with him that day, shocked but relieved. No one thought he would ever wake up, ever recover. Johnny couldn’t remember Ghost ever sounding so worried in the years they’d known each other. That’s how he knew just how fucked he was.

The last thing he remembered was storming an underground metro to intercept a bomb set by Vladimir Makarov, a Russian ultranationalist hellbent on starting another world war. Him and the rest of the 141 had been hot on his trail. Soap had been working on disarming the bomb with Captain Price when they were face-to-face with Makarov and his men. It had been a short firefight but when Soap pulled Makarov off Price, everything went black.

Now he was sitting in hospital, hooked up to a series of machines that beeped every so often. Ghost had told Soap he'd been shot in the head, somehow not only surviving but avoiding major brain damage. Nothing short of a miracle.

Johnny had wanted Ghost to joke about him not missing many brain cells, but the seriousness in Ghost's voice betrayed how difficult the situation was.

Soap spent months recovering in hospital, being run through test after test. He'd feared that he'd be forced to retire after all, but by some stroke of luck, he'd been told he could, eventually, return to service.

Or so they said…

---

His mind swam as he sat in the tiny, dark kitchen of the shitty apartment he’d been given by Laswell, somewhere in a city in Ireland. Johnny’s hand gripped a half full bottle of scotch, bringing it to his lips and gulping more down. He was disheveled to say the least, brown mohawk grown out and unbrushed, blue eyes sunken in.

Six months.. He’d been waiting to hear from his team for six months.. Instead he’d been left to rot in this damned apartment. He’d tried everything to reach out, to get any information. Laswell rarely checked in and when she did it was basically only to make sure he was still alive and that the apartment was still in one piece. For a while Ghost answered his texts, even a phone call or two when Johnny really needed someone to talk to, but even he’d grown silent.

A hand came up and pushed his unkempt hair from his forehead then it wiped down his tear stained face, over the stubble that had overgrown in the past few weeks.

Johnny wasn’t certain of much anymore, but he knew one thing must be true. He’d been abandoned by his team.

One bullet to the skull and he was thrown out.

Useless.. Fucking useless..

His chest ached at the idea. Sure, being a soldier was never easy work. Hell. It was the hardest work he could've found, but he'd grown to love it. In the military, Johnny could focus that abundance of buzzing energy into something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Now. Here. That same energy had nowhere to go. It just sat inside him, like a wild animal lashing out against the bars of its cage.

He gulped down more Scotch. Alcohol made the energy in his chest quieter, but it didn't muffle it completely. He could still feel it, but it was more bearable. Even if he felt like his chest might implode with every heaving sob that forced its way out.

---

“You look like shit, Soap,” Kate Laswell’s voice stirred him from where he’d passed out on the couch. She dropped a plastic bag on his coffee table with a deafening crash that made him groan through his hangover.

Johnny glared at her through narrowed blue eyes. “Some nerve ye git..” he slurred. He hauled himself into a sitting position that made his stomach lurch, still watching Kate. “Ain't heard fae na yin in weeks 'n' ye juist let yersel' in? Gang bile yer heid, Laswell.”

“Johnny.” Kate’s voice was firm and her gaze dangerous. She pointed to the bag she’d brought in with her. “Eat something and sober up. I have news and a job for you.”

He snatched up the bag and opened it to see some greasy fries that buried an equally greasy burger. He all too quickly shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “Leid wi' that then..” he mumbled between mouthfuls of food.

Kate Laswell was quiet, standing across the littered living room as Johnny ate. He was in poor shape, he hardly looked like himself. “We have a lead on Makarov,” she said, making the man nearly choke on his food, a flash of anger in his eyes. “We're sending you after him.”

“How come me?” Johnny asked, straightening up and looking at her from his spot on the couch. “I been out for six months..”

“Everyone thinks you're dead,” she said. Kate had always been straight forward in the way she spoke. “We're setting you up with a reconnaissance specialist. You two are going undercover.”

Johnny thought for several moments as he chewed. Gaz and Roach were far from recon specialists and Captain Price was too well known to go undercover. That only left Ghost, but Johnny doubted Laswell and Price would send Ghost on an undercover operation. He had to wonder who he was being set up with.

“You're leaving in a few days,” Kate said, reaching into a bag she was carrying with her. She placed a manila folder on the table in front of Johnny. “Everything you need to know about your new identity and your mission is here. Familiarize yourself with it.”

Johnny wiped his hands on his sweats, picking up the folder. He rifles through its contents. Makarov was hiding out in America, some trashy little suburb outside of Hollywood. Ties to human trafficking. The idea made Johnny's blood boil.

“Where'd ye git a' this from?” Johnny asked, turning another page. There was plenty of information on what was being done to the poor girls being brought into Makarov's sick business venture in America, but not much on how they got there or where Makarov himself was. “Sick bastard…”

His eyes then landed on a piece of paper containing his new identity. His new name and life story. Neil MacBride.. At least they didn’t expect him to hide his accent.

“Corporal Banshee's been hard at work,” Kate answered.

Johnny looked up at that. “Banshee?” The word brought back memories, sitting with his grandmother listening to all the stories she liked to tell. The legends and myths of the isles. Banshees were probably one of the scariest things she told him about, the way they wailed and screeched.

“She's been undercover for the last few months gathering intel,” Kate continued, stepping closer. “She's expecting Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish on this, she's worked too hard to have the operation go under now. So clean up your act and get it together.”

Johnny nodded. Laswell was right, he needed to get back on his feet for this job. “What else can ye tell me ‘bout the Banshee?”

“Irish Special Forces, ARW, Corporal Banshee's young but she's a force to be reckoned with,” Laswell said. “Works mostly in reconnaissance these days. She's currently posing as security in one of the clubs Makarov's hiding out in.”

Johnny frowned. “No name?”

“You've worked with Ghost, Sergeant.”

He couldn't argue with that, though he knew Ghost's name, it took time, but he knew his lieutenant’s name and face. Certainly the old MacTavish charm would work on an Irish lass working in America.

“I'll just have tae git her to open tae me lik’ Ghost,” he beamed. This was the first time in months he'd felt like himself. Even if it was work, Johnny was ready to get back into action.

---

“Fuck’s sake, m’ apartment is still in one piece, yeah?”

Kate Laswell sat in her office, eyes fixed on the screen of her laptop. The tiny monitor showed a young woman. She had a slim face and black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a pair of white streaks framing her face.

“Soap’s apologized,” Kate lied. “Thank you again for loaning us the space to hide him.”

Laswell knew the young woman was on edge with a soldier she didn't know staying in her personal apartment. It was the easiest way to make sure Soap would stay, mostly, out of trouble. Drinking problem notwithstanding.

The young woman on the other end, shifted on her couch, tilting her head like she was looking around. Kate could barely see the tattoos that peeked out from the high collar of her shirt. She turned a pair of stormy blue eyes back to her screen.

“Only fur you, Watcher. Thankfully I didnae have anything there anyway.”

Kate smiled gently at the soft Irish accent coming from her speakers. “He’ll be out of there soon enough,” she said. “Three days and he's on site with you.” Laswell adjusted in her own seat briefly. “Just remember, you may have put in the legwork on this, but he does outrank you.”

“Copy that Watcher,” the young woman said. “I'll keep it tight. Professional. Just make sure he's sober, I have a hard enough time here wi’ Americans thinking all I do is drink, aye?”

“Soap's good,” Laswell said, though she had her own doubts. Johnny had looked a mess when she arrived. “I made sure he dumped the last of that Scotch before I left.”

The young woman nodded. “I been putting in word ‘bout a cousin comin’ tae visit me soon,” she said. “Gonnae see ‘bout getting him a job in th’ club wi’ me. Far as those bastards know, he’s recently divorced ‘n’ lookin’ fur a fresh start in th’ states.”

“Good, we don’t need any trouble getting him inside,” Kate said. She looked at the time on her laptop. “Almost time for you to get back to work. Stay safe and report back in the morning.”

“Roger Watcher.”

“Goodnight Banshee.”

#john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x oc #soap x oc #john mactavish x oc #cod x oc #cod fanfic #dazyfic #the banshee calls fic #aoife banshee finny #banshee #aoife finny

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eliemo · 1 year

Text

Reunion

A scene for my Medieval Royalty au because I've had non stop brain rot about it where Bruce and Dick reunite after almost a year of thinking the other is dead

Bruce followed Clark through the mud, the grass still damp with early morning dew, walking vigil at his side with a hand moving to over the hilt of his sword.

Clark glanced at his movement, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile, but he didn't say anything about it. The King was far too relaxed for his own good, especially out here unprotected, preparing to meet with a stranger.

“He’s not a stranger,” Clark had said, when Bruce had tried to persuade him to bring more men. “I had a perfectly nice conversation with him when he arrived last night. He just wants to meet for negotiations, I agreed to walk into town with him. He seems like a smart kid, I think he could be useful.”

Bruce had missed the traveler’s arrival last night, Clark granting him the day off when Tim had fallen ill, his fever spiking in the early morning. He was awake now, and he’d proven able to keep water down, so Bruce had left Jason in charge of the kids and insisted on accompanying Clark to meet with his new friend.

“A mysterious stranger shows up in your kingdom and wants to meet privately with the King to discuss the possibility of work and housing,” Bruce said. “He’s offering information on Queen that he couldn’t share with an audience. It’s suspicious and convenient.”

Someone familiar with Oliver’s kingdom also ran the risk of Bruce being recognized, another reason he wasn’t exactly eager to allow this stranger to stay inside the gates, let alone get anywhere near Clark.

On top of that, Clark had said they’d been traveling with a companion from the House Allen. He’d trusted Barry during his reign, his family were good people, but he wasn’t entirely convinced one of them recognizing him or his children wouldn’t spark some sort of conflict.

If they were at risk of capture they’d need to flee again, and none of them were in the place to be on the run right now. Not until Tim was fully recovered at the very least, and that could take weeks.

He caught Clark staring with a shameless grin, and Bruce scowled. “That’s how I met you, B. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

Bruce didn’t have an argument for that, scowl deepening as he followed Clark through the field, scanning the horizon for any signs of an ambush.

Their company didn’t keep them waiting, and Bruce’s guard rose immediately when he caught sight of two figures walking towards them in the distance, still small specks against the gray sky, the orange glow of early sunlight just barely illuminating their approach as it peeked up over the hills.

“Stay behind me,” Bruce instructed, coming to a halt as he waited for the travelers to approach. “We wait here.”

Clark ignored his command, as the stubborn King of Krypton often did, but he at least stopped walking when his knight did, coming to a gentle stop at Bruce’s side, their shoulders brushing.

“That’s him,” Clark said, raising his hand in greeting. “See? Everything’s fine.”

Bruce hummed under his breath, unimpressed, watching him smile out of the corner of his eye. Clark still didn’t seem to understand how to be a king, how to harness that untouchability, the power and nobility that came with a crown. He was too friendly, too approachable, too vulnerable. If Bruce didn’t know better, he’d mistake his King for a commoner. He needed to learn, or his reign would end the same way Bruce’s had.

Maybe, if the opportunity rose, Bruce would give him some pointers.

It was an impossible thought, opening up about that part of his life with Clark, trusting him with that knowledge. It could never happen.

It felt like a distant memory now, something far away and forever out of his reach.

It had caused him nothing but grief, anyway. And he knew Clark felt the same about his own place.

He could see the travelers better now, each of them guiding a horse by the reins, the animals trailing proudly behind them.

Something twisted in his gut when he recognized freckled skin and a mop of wind blown red hair. He hadn’t expected noble blood. He’d met Wally West a handful of times, and only in passing at the occasional meeting with his uncle, but Bruce never let himself forget a face, and a handful of brief meetings still ran the risk of his voice being recognized the moment he opened his mouth.

He squinted to make out the second man through the distance. He seemed to be about West’s age, taller, darker skin and black hair and…

Bruce’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He was pulling off his helmet before he even fully registered the decision, unmasking himself in the crisp morning air. He felt Clark stiffen beside him when he dropped it to the ground, saw the two approaching travelers falter and stare, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“Bruce?”

Bruce ignored him and started forward, throat closing up tight until he couldn’t catch his breath, boots sinking into the mud as he dropped everything and ran, desperate, pushing to close the last of the distance in between them as fast as he possibly could.

And he was doing the same, running towards Bruce like a string had been cut, months of heartbreak and pain and grief laid out plainly for them both to see.

They met in the middle, skidding to a frantic stop in the mud, and Bruce pulled his son to his chest without another moment of hesitation.

Dick went willingly, melting against his armor, scrambling to cling to his back and bury his face into his chest. It was far from comfortable with the armor they were both wearing, especially ankle deep in the muddy grass, but Bruce didn’t care.

“Bruce?” Dick called, craning his neck and looking up at him with wide eyes, like there was still some doubt, like this was a trick or illusion. Bruce just held on tighter. “You’re…. you–”

“Are you alright?” Bruce demanded, pulling back just enough to scan Dick for injuries. He looked… exhausted. And older- painfully older. But he didn’t appear to be hurt. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Dick echoed, and Bruce couldn’t believe they were already arguing. He ignored it, reaching up to gently cup his missing child’s face. “I… Bruce you died, you all… I thought you–”

“I’m okay,” Bruce said, brushing overgrown hair out of Dick’s face with a silver glove. “I’m okay, Dick. We’re all okay.”

Dick froze, shiny brown eyes like saucers when he blinked up at him. Bruce had missed him more than he had words to express. “All of you?”

“All of us,” Bruce said. “We’re okay. We got out, Chum. We’re okay.”

He saw Dick’s face crumple, saw the weight of the world slide off his shoulders and was right there to catch him again when he slumped forward with a broken sob.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Dick’s back again and pulling him close. “I’m here now, it’s okay. It’s all okay now.”

He clutched at him like he was a child again, trembling in his hold, and Bruce was reminded with enough force to knock the wind right out of his chest that he still was. He’d barely been a man the last time Bruce had seen him, nearly a year ago now, and he didn’t even want to begin to imagine what this boy had been through these last months, alone and scared, with the weight of an entire family, an entire kingdom, ripped away from him the moment he’d had his back turned.

Dick squeezed him and Bruce allowed it, resting his chin atop his hair like he’d done so many times before. “I thought… I- I thought–”

“I know,” Bruce said. “We did too.”

It was nothing short of a miracle that Dick had been able to evade capture this long, with what felt like the whole world looking for him. He’d never given up hope, never stopped telling himself that Dick was alright, that he was surviving, that he was out there somewhere trying to make his way home. But he’d long ago accepted the cold truth that he’d never see him again.

And now here he was, back in Bruce’s arms. He supposed if anyone could manage it, it was Dick. Jason had been right, he was the best of them.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Dick pulled back, Bruce reaching up to cup his cheek again, still marveling at the fact that this was real, that he had his family back together, whole and unharmed.

Dick’s gaze moved to something over Bruce’s shoulder, quickly stepping back out of his space, and Bruce was suddenly reminded that it wasn’t just the two of them, alone to reunite in the dawn.

Wally had his eyes on the ground, hands folded behind his back, sparing Dick a small glance and a smile, before briefly meeting Bruce’s eyes. He recognized him, then. And was decidedly not making a scene. Good.

He could feel Clark’s eyes on him, his confusion and questions bubbling to the surface, and Bruce stubbornly refused to look his way, itching to reach out and pull his son closer to his side.

They had a lot of catching up to do, assuming Clark allowed Dick the same protection he’d given Bruce and they got that chance.

He would. He had to. Nothing in the world could rip Bruce’s family away from him again.

“Your Majesty,” Dick greeted with a bow in Clark’s direction and Bruce stared straight ahead, trying not to count the seconds his son was out of his reach again. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Clark echoed, and Bruce could hear his insufferable smile. “I… see you’ve met, Bruce.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dick said slowly. He turned to Bruce, silently searching for permission. “We–”

“He’s my son,” Bruce said, for once allowing himself to speak without second guessing himself, facing Clark’s startled look head on. “My oldest.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, the King’s eyes going wide, and Bruce felt like the morning was holding its breath. He’d told Clark what he could, as scarce as he could manage, and he knew the questions and suspicions this could raise.

But right now it didn’t matter. Dick was alive, and he didn't have the energy to even try to hide that joy. They’d earned the right to celebrate their family being whole again, his heir coming back to him.

“I thought you said…” Clark trailed off, and Bruce let his relief and fading grief surface, like a book open for the King to read. His gaze softened, his hand squeezing Bruce’s shoulder before turning back to his guests. “Well, then. In that case, Krypton is honored to have you.”

Dick smiled, the tension in his shoulders dropping. “Thank you, sir.”

“Come on,” Clark said, stepping back in the direction he came and motioning for the others to follow. “We’ll walk and talk. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, falling back to walk alongside Dick as he led his horse through the mud, his smile the exact same as it had been when he was nine years old. Bruce had been terrified he’d never see it again. “We do.”

#batman #superman #nightwing #bruce wayne #clark kent #dick Grayson #dc #dc comics #au #medieval au #royalty au #writing #fan fiction

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itsthe-neo-zone · 3 years

Text

[03:18PM] ~ Park Jongseong x Reader, Apocalypse au

You didn’t want to live with the misery of regretting everything.

But that all went out the window as soon as the apocalypse began.

2 weeks, it’s been 13 whole days and 12 nights since the whole world decided to end itself.

The reason? An outbreak, a malicious deadly disease terraforming the earth in its own way. Killing everyone and everything with it. And when you say terraforming you mean turning us all against each other.

You regretted waking up that Wednesday morning, regretted getting out of bed, not hugging your mother in your arms longer and giving your family a proper farewell.

You were in school when it happened your district sounding the sirens, mid-week morning meaning you were in the dinner halls, you heard the sirens and all hell broke loose, the diners small tv monitor picked up an emergency broadcast.

Shaking your head subconsciously you drifted your mind away from what happened. It had been difficult thinking the past few days, even eating was becoming a luxury at times.

Like now, you’ve been wandering empty suburb streets looking for something to sustain yourself, where you were looked to be like a neighbouring district, but you weren’t sure, the sign posts were all ripped down to make any form of defence weapon, supplies were scarce at this point.

The scent on you was horrid but not as putrid as the stench of rotting corpses filing the earth. You stopped turning to look around you. The street was dusted with ruined houses all damaged and crumbled to the grounds.

Maybe you could crash into an abandoned one, maybe there was food and maybe you’d finally be able to use an actual bathroom. Your stomach grumbled with delight at the thought of food.

As you were about to pull the rusting metal rod in your hand towards the nearest property you heard a shrieking ear deafening pop,

The blood hit your brain, adrenaline began quickly building up inside you, like a band slowly stretching about to snap, your heart rattling in your chest. It tightened slightly. You swayed slightly from the shock of adrenaline hitting your numb body.

You swiftly turned to see nothing behind you but a pelleted bullet, someone around you had a weapon, and their target? You.

You began seeing the blurred edges of your sight return a sign to take response. Fight or flight. You chose the latter feeling weaker than expected. Heading outwards past the last few properties your best hope was to lose your hunter out in the wilderness.

Brushing past leaves twigs and the thicket of the edges of the lush greenery you low down once you’re no longer hearing bullets trailing after you. It was quiet

Almost too quiet to be normal. You push yourself up against a tree, straining your breath to regulate faster than it should. You regretted being stupid to do that too as you felt the persisting tickle at the back of your throat.

It let a much needed cough to begin crawling up your oesophagus. Shutting your eyes for a moment you stiffened your lips slightly holding it back. Why now of all times, you’d been surviving fine…

You could hear a slight crunch of foliage under careful feet, slowly creeping up on you.

You’d be done for this time if they did have a weapon. Trembling fingers dug into the metallic rod in your palms, they’d make indents from how hard you were gripping.

Feeling your chest tighten a little. The metal was starting to feel slippery in between clammy fingers but you held it to your face keeping your stance ready.

You were scared, no, terrified even. But that didn’t mean you were going to give up so easily. You wanted to survive, you had to.

Ironic.

A few weeks you were ready to give up on life itself.

As you sighed, you prepared to turn and show yourself but as you made a move you felt something restrict your breath and pull you away from the edge of the tree. You didn’t have your hand on your mouth though.

It was a foreign feeling but it was something you greeted with open arms, it was warm, and you forgot the caress of another on your cold stiff body.

Caress of another? It wasn’t my hands.

Gunshots sounded across the clearing you hid from. Disturbing screeches of birds fleeted from above. A harsh thump fell to the floor. A limp body.

But it wasn’t yours. You still had a chance.

Eyes widening, you registered the figure behind you keeping you hold in a strong grip.

The surging boost of energy you had left pushed you to kick with your feet. Backwards tripping up your attacker. The gunshots stopped but you were sure it was them, not just one but 2, maybe more…

The figure fell back unable to balance themselves but you were pulled back, you pushed yourself out of their hold, they pulled away regained their stance before attacking you from your side,

the male twisted his arm around your head and the other at your waist holding your arms down. He was agile and had strength but you managed to be faster. Quickly thinking, you moved.

Digging your elbow into their side hitting them right beneath their rib cage.

Bingo,

you heard a slight grunt they pushed away from you trying to recover.

You turned grabbing the rod, eyes shaking to survey the sight before you. It was just one, you swing your arms back getting ready to attack.

“Stop!” A strained call out towards your direction, but you faltered, it wasn’t for you? He directed it behind you falling back slightly. You turned to see another male.

Eyes trained like he was about to pounce on his prey. What was more horrifying was the gun now in his hold pointed directly at you.

“Don’t, Jake, she’s harmless.”

His arms stayed firmly ahead of him holding the weapon. “Harmless my ass, you were about to lose your head,” his fingers wavered.

“Just listen to me.” The guy stood up. You noticed the tattered and beaten up clothes they wore, rips and smears all over each article. Dried blood splattered across parts of their body. Judging by the colour it wasn’t from today.

The combat boots the two wore made you think twice about setting down your weapon as you remained in your stance.

But their eyes and faces showed different,

They were anxious, in pain, alert like you.

“Idiot.” He dropped his arms. Mumbling before walking towards the other who was now slowly guiding himself down by supporting himself on the tree.

His face was etched with strain. And for a second you felt a pang of regret. You shrugged the feeling away watching the two converse.

“Are you survivors?” you swayed slightly, pressing forward kept your feet stable you regrated the shakiness your voice had, first people you spoke to in a while and you sound like you were about to cry.

“Just barely,” one huffed, “As I said he was about to lose his head.” The one named Jake turned from tending to his friend and shot you a dirty glare.

Jakes eyes were intense and focused, he didn’t flit nor shy away. Pressing further. You subconsciously step back, eyes looking past him and towards his friend.

“I had to protect myself.” You pull your arms downwards stepping out of the position and lowering your guard slightly.

“Mhm, sure.” He muttered. He turned back lifting the others shirt. A long tear in the seamless skin ran down the males side. It wasn’t bleeding, it looked like it was an old scar. Just barely healed.

“You’re, fine,”

“She had, shit, every right to do that.” The other caught his breath then spoke.

“Right.” Jake pressed his lips into a thin line. It looked like he wasn’t having any of that, his jaw clenched, he was stopping himself from speaking any further.

Standing up and walking past you. He glanced at you up and down before moving back to the clearing.

“Sorry about that,” the boy sitting at the bottom of the tree pushed himself to try getting to his feet, you stared cautiously your fingers tingling to help him, so now you were starting to get your humanity back? Where was this feeling a few days ago?

The fliting sound of slipping feet against the rough terrain is what brought your focus back as you moved to assist him. He groaned.

His eyes caught yours, cautious and foreign, was this just the way he looked at people him or was he anxious to be around you.

“I’ll … uh.” Your hand waivered, before holding his free arm. “I’ll help you.”

“Um… Thanks.” He nodded clenching his jaw he pushed himself up with your help.

“I’m jay.” His lips pressed into a thin line the edges pushing upwards slightly as he nodded, he stayed silent for a second. You figured out this was an introduction a few seconds late, sucking in a quick breath you mumbled.

“Ah i- yeah…. I’m _____ .” your face tensed up. Jay flashed you a lopsided smile.

“Sorry about earlier, I had to make sure you didn’t interfere while Jake finished up with—uh…”

“Were you the—” you paused. How were you going to ask him if he was the one that was chasing you. How do you word that without sounding weird. “the… I was—”

“You mean the gunshots?” he mumbled.

You quickly nodded giving yourself a mini headache at the fast movement.

“No, we were… in the distance, yeah, when we heard the sound. Just me and Jake.” He lead you to the clearing.

You were slowly introduced into the new space, you watched Jake push the body dressed in black to the side. There was someone following you his face hidden beneath the mask.

“Found all this.” He kicked at the floor with his foot. “shit thing is he’s probably a trained assassin.” He nodded towards the pile of weaponry. “All in his bag, some on him,”

Jake stood up facing Jay. “We need to fucking leave, where there’s one there’s always more.” He lifted a few small items. Something that looked like a smaller loaded gun, testing its scope he tucked it into his pocket.

“Here, take that.” He threw a shielded knife at jay and grabbed a larger gun and handed it to the male next to you.

“lets go.” He walked past Jay and farther out.

As Jay turned he caught your eyes, he saw the anxious glimmer, the shiver you tried to hid and the fact that your fingers were digging in to your palm.

“Our chances of survival are bigger…” he stated. It cut you out of the worry trail your brain was starting to follow,

“Together than apart.”

You caught his eyes. Jay was trying to be as friendly as he could, you could see a glimmer of hope, something you lost within the first 3 days.

“Are you-, I’m sorry I’m a bit confused right— shit, I’ll just ask… are you asking me to…”

“You should come with us.” You silently thanked him for putting you out of your misery. Shocked he was asking you this. And relieved to have met people you could somewhat trust.

“What?”

“HEY! Hurry up if you want to fucking live dude!” Jake was already way ahead.

“Gimme a second!” he sighed, calling out.

“I was wondering if you wanted to join us. That is if you’re not with anyone right now.”

You could almost cry from the surge of relief you felt. It was almost draining the life out of you fending for yourself. And night-time was when it got its worst alone. No more going crazy talking to yourself.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You voiced out, he smirked, hearing your voice so relieved.

“Glad to hear.” He nodded towards the direction they were headed. Leading you further ahead.

“Do you know how to wield a gun?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll teach you don’t worry.”

~~~

(thinking of truning this idea into a fic what do you think?)

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tteokdoroki · 3 years

Text

oblivious | k.takami

♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.

♡ word count: 1.8K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.

♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.

♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D

♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha but i figured today would be the perfect day! i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3

♡ masterlist | requests

keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.

your obliviousness that is.

on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.

the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’

keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.

the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.

you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.

sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.

they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.

so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.

“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”

“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions. the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”

she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.

said blonde follows with a huff, making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer— one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task, the squint to your eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.

he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.

your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”

“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.

there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.

“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“

you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.

keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.

rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.

“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.

“yes miss miruko?”

you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”

takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.

hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.

“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”

you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.

to hell with it.

“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.

but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”

and who were you to say no to him.

989 notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

And Tomorrow, Too.

I'm back!

Much love and many thanks to @stinastar @hailhailsatan @newnamesamecharlotte and @veritasrose for helping me yank this thing out of my brain!

Please enjoy this hurt/comfort that ends with glorious, glorious fluff.

TW: Blood, canon typical injury, infection

Jaskier was having a very rough day, objectively speaking.

He’d just finished dressing after a dip in the river when a lone bandit surprised him, shoving him to the dirt and kicking him in the ribs to keep him down. Having dealt with a gut-punch from a Witcher, Jaskier had recovered faster than anticipated and tackled the stranger to the ground.

“Foolish troubadour,” the bandit snarled. There was the quick flash of something silver and a sudden white-hot pain shot up the bard’s side from his hip to his ribcage.

“Shit,” Jaskier gasped, clutching desperately at his slashed doublet. The panicked bandit scooped up the largest of the bard’s travel bags and darted into the woods, leaving his bloodied weapon lying atop a pile of leaves beside his victim. When Jaskier pulled his hand away from the wound on his ribcage he grimaced; that was more blood than he’d been hoping to see. “Fucking cock.”

After he stripped to the waist and rinsed off in the river a second time, Jaskier took inventory of himself. The cut started at his left hip and slid up his ribcage to just beneath his left shoulder, and it was practically impossible to bandage; any attempt to wrap the upper half of his injury made him bite his lip to keep from screaming in anguish.

It was agony to move more than a few inches in either direction, since the twisting motion pulled at his torn skin and stung like hellfire. All he could really do was apply a loose poultice of chewed mint leaves to ward against infection and tie his shirt around his torso in lieu of a bandage. His cloak would have to work even harder than usual to keep him warm until Geralt arrived.

“Alright, well,” he muttered to no one as he accounted for the rest of his scattered clothing and supplies. “I need to find somewhere to rest and gather what wits I still possess… somewhere that’s still close enough for Geralt to find me. Shit, this isn’t good.”

The bard thanked every god he knew when he managed to find a small cave less than a hundred yards from the enormous oak tree where he met Geralt every year. He limped his remaining belongings into the slightly cramped space and deposited them against the left wall.

---

Fortunately for Jaskier, the idiot bandit had declared his beautiful elven lute “too bulky and annoying to carry”, and had left Sexy well enough alone. Unfortunately, the ruffian had still made off with all the bard’s coin from at least two months’ worth of contracted performances, most of his medical supplies, and most of his rations, as well.

But Jaskier had spent years at Geralt’s side and the Witcher had taught him how to deal with emergencies of every variety. Jaskier wasn’t about to disappoint his companion by flailing about ineffectively like some noble-born dunce at a time like this. No, Jaskier was determined to be healthy and ready to travel again by the time Geralt arrived in Kaedwen to find him. They only had a week or two together before they separated again for the winter and he wasn’t going to lose a single precious second in Geralt’s presence due to some silly highwayman.

Lovelorn fool that he was.

The bard used his remaining strength to gather a few armfuls of firewood and light some dried leaves with his flint and steel. He laid out his bedroll against the back wall so that he could see clearly if anyone approached from outside and wrapped his arms around Sexy to keep her safe. He re-wrapped his wound with more crushed mint and laid down to try and get some sleep.

Hopefully Geralt would arrive soon with his medical supplies and more water.

Hopefully.

---

After two long days spent huddled in a miserable lump at the back of the cave, anxiously scanning the horizon for any sign of another bandit (or Geralt) and unable to gather food or kindling, Jaskier was exhausted from lack of sleep. The wound in his side ached and burned far worse than it had on that first afternoon, aggravated by sweat and debris that had crept through his makeshift bandages.

Any added pressure around the edges of the cut made the skin nearly creak with the building strain of infection. He whimpered involuntarily every time he took a breath and trembled at any shift in the autumn breeze. It seemed as if his very bones were aching as his body flashed between the white-hot and freezing cold of a raging fever.

Slowly, and with a great effort on the part of his illness, Jaskier succumbed to the injury and sank into the quiet warmth of unconsciousness.

---

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, guiding Roach around another circuit of the old oak tree. “Are you there, Jaskier? We need to make it to the fork in the Pontar before the harvest ends and I’m in no mood for practical jokes.”

Nothing.

All his Witcher hearing picked up on were leaves twitching in the wind and a few rabbits foraging off to his left. Not even Jaskier could stay so still, even for a joke; his heartbeat and the uptick in his breathing would give him dead away.

“Well, I’m going to town.”

Geralt was about to wheel Roach back toward the road in search of a nearby inn when he caught a whiff of something on the wind - something that sent his heart plummeting into his boots.

Blood.

Jaskier’s blood. And it wasn’t fresh.

He dropped silently from the saddle and gave the signal for Roach to stay put. After a few careful breaths and some shuffling through the autumn leaves, Geralt discovered the bandit’s discarded dagger, still rusty-red around the tip and left edge.

“Fuck! Jaskier!” Geralt called, glancing around the small copse in the woods. “Jaskier, where are you!?”

The Witcher closed his eyes and tilted his head back to better clear his airways. He took a deep breath in through his nose and focused every one of his heightened senses on locating the bard. There it was again to his right, but slightly stronger. “Fucking hells.”

Geralt did his best to follow the trail without panicking. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he lost his head while the bard was in mortal danger. If the bard was in mortal danger, he tried to reassure himself.

But if Jaskier had recovered he would have been waiting at the oak. Geralt knew that. He knew it with every fiber of his being, though he wouldn’t admit anything aloud. Jaskier’s long autumn absence had already set him on edge when he’d caught the blood-smell. “Gods-dammit, bard. Please be alive. Please, Jaskier, I can’t-”

Geralt bit his tongue and continued to follow the bard’s weak scent into the woods. After too many minutes - perhaps five or six at the speed Geralt was moving - the Witcher reached a small cave. The mouth of said cave was nearly covered-over with dry leaves and Geralt could tell, even from this distance, that Jaskier was not faring well at all. The whole area smelled like rot. Like decay. If it weren’t for the bard’s fluttering heartbeat echoing faintly from within the tiny cavern, the Witcher would have fallen to his knees and wept with despair at his untimely death.

When Geralt ducked inside and reached to pull Jaskier into his arms, the bard struggled weakly. “No, please,” he rasped. “D-Don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Jaskier,” Geralt replied softly. He shifted the thick leather strap of Sexy’s case over his shoulder and hefted the bard into his arms in one swift movement. Those usually brilliant blue eyes looked up at him in utter confusion. The irises were dull and foggy with sickness; the Witcher’s heart lurched in his chest and he turned back to the path, doubling his speed in his hurry to reach Roach. “You don’t have to worry any more, sweet Julek. I’m going to get you to safety.”

“If you must kill me-” Jaskier continued, muttering frantically as if Geralt hadn’t said anything at all “-then p-please do me one last f-favor. I need you to p-please find a Witcher. F-Find the White Wolf. Tell h-him… Tell him that I…”

Then the weight in Geralt’s arms seemed to increase by a fraction and the bard went silent. The Witcher shook the sweating, shaking bundle in his arms but Jaskier remained quiet.

“What do you want to tell him, Jaskier?” Geralt glanced down. His eyebrows furrowed deeply when he realized the human had fallen unconscious. The hummingbird pace of Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat began to hammer even faster and his breaths were far too shallow. The Witcher rumbled out a determined, desperate plea the universe to save his darling songbird, followed by a quiet but emphatic, “Fuck.”

---

“Eskel!” Geralt kicked down the door to the kitchen of Kaer Morhen with one solid boot. He hadn't slept in two days and his body ached from sprinting up the path with a full-grown man in his arms. “Eskel, Vesemir, please!”

“Fuck, is that Geralt!?” Eskel came whipping around one corner at a sprint. Lambert and Vesemir were close behind, Lambert with a sword drawn and a scowl on his face. He lowered it when he saw that Geralt wasn't being pursued.

“Please, Ves, Eskel, please, help him to survive because I can’t- I can’t-” the White Wolf, for all his bravado and stoicism, was panting furiously. His kinsmen knew that he'd be crying if he had the capability to do so and crowded closer to help. Geralt immediately handed a warm, damp bundle to his Eskel with incredible gentleness and care. He looked up at the slightly taller Witcher and begged with all the strength he had left: “Please. I can't let him die.”

---

Jaskier woke up with a sharp gasp. His side radiated a dull, persistent kind of agony and he felt sick to his stomach. With a low groan he turned to retch off the side of the bed, into a conveniently placed bucket. He shouted when the movement made his wound ache all the more. “Fuck!”

The bard heard a heavy thud from his left followed by some clattering and a quietly whispered, “Shit.”

“G’ralt?”

“Jaskier!” the Witcher appeared at his side in a flash. Geralt leaned over him with a damp cloth in hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth. “You’re alive! Melitele be thanked. Do you need to be sick again? Would you like some water?”

“You’re o-oddly verbose,” Jaskier managed to half-smile.

“Was worried.”

“There’s my monosyllabic Witcher,” the bard grinned through his blinding pain. “It hurts, Geralt. Rather terribly.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t- We’re all Witchers so it’s not…” Geralt sighed and turned away to rinse the cloth in a bowl of cool water that had been resting on the sill. “We didn’t know which kind of herbs were safe for humans and which weren’t.”

“We?”

“How’s the patient?”

Jaskier's snapped to the doorway and his body automatically jerked in surprise. He whimpered at the reaction it elicited from his injury, his ribs blooming with a sharp sting. “Shit!”

“Fuck!” the red-headed man in the door replied, slamming his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry. Shit in the fucking nine hells.”

“Uh…”

“Jaskier, this is my brother Lambert. Lambert… This is Jaskier.”

“Ah yes,” the shorter Witcher smirked. “I’ve heard so much about you, Master Jaskier.”

“That I’m a royal pain in the ass?”

“Quite the opposite, really. In fact, when the two of you arrived, Geralt was nearly-”

Lambert’s statement was interrupted by a small wooden bowl to the side of the head, chucked across the room by a grim-faced Geralt.

“Nevermind. Anyway, glad to see you’re awake. I’ll let the others know that he's no longer going hand-to-hand with Death.”

“Others?” Jaskier glanced between Geralt and Lambert with wide, confused eyes. “Am I… Am I in Kaer Morhen!?”

“Aye,” Lambert winked. “And you slept through the first two days of snowfall, so I’m afraid to inform you that you’re stuck at Kaer Morhen for the rest of this season. I’ll let you and Geralt hash the rest of the details out in private. Tootles, Buttercup.”

And just as suddenly as Lambert had appeared, he was gone.

The bard turned to make eye contact with the White Wolf and blinked owlishly. “Wh-What did he mean about being here all winter?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t lying,” Geralt returned to the stool beside Jaskier’s bed and sat down slowly, as if waiting for Jaskier to order him out of the room entirely. “Your injury was heavily infected and you were close to death when I found you in that cave at the base of the mountains. I ran the Killer in two days instead of one and brought you to Eskel and Vesemir for healing; they were the closest people I could think of who knew what to do to save you. I’m so sorry for trapping you here for the season when you should be teaching and composing in Oxenfurt. If you’d like, I can try to contact Yen or Triss and have them portal you back to the University before Yule.”

“Nobody would want to inconvenience a sorceress on their behalf,” Jaskier answered. "Myself included."

“So you don’t mind staying?”

Jaskier glanced up through his lashes, more self-conscious than Geralt had ever seen him before. “Were you really worried about me dying? Did you really carry me up the path all by yourself? In two days?”

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

Geralt felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest. All these years spent thinking that if he was too obvious about his feelings he’d hurt Jaskier... and Jaskier had simply been waiting for any confirmation of his affections, friendly or otherwise.

"Because I..." the Witcher stood again and started to pace. "Because, Julek, I love you. I can't bear the thought of being parted from you. It's even worse because I know, I know that you're human and that I'm going to lose you too soon no matter what happens. Illness, age, injury... No matter how many years we have together they will never be enough."

Jaskier sniffled and Geralt turned on his heel to face the bard, hands already outstretched to offer comfort. "You enormous fucking idiot."

"Huh?"

"I have loved you since the moment I saw you sitting in the corner, brooding away," Jaskier grinned. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped onto the blanket. "Why didn't you tell me? You couldn't even look me in the eyes and call me your friend..."

"Witchers aren't very good at romance, if you haven't noticed," Geralt laughed humorlessly. "I knew I was going to hurt you eventually. It was only a matter of time."

"Well now we have all winter to figure things out," Jaskier offered, sliding his hand across the mattress to twine his fingers with Geralt's. The Witcher's skin was cool against his own and it felt glorious.

"Hmm."

"No! No going silent on me now, you fucker!"

"Get some rest," Geralt smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jaskier's sweaty fringe. "I will be here when you wake."

"And tomorrow, too?"

Geralt smiled oh-so-softly and kissed him again, on the lips.

"And tomorrow, too."

192 notes · View notes

scathecraw · 3 years

Text

BBRae Week 2021 - Day 3: Into The Woods

“Summer camp has been so much fun, Rachel. Teether hasn’t cried once since the day after you dropped us off, and Tommy got first place in the obstacle course. You were right, we should have done a camp last year, too.” Melvin chattered excitedly on the office phone while Rachel listened patiently. “They’ve made a bunch of arts and crafts, and the woods here are so cool. They’re really old, and Gar knows so muchabout all the trees and animals and bugs.”

“And who is this Gar, Melvin? A new friendof yours?” Rachel’s emphasis was obvious, and Melvin’s blush was practically audible.

“NO! He’s a counselor. He’s really nice, but he’s really old. Like, 50 or something. You’ll meet him on parent’s day next week.”

Rachel didn’t remember anyone older than the director, a middle aged woman she had spoken to when getting them enrolled and again during drop-off. She suspected Melvin was fibbing to cover her embarrassment, but she brought it on herself by teasing the preteen. “I’m sure I will. Does this mean that you’re going to drag me out into the forest when I come? I thought it was going to be an afternoon of arts and crafts and then some campfire songs, not a forced march.”

“Duh. Arts and crafts are lame. Gar said that next year he’d show us how to whittle, which sounds better than making lanyards.” There was muffled adolescent shouting, and Melvin covered the receiver and yelled back. “I gotta go. We’re going swimming. I’ll call you on Friday. Love you, bye.” She hung up before anything could be said back, and Rachel was left with dead air while Melvin sprinted after her friends, untied shoelaces flailing behind her.

Arriving at the aforementioned “Parent’s Day”, Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The camp had at first seemed like a good way to get the three adopted children outside instead of rotting their brains, but the sheer noise of a few dozen milling, clamoring kids and groups of socializing parents made her wonder what she had subjected them, and by extension, herself, to. She was late, which probably didn’t help the situation, but she looked around the chaos in an effort to find her own three chaos engines. Instead, she was spotted.

A wild, dirty missile made a high-volume impact with her legs, nearly toppling her and babblingso fast that even Rachel’s practiced ear couldn’t discern what he was saying. She was wobbling and about to fall over when a firm hand caught her upper back and helped her regain her balance. “Teether, dude! I said you could go get her, not try to body slam her.”

Rachel finally planted her feet, acknowledged Teether with a gentle hand on his head, and looked up. And up. They both froze for an instant, but the tanned, blond man recovered first. His slack jaw snapped into a smile, and he said “Hi. You must be Rachel. I’m Gar, one of the counselors here.”

His hand was still on her back and heat radiated from it like afternoon sun. Her face had never fallen into the silly expression his had, but unconscious thought raced before she could regain her composure. ‘Definitely not fifty,’ she thought. “Hello. Yes, I’m Rachel, Teether’s mother.” She peeled Teether from her leg with practiced ease, and he sprang off of her and ran.

Gar realized that his hand still rested behind her, almost possessively, and retreated to a more respectable distance. He chuckled, nervously. “Heh. Um, Melvin and Tommy are with their friends, still, but we should probably get them. Ms. Waller asked me to show you around – she said you had just moved to the area?” It wasn’t a question, but he phrased it like it was. They began walking back towards the milling crowd of parents, children, and quite possibly enough noise to drown out a jet engine.

“Yes, it’s our first summer here. She mentioned that most of the kids made this an annual activity, but I didn’t think we’d be so strange as to warrant a personal detail.”

“Oh it’s nothing like that, it’s just that there’s not really many other summer camps around, and ‘cause we go from K-12, we get pretty much everyone. A lot of the other parents already know everybody. You’re not strange, just… new.” His eyes never left her, even as they began walking.

Back with the crowds, Melvin and a gaggle of similarly aged girls watch the two of them. One of them nodded decisively and turned to Melvin. “Okay. They’re too cute together. Look at how awkward they’re being.”

Anotherhuffed a little. “They’re just staring at each other. They should be holding hands or something, right?”

Melvin’s eyes narrowed critically. “It’s been like 10 minutes and they aren’t kissing yet. Gar’s probably too much of a nerd to do anything. We need to do something to make sure they know how perfect for each other they are.”

“Like what? They aren’t going to start making out in the middle of the crowd.”

An evil smirk crept across Melvin’s face. “Maybe not in the middle of the crowd, but what if they were all alone in the woods? Then they’d have no excuse not to!”

A look of awe crossed her companions’ faces. “That’s evil. I love it.”

But the smirk fell, half-formed plot evaporating. “But how could we get them out there alone? It can’t be anything serious, or else Rachel will ground me forever, and I bet she won’t even go unless we can trick her into it.”

“Could you just tell her you feel sick?”

“No.” Melvin shook her head slowly. “Then she’d either stay with me or just take me home early.”

One, heretofore silent, chimed in. “I think I know what we can do. But Mel, you’re going to have to make a lanyard.” She giggled at the disgusted look, and said “C’mon, we only have like 15 minutes before they start wondering where we are.”

Across the crowd and a million miles away, Garfield and Rachel were, in fact, being tremendously awkward as they watched the kids run and play. Gar fumbled his words and couldn’t decide to stare at her eyes, the curve of her neck, or decidedly anywhere except her. Rachel was the opposite. She answered in short, monosyllabic whispers and swallowed, trying to ease her desperately dry throat.

“So, uh, you said you just moved here! Do you have a job, er, of course you do, unless you don’t! That’s fine, too! Nothing wrong with… that. Yeah.” He trailed off, before gamely trying again. “So what do you do when you’re not, y’know, coming to summer camps?”

Rachel took a deep breath and centered herself. Gar started. “I’m not, like, annoying you, am I? I’m sorry, I tend to blabber -”

“No. I’m just… a little off-kilter. I’m a curator of antiquities at the museum.”

“That is so cool. Gar’s eyes were like dinner plates. “I love the museum! I always wanted to volunteer there, but I never feel like I have time between summers here and planning classes during the year.”

“Oh, you’re a teacher? Grade school or high school?”

“High school and occasionally some classes at the community college. I figured I was already teaching AP and college bio isn’t much different. I’m sure the kids get tired of me after the sixth year, though, heh.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, uncomfortably warm even for a summer afternoon.

“I suppose they wouldn’t let you teach so many years if you weren’t good at the job. Not that biology is my area of expertise.” She clarified, hearing his unspoken question. “I studied history and preservation, so a natural history museum is certainly a big change.”

“Wow, I bet. Still, nobody does what they expected to when they were in college. I got a bachelor’s in Environmental Science, but it turns out most of those jobs are just telling corporations what they want to hear.”

Rachel leveled him with a newly assessing gaze. “Believe it or not, so are quite a few jobs in archaeology. It’s what put me off of the field.”

“But hey, teaching led me to Jump and to Lake Titan Camp, so I can’t complain.”

While the two nominal adults conversed, a far more intricate conversation was happening in the craft cabin. Kole, a pink haired co-conspirator of Melvin’s, was creating a half finished lanyard in pink and purple while the rest strategized. “Okay, so I need to throw her off so she’ll agree. The pink and purple color scheme is good – pink for me, purple for her, but I need something to knock her off her game.”

“You could tell her something that surprised her, maybe. But what?”

Realization dawned. “Okay. This is a little mean, maybe, but I was planning on talking to her about it anyway. I know just what to say. Kole, how’s the lanyard coming?”

“I’ve got it to the perfect length. Just long enough that you might ‘Need a little while to finish it, pretty please.’” She held up the dangling lengths of string. “Everything ready? We’re running out of time.”

“Now or never. Let’s go.” Melvin took a deep breath and led them to the doorway.

Garfield and Rachel were deep in conversation. The initial awkwardness had faded, and while there were still sparks flying whenever they made eye contact, it was more a static buzz than the almost painful live wire sensation of their first glances. At some point they had migrated closer to where Teether and Tommy’s two groups had merged into a supercrowd of children all making noise, forcing them to stand closer to one another to be heard. They were in this huddle, all focus on each other except for both of their frequent check-in glances to the children. Rachel had dipped her toe into a hint of vulnerability to test the waters, quietly and without fanfare explaining that she had adopted all three of them from the same orphanage she had found herself aging out of.

Gar reciprocated. “That’s really incredible. I was adopted pretty young by some family friends. I know how complicated that sort of relationship can be, but it’s doing something amazing for all three of them.”

Melvin, seeing their closeness, hesitated, just a bit. She was messing with fate, a little. But she was certain it was for a good cause. And it was now or never, they were already cutting it close to “Shared Activity Time” for her age group. “Umm. Rachel.”

“Yes, Melvin?” Rachel saw that Mel was nervous. Melvin was never nervous.

“I want to finish a project for you, but won’t have time later. So, uh, I need you to find something else to do. During the Activity Time, I mean. I just want to finish making this. Please, M-mom?”

Time stopped for Rachel. She had adopted them six years ago, and there had never been a time when Melvin had consciously called her “Mom”. Forms asking for “Mother’s Name”, sure. Mother’s day celebrations, absolutely. Even a few mostly-asleep, teary pleas, but never, never while Melvin was in control of her faculties.

But while time had stopped for Rachel, it marched onward for everyone else. Melvin held her breath and waited for long, tense seconds, but Rachel didn’t seem to be coming back to her senses, so she hurriedly spat out “Okayloveyouseeyousoon,” and fled back to the safety of her friends.

Gar, too, was frozen. Not to the same degree, nor for the same reasons, but he felt like he had intruded on something intimate that he had no business being a part of. He looked around, helplessly as Rachel gaped. After several seconds of silence, he couldn’t not do something. “Uhh. Rachel? You… okay?” More frozen immobility. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Rae? You there? Do I need to get a doctor?”

She seized his hand. “Did… did she just call me “Mom”? Or did I have a stroke?”

“Yeah, ouch. She did. I’m guessing this was new?”

“I… Yes. She’s never… What… what do I do? Was she angry I didn’t answer? Where did she go?” Rachel began looking around for her.

“Whoa, slow down. She’s with her friends. She wasn’t mad, it seemed like she was nervous, but not scared. And what you do is let her come to you and talk to her like you always do, and just make sure she knows you’re okay with it. As long as you are okay with it, right?”

“Of course. I just thought...” Rachel trailed off.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about! She loves you and just told you how she feels. That’s a good thing. Let’s give her a chance to do whatever she’s doing. The rest of the kids are about to go do an activity, so we have time.”

“I think I need to get away from the crowd for a minute. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is it alright if we just go for a walk?”

“Of course.” Gar’s grip had at some point shifted to be holding her hand back, and he led her down a dirt path towards a grove of trees. “This path is quiet and not too hard.” Her sudden harsh look had him follow up. “You’re not really wearing the shoes for hiking, Rae.”

“Hmf. And since when did I say you could call me Rae, Garfield?”

He looked stricken. “I am so sorry. I dunno what I was thinking, Ra-chel. Rachel.”

She narrowed an eye. “Rae is… acceptable, as far as diminutives go. Just don’t make a habit of it in public.”

“Cross my heart. Hey, at least being a little mad at me put your mind off of Melvin, right?”

“And now it’s right back. So very helpful,” she deadpanned.

“Easy come, easy go, right?” His smile grew a little. “I don’t wanna pry or anything, but is it really that surprising? She said you were her mom like, a dozen times during camp.”

“I suppose not. It caught me very off-guard, though. Teether and Tommy sort of switch between Rachel and Mom, but Melvin’s never really seemed like she even wanted that sort of, I don’t know, ‘Official’ title for me.”

“Listen, the whole ‘mom’ thing isn’t as scary as you’re making it out to be. You’re already giving her the kind of love a mom is supposed to, and she loves you. She talks about all the time with stars in her eyes. Being adopted doesn’t make her less your daughter. Rita Farr isn’t any less my mom for taking me in when I was eight, and Marie Logan isn’t any more or less important to me just because she’s not around.”

Rachel took a breath and sighed it out. “Thank you. That does make it easier.” They walked in silence for a short time. “Wait, Rita Farr, as in the movie star? As in, the philanthropist and art collector, married to Steve Dayton?”

He blushed a little. “Whoops, probably shouldn’ta dropped that so casually, I guess. Yeah. Steve and Rita adopted me when my parents died. It’s not always easy, but I love ‘em.” He watched her reaction carefully, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly start treating him differently for having such well-known parents.

Rachel schooled her face after having that bombshell dropped on her. “Well, if we ever meet we’ll be able to talk about some historic pieces she has that I wrote papers on.”

A beat passed, then Gar’s loud laugh broke relative silence of the forest. “Aw man, she is gonna love you.”

And just like that, the tension was broken. All the concern, the lack of balance, everything fell away, and the static buzz of easy conversation punctuated by something just a little too close to intimate for an average friendship was back.

They wandered together down the shady paths, miles away and only a few trees distant from the campground. Rachel didn’t notice the distance she had walked on the formerly dreaded forest hike, and Garfield forgot to try quite so hard with his jokes and wise cracks. They walked, hand in hand and only somewhat realizing how close they were to one another, shoulders nearly touching.

The spell was eventually broken, as they always are. They rounded a final bend, seeing in the distance the campground they had left, what, less than an hour ago? And the reality that they had left behind when they entered the sun-shafted canopies woke them up, and they found that really, their hands were quite slick. Had they been clasped together the whole time? And Rachel, especially, was starting to sweat from the heat and the walk. Garfield was suddenly nervous, after all, he never talked this much, not without making a fool of himself.

But even after emerging from that hazy dream, they held on, gently rising out of the fog and into the real world so no sudden movements could disrupt the memory, the closeness that two almost strangers that fit together like complementary puzzle pieces had shared.

It wasn’t even fully dispelled when their hands slipped apart to be wiped on cargo shorts or dark jeans, though the almost hidden flight from behind a few low-branched trees of blonde hair and untied shoelaces and quiet giggle quickly sobered them.

Garfield turned. “Was that -?”

“Melvin. Oh, that little brat, she is too damn smart for her own good. I would put money on her scheming to get us alone.” Rachel fumed and her face tightened into a mask of cold anger. “I can’t believe that she would manipulate me like this! How could she – How could she finally call me -” and the mask broke, shifting from anger to near tears in seconds.

Gar panicked. “Whoa, hold on, no. She’s not that cruel, I know it and so do you. We’re probably missing something. You just said you can’t believe she would do this – she probably didn’t. Rae I promise you, there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”

Rachel took a deep breath, followed by another, centering herself. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Where would she be doing this “project” she made up?”

“The craft cabin. I’ll take you there, but I guarantee you it’s not as bad as it might sound.”

It was like the crowd parted for them without even reacting. No one looked at the worried counselor or at the steely featured parent, but nonetheless they found their path almost unimpeded. Gar held up a hand just outside the door. “Let me get you two some privacy. Please.”

“Fine. Do it.” Terse and unhappy, Rachel’s displeasure was apparent in her voice, and it made Garfield wince.

He opened the door to see five preteen girls, huddled and tittering. At least until they saw him and his serious frown. Then their eyes went wide, and they looked to Melvin in a panic. “Out, girls. Clear the room. Not you, Melvin.” He stopped her when she tried to take shelter in the middle of the pack. He turned to follow them, and glanced back almost pityingly, then shook his head and exited.

The girls all ducked their heads when they saw Rachel just outside the cabin and hurried off, racing to be the first around the corner and away from the ticking time bomb.

Garfield simply nodded, and left her to it. Rachel entered the cabin and saw Melvin almost trembling, and it broke her heart. She had worked up a head of steam on the walk and the wait, but seeing her precious daughter actually afraid stopped any real anger and left only a bitter emptiness.

Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She settled on a vague, open armed shrug gesture. “Why, Mel? Was it just a prank? Just a way to manipulate me?”

Tears brimmed in Melvin’s eyes. “No, I just wanted to give you guys a chance to talk alone. I’m sorry I lied, I really did try on the lanyard, but I’m just bad at them so I had Kole do it. I’m sorry, I am.”

“What? What lanyard? Melvin, I don’t care if you had a friend help with a lanyard! I just can’t believe that you would call me your mom, just to trick me into talking to someone. I can’t tell you how badly that hurts me. I… I love you too much for that.”

“What!No, nononono, Mom, I promise that wasn’t a trick. I promise. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I just – I thought that if I – I thought that maybe if I just did it you’d just let me and maybe you’d talk to him and then it everything would be perfect. I promise. I love you, Mom. I do. And I was just trying to maybe make you not spend all your time watching me and talk to him. He’s really cool, and I could tell you like him, and he’s completely in love with you, and you’re perfect for each other. I was just trying to help you be happy!” She sobbed, breathless.

Rachel froze, then instinctively wrapped her daughter in her arms and let her cry. “Mel, you don’t need to worry about me. I am happy, I promise. I don’t need you to try to trick me into being happy. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to say I’m not mad, but I get it. You don’t have to trick me into talking to, what did you call him, “really old, like 50 years old” guys? If we talk, we talk. That’s how adults work.”

“No, it’s not! I’ve never seen you go on a date, and you just ignore people when they try to talk to you. I know it was dumb, but I had to try something ‘cause otherwise you’d just give him that serious face until he ran away, and he’s perfect for you if you’d just give him a chance!”

“Mel. Mel, okay. I promise. I will give him a chance. But you don’t need to be worried about me. I don’t need a twelve year old playing matchmaker. You should be doing kid things, not bad romcom plots.”

“*SNRK*. They’re not bad. They’re sweet. And you like them, otherwise you wouldn’t have so many of them.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and glowered.

Rachel internally cursed Kori. “If you say so. Now let’s sit here for a minute, then we can go wash your face and you can go hand out with your friends. And I will have a talk with Garfield, and you will not stick your nose into my dating life. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

It still startled Rachel to hear that coming from Melvin, but it also warmed her heart. She hadn’t even known she wanted it until it happened, but it was like a spoken guarantee that she really was doing things right, and her little family really was working.

They sat together and Melvin showed her the lanyard that she had made via Kole. Rachel put it on the silver chain she wore around her neck and let it rest beside her heart promising mostly to herself that it would be kept safe at home. Then, when Mel had calmed down, they headed to the bathroom where Mel cleaned the tear tracks from her dirt-smudged face and rinsed her red rimmed eyes. Rachel gave her a final kiss on the forehead, and sent her off.

Gar found her standing there, staring off into space against the wall of the concrete shack. He leaned against it and slid down to sit around the corner and next to her. “So.”

“So,” she said back.

“Not saying it just to confuse you?” He glanced at her, gauging her reaction.

“No. But she wasn’t against confusing me.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Not mad?”

“Still mad. Still going to be grounded, probably. But she did it out of love.”

“Y’know, I don’t want to say I told you so, but...”

“But you totally want to say ‘I told you so,’” she finished for him.

“Yep. So what now?”

“Now, I guess I do what I was going to do before we had all this to deal with,” she said, the soul of nonchalance.

“What’s that?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he stood up and looked around the corner. “Rae?”

“This.” with only his head around the corner, she turned and kissed him, gentle and sweet, and far too short for either of them. “I’d like to go out sometime. I want to take you to a behind the scenes at the museum, and I’ll let you choose the restaurant.”

His head spun and his eyes were out of focus. His thoughts were like molasses and he could barely get out the word “Okay.” before she was gone, a little bounce in her step.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #fic

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starrywolf101 · 3 years

Note

For the zombieinnit thing what about different people finding out how fragile Tommy is

The 5 Times Tommy Gets Hurt

(+1 he gets protected)

1 - Jack Manifold

He had a brief interaction with Manifold on the day he left the prison, but he was still reeling and not truly listening to anything Jack said. That day was more of a blur than anything.

But now here he was, wanting Jack to stop rebranding the hotel. It was only a couple weeks since the last time he'd seen the other, but by now he's made more strides in recovering. Nobody but Puffy, Sam, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Michael knew about his zombie status yet.

Currently Jack Manifold and him were locked in a glaring content, both of his eyes locked onto the other's heterochromic eyes.

"Look, Jack, you can keep managing it and everything, but I really need you to remember that it's my property. Not yours, you arse."

Apparantly not liking that answer, Jack sneers and shoves Tommy. Freezing up in fear, Tommy doesn't even trying to defend himself from the attack. He loses his balance and falls to the ground, skull hitting the floor with a sickening crack. Regret flairs through Jack's veins as he immediately drops to his knees to check over the kid. Tommy's eyes are glazed over as he stares blankly up. His mind is replaying the moment he died over and over again, when his skull was slammed into the obsidian floor. Back in the present, Jack calls Sam Nook for help, the robot had been standing outside the hotel as per usual. He didn't actually want Tommy dead... again,,

When the robot had started helping Tommy, the kid's new... symptoms having been recorded into It's database, Jack had nearly puked. The back of Tommy's head, where he had hit the ground, looked rotted, and... ew was that Tommy's brain??? How was the kid still awake!?

He watches in shock as Sam Nook pours a potion of harming onto Tommy's injury, nearly jumping in to stop the robot, before watching with widened eyes as the wound healed...

"YOU WILL SPEAK NOTHING OF THIS JACK MANIFOLD."

Jack had nodded silently and fled the scene. There was so much to process...

2 - Sapnap

Sapnap and Tommy have always had a... complicated relationship. Sometimes they got along, and other times they were against each other. But since Dream had cut all attachments, Tommy had shown sympathy and reached out an olive branch to the other, and Sapnap had taken it. They still don't always get along perfectly, but its back to how it used to be... playful teasing and pranks!

But since the kid had left the prison, he's been... quieter. Seeing Tommy so quiet felt wrong.

In fact, he rarely saw the kid nowadays.

Having been looking for an excuse to see the teen, Sapnap had found the perfect thing. By a river, he'd found a rock that, if you squinted, it was shaped like a dick. Surely Tommy would get a kick out of this!

Approaching the dirt shack, gift in his pocket, Sapnap had a slight skip in step. He knocks on the door and called out for the boy.

"Tooommmyy! Are you home?"

A crash inside the home was worrying, but a quiet groan of pain set off alarm bells. Without another thought, Sapnap tries the doorknob— surprisingly the door was unlocked. Did this kid want to be stolen from??? Shaking off the stray thoughts, once again focused on the task at hand, he opens the door and enters. A light on downstairs leads Sapnap into a storage room with Tommy sitting curled up in the corner.

A rancid smell hits his nostrils and he scrunches his nose. An odor that was familiar to the awful smell of meat having gone bad.

Walking up to the teen, Tommy stared back at him with large, scared eyes. He was cradling his hand close to his chest, hiding it from view. And now that he was closer, something in the back of his mind registered that the smell was coming from the kid.

"Hey Tommy," Sapnap's voice took on a softness usually reserved for his close friends and his fiances. "Wanna tell me what happened so I can help?"

After a moment of Tommy examining his facial expression, he must've realize Sapnap meant no harm, and hesitantly holds his hand out. What Sapnap sees makes him want to vomit. Across Tommy's palm was a huge cut, but it was green and purple... the muscles torn and bone glimpseable .

Frowning, Sapnap mumbles: "Oh, kid... Here, I have a regen pot on me–"

"NO" Tommy's panicked shout cuts him off mid-sentence. "I– I mean," the kid gets quiet and nervous. "Use the one from my chest...: He shakily points towards the single chest across the room with his good hand.

Shaking off the shock, Sapnal roots through the chest and pulls out a bottle ful of a sickly potion... upon realizing what kind of potion it was, the cogs in his head turn. Rancid smell, rotted wound, potion of harming... Tommy was undead.

Sapnap scoots back over to Tommy, gently taking hold of the kid's wrist as to avoid spilling the potion on himself, and pours a generous amount of the viscous liquid onto Tommy's injury. The kid winces, but neither miss the twin looks of relief on their faces as the wound knits itself closed.

Seeing that Tommy was still clearly in a bad mental space, he remember the gift in his pocket. Pulling it out and handing it to the other, Sapnap smiles as he simy says: "I got you a dick rock."

Tommy's surprised, burst laugh was like music to his ears.

3 - Ghostbur

Ghostbur didn't understand what Tommy meant when he said he'd died. Tommy couldn't die, right...? No, his little brother was a survivor!

There was no way he had talked to Alivebur... but that look in Tommy's eyes... there was no way to fake that.

All the evidence kept piling up, and though he forgot some of it, some things never left his mind anymore. The way Tommy would get scared of taking damage, the way touch repulsed him... Tommy was also a lot quieter nowadays.

It was a nice day in Snowchester when it Ghostbur was confronted with the awful truth.

He had been visiting the small community when he spotted Tommy huddled up inside Tubbo's house. Obviously, he wondered why his little brother wasn't outside playing in the snow, so he goes to investigate.

"Tommy!" His raspy voice calls out cheerfully upon entering the cozy home. "Tommy what are you doing inside?"

He misses the way Tommy flinches, the terrified look in the youngest's eyes. Maybe Wilbur would've spotted it immediately, but Ghostbur wasn't him. He only saw the forced smile that covered it up, mistaking it for genuine happiness.

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but he hesitated too long. Ghostbur was already talking again, excitedly bouncing in place. "I saw the snow outside and I remember how we used to have snowball fights when you were itty bitty, and it must've been a long time ago because now you're all tall and gangly! So I was thinking to myself, 'hmm, Tommy had been so sad lately! You know what would cheer him up? A snowball fight!' Except I can't touch the snow or else I'll melt so I thought we could go find Tubbo to play with!" It was a good thing Ghostbur didn't need to breathe anymore, because that whole rant would've taken a lot of air. Before Tommy could even finish processing all of that, Ghostbur grabs his wrist and starts tugging.

The unexpected contact send Tommy reeling, memories of a time when Wilbur would drag Tommy by the wrist, grip tight and unrelenting as the kid kicked and screamed. Times in the dark, cold ravine where nobody else could hear him plead for help. That morphed into when Dream started to doing the same thing during exile. Dream and Wilbur were interchangeable, their voices of anger and disappointment morphing into one. Adrenaline kicking in, Tommy starts shouting out for help, thrashing in Ghostbur's loose grip and causing the ghost to let go in surprise.

Luckily, Ranboo was close by and appeared inside the house. His teleportation ability kicking in without him realizing. He's quick to Tommy's side as the ghost watches on in horror. Quiet, comforting vwoops leave Ranboo's chest, and Tommy unconsciously curls closer to the source of familiar comfort. Once the majority of the panic was over, Tommy looks at Ranboo, eyes locked onto his tie. "Ra' boo?" The youngest slurs out tiredly.

"Hey, Tommy, you're safe. You're in Snowchester, with Tubbo and me."

Tommy simply nodded and closed his eyes, slumping over. The air is still for a moment, a tense quiet fills the walls of the house.

"Is... is he okay...?" Ghostbur finally speaks up.

"Honestly? Not really..." Ranboo answers, turning to look at the ghost, but never quite making eye-contact. "But he'll be better when he wakes up. Panic attacks are exhausting, especially for him nowadays.."

When Ranboo picks Tommy up, the red and white shirt rides up on his side a little, giving Ghostbur a good look at a nasty wound. Flesh eaten away to reveal the muscle underneath. Already feeling himself forgetting, Ghostbur watches the two teens leave the room.

4 - Philza

It had been awhile since he'd seen Tommy. Last time had been when he'd shown up to help Ranboo move. After the eyepatch incident, the base had been wrapped in a tense silence. Ranboo left for a few days afterwards, though Techno and Phil couldn't blame him. He did come back, but nobody spoke of what happened.

So, Phil hadn't been ready to run into Tommy in the Nether. He had just been on his way towards the larger SMP when he saw the kid sitting on a path, legs dangling off the side as he stared into the lava below. That sight set off so many alarm bells, and it took everything in Phil not to yank the kid back from the edge.

"What are you doing out here, mate?" Phil calls out, wings ruffling nervously on his back. He kept his voice and expression calm.

Tommy flinches, but his posture quickly relaxes again as he turns to look at Phil, his empty socket uncovered. Phil has to force himself to not stare at it. "Oh, its you." There was an apathetic tone to Tommy's voice that rubbed him wrong. Tommy was one of the most expressive people he'd ever met, and to hear him so emotionless...

Contrary to popular belief, he was not Tommy's dad. He hadn't even met the kid until his son, Wilbur, had gotten attached. But that Tommy was very different from the one he's looking at now. What had caused this change?

"You just gonna keep fucking staring at me like I'm some circus freak, or are you gonna sit down already?" Tommy pulls Phil out of his thoughts, causing the man to blink in confusion. He accepts the offer before the teen catching his mind— sitting cross-legged on the path beside Tommy, but not too close. They sit in silence for a bit, listening to the songs of the Nether. Piglins and Zombie Piglins oink and snort, there's a distant cry of a Ghast, and even the lava is bubbling to its own tune. Every now and then, Phil catches himself staring at Tommy, forcing himself to look elsewhere when he does. Tommy catches on, "I know I'm handsome and all, but staring is considered rude, bitch. Thought someone as old as you would know that," there's a hint of teasing in his tone.

Embarrassment floods his veins, causing Phil's wings to poof a bit, but he could blame it on the heat. "Erm– Sorry, mate... just caught up in my own head, I guess,"

Tommy rolls his eye and makes direct eye-contact with Phil. "I don't want your pity. I don't care for your thoughts. If you have questions, ask them now, cause you might never get another opportunity."

Phil swallows heavily and looks away. A lot of questions raced through his mind, but only one stuck:

"Did you talk to Wilbur?"

The teen grimaced, and that was an answer all in itself. "Yeah, asshole talked about solitare for months straight, would not shut up about the stupid game."

Oh... that hadn't been the answer he was expecting.

"And then continued to want to destroy the entirety of the SMP. He's acting crazier than before, but I guess I would too if I sat in a void for nine years too."

He remembers reading something about the time difference between death and life... back when he was still researching revival. Moving on from his question about Wilbur, he then asks: "How have you been doing?"

Tommy simply shrugs. "Usually? I'm either knee deep in flashbacks, or I'm aware enough to stumble about. Today? Can't feel a thing– 'm hollow. That's why I don't care about the questions,, I literally can't."

His heart breaks as he listens to Tommy's words, here is a kid so beat down and ruined by the world. To the point where he's gone numb. Not sure what else to do, Phil pulls Tommy into a hug, wrapping his wings around them. "I'm sorry."

Still for just a moment, Tommy slowly leans into the embrace, "Yeah.. me too."

5 - Puffy

Captain Puffy prides herself on being there for her friends. For trying for those she loves. Learning that she didn't try hard enough for Tommy left her broken.

And then, by some miracle, he was back. But... not as he was. In fact, the trauma he's lived (and died) through seems to have shut the once lively boy down.

She finds him hesitating outside her therapy office, or therapuffy as she calls it, fiddling with his torn and bloodied shirt. She mentally noted that he needs a new wardrobe.

"Hey, Tommy! What's up, my dude?" She keeps her voice soft and upbeat, not wanting to scare him away. "Did you need something?"

She internally frowns at the way he shies away from her, even though she's not anywhere near enough to initiate contact. Even stranger is how he doesn't fully turn to face her, half his face obscured from view. Still, she doesn't show she noticed it, and continues to smile warmly. Here was a duckling who was afraid of opening back up, but desperately in need of that love and affirmation he deserves. But she has to wait for him to come to her.

Realizing that maybe he wouldn't start anything on his own, she starts up the conversation. "Did you hear about the latest prank on Bad?" She asks. When Tommy shakes his head, the corner of her lip quirks up in amusement as she continues. "Somebody put a bunch of swear words all over his house!" That gets a chuckle out of Tommy.

They sit in silence after that, though its not awkward. It feels more like Tommy is internally debating on what to say, and Puffy didn't want to distract him. After a minute, with his voice uncharacteristically quiet, he asks: "Do you have any potions...?"

"Yeah! I've got some in storage," She hums. "Do you wanna come with me to get some?"

He hesitantly nods before turning his body to fully face her. That's when she saw it. His cheek in the left side of his face was rotted away, revealing teeth and gums. Nausea twisted in her gut, but still somehow remains calm. Instead of even referencing the gruesome sight, she simply smiles and holds out her hand. Seeming to get the message, Tommy places his hand in hers. She leads him down to where she kept most of her stuff, and sits him down on a spare surface– the place being an empty chest just sitting out.

"What kind of potion you need?" She asks, not wanting to assume and end up messing up.

"...Harming,"

Humming, Puffy digs around for a minute before successfully retrieving a potion of harming. It was a drinking one, surprisingly enough. Usually she just turned all of those into splash pots. Pulling on a pair of gloves and dousing a spare rag in the viscous liquid. Carefully holding up the soaked rag to his face, she hovers just above the rotting flesh and asks: "May I?"

Tommy nods and she presses the cloth to his cheek. She can feel the flesh knit itself back together under the cloth. Once she was sure it was healed, she hands whats left of the potion over for Tommy to drink. That'll fix up any internal damages he was possibly dealing with.

He grimaces as he accepts the bottle, "It always tastes like that shit nasty medicine i took as a kid.." he grumbles before throwing his head back to gulp the potion down as quickly as possible. Her inner pirate from days long gone idly thinks that Tommy would he good at putting down shots.

He soon leaves after that, not a word from either of them. Puffy silently promises to look out for the kid.

+1 - Techno

Tommy was being chased down by Bad and Ant again... though they were quickly gaining on him. Since coming back from the dead, Tommy's had very poor stamina, and he's not sure if its a zombie thing or him being very unhealthy thing. Being skin and bones, unhealthy underweight, would definitely affect him,, but he just couldn't seem to put any of the weight back on now.

The Egg cult must've been especially focused on him, bevause they were still chasing him, and Tommy was stumbling through a snow biome... Deja vu much?

Panting, Tommy can only hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heavy breathing, and the crunching of snow.

There's a light in the distance, though! And a very familiar cabin. Alarms blared in his head, his traitorous brain reminding him that he wasn't welcome here anymore. He didn't have much time to think, though, because his foot gets stuck in a snowdrift, causing him to collapse into the cold, frozen ground. The snow cushions his fall, though he definitely feels his foot pop off from his ankle.

"Well well well, looks like its the end of the road, Tommyinnit... again." Bad mocks in a chilling voice– it was a hollow sort of joy, a mimic of how warm Bad's voice used to be. He watches as Ant picks up the detached foot, frozen still with fear. "Any last words, Tommy?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for his swift end... knowing that Bad was lifting up an axe to swing. Only for it to never come. Instead a clank of metal on metal, and a familiar monotone voice.

"You see, I can't let you do that. You're all on my land, and I'd hate for the snow to stain red."

Peaking open an eye, he's in awe of the sight before him. Technoblade was standing in front of him, his axe having blocked the strike. Bad and Ant look at each other, nod, and back off. It was obvious that going against The Blade was a losing battle. Ant drops the foot into the snow as the two retreat.

Techno puts away his weapon and crouches down to pick up the foot. "What are you doing here, Theseus?" Techno didn't turn towards him.

"Give it back." Tommy ignores the question, putting up his wall. "That's mine, you arse."

"What do you mean its yours? Whose foot is this anyways–" Techno's words cut off as he turns to face Tommy, finally taking in the kid's appearance.

Tommy wasn't wearing his eyepatch, but thats not what caught his attention. It was the lack of a foot attached to his body. Quickly realizing why Tommy was demanding back the foot, he hands it over to the kid, watching in morbid fascination as he pops it right back onto his leg and rolling his ankle. The voices were all screaming different things,and he couldn't make sense of what they were saying.

"So... uh, the weird egg people were chasing you?"

Techno sucked at small talk, but he honestly didn't know what to say as Tommy stood up and brushed the snow off himself. "I'm immune and shit— well I was before the uh, prison visit. But I think I'm still immune."

"Ah,"

...

"Uh, I'm gonna go back home.." Tommy points towards the Nether Portal. "Thank you for saving me, or whatever.."

"Yeah.. yeah,"

...

"I'm just... gonna go."

Techno watches as Tommy starts to head off, slowly crunching through the snow.

He didn't know what terms he was on with the kid, but it didn't seem nearly as hostile as before. It probably wouldn't hurt anything if he started to watch out for Tommy from the shadows..

[Masterpost]

---

Okay its done, I've been working on this for ages! I also didn't go back and read it, and most of this was written while I was exhausted, so there's that

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cloudshapedpatch · 3 years

Text

sing me a lullaby (don’t tell your boss what to do)

a super indulgent, tooth-rotting fluffy Julie and the Phantoms one shot.

julie can’t sleep so she goes to her boys for comfort. no plot. just sugar.

or! read on ao3 here

* * * *

Some nights, Julie could sleep like a rock. The band had found she was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, and could fall into a deep REM cycle within minutes. She was notorious for being able to fall asleep anywhere if she was tired enough.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

After many hours of tossing and turning, 3 relaxing YouTube videos and maybe a few too many melatonin gummies, Julie gave up on sleep.

Her go-to solution to any problem nowadays was to see her boys, so without much thought, she slipped into her favorite funky monster slippers and made her way out the front door.

The cold night air slapped her cheeks with a little alertness, and a little sense. If she went out to the studio, she was sure to stay up all night. Alas, it was still 2 in the morning, and her better judgement had set with the sun. She didn’t have anything really important to do tomorrow, right?

She opened one of the studio doors and squinted against the lights, too bright in contrast to the darkness of the house.

“Jules! What are you doing up?” Reggie was the first to notice her arrival, standing up to guide her to the couch (giving up his own seat and opting to sit on the floor in front of her; she failed to notice in her fatigued state).

“Couldn’t sleep,” Julie mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Jeez, you’re shivering,” Luke was always quick to worry about her, “Why didn’t you grab a coat?”

Alex had already taken off his pink sweatshirt and laid it in her lap before she could answer. As she slipped it on, she noted that while it was not warm like a living teen boy’s sweater should be, it was still warmer than she was expecting, and she was glad to have a little bit of extra heat.

After having taken a couple of moments to recover from being outside (she’d admit, it was colder than she was expecting), she went to answer the boys’ questions, but giggled at the sight of them. Alex and Reggie had sat themselves down right at her feet and Luke was seated on the armchair next to her, all looking like curious puppies waiting for a treat.

“Well??” They said at the same time, only filling Julie with more mirth.

“Nothing, I just knew coming in here would make me feel better.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she should have changed her wording. Luke stood up and was demanding she tell him who hurt her feelings, Reggie had attached himself to her legs, resting his cheek on her bare knees comfortingly, and Alex was halfway out the door, saying he’d figure out how to make a cup of tea.

A fit of giggles later, Julie explained she just couldn’t sleep and was doing fine emotionally. It was only after the boys had sat back down that Julie asked what they had been doing before.

“Just a little bit of lyric writing. Can’t play with the melody until everyone leaves for the day tomorrow, but it works for us.” Luke shrugged, looking toward his abandoned notebook on the piano.

“Ooh, let me help!”

“Uhh…” Reg and Alex said together, in their usual harmonised way, looking anywhere but at her.

“Look, Julie,” Luke started, and she already knew what he was gonna say, “You got school in the morning. You shouldn’t be writing.”

“No no no, it’s fine! Writing will tire my brain out, you know?” They didn’t look convinced, so she continued, “My thoughts are running a mile a minute, let me get ‘em out on paper. Please?”

All three boys looked away from her then, mumbling about how difficult it was to say no when she pouted. Finally they gave in, and they led her to the piano to pore over the notebook.

Of course, they only got a few lines down before Reggie was throwing wads of paper at Alex, and Julie played Never Gonna Give You Up as softly as she could while simultaneously keeping her laughter down (the boys were fascinated that she knew the song since it had come out when they were young, which prompted a short lesson on memes and Rick Rolling. Reggie was especially enthralled by this).

Luke gave up writing and went to the dart board, where Julie had hopped off the piano bench and challenged him. Not being one to back down, he and Julie played while Reg and Alex cheered them on. Alex humored her while Reggie was convinced no one could beat Luke at darts. He was right, but Julie didn’t mind so much, especially after Julie got to over-exaggerate her pity party and receive a nice long hug from her opponent, sharing an amused look with Alex while Luke rocked them back and forth.

“I could go for some nachos right now.”

“You always want nachos, Reg.”

“Again, Reginald?”

It took Julie a moment to think through his statement (hey, it was past 3am, she had brain fog to wade through). Ever since the night they opened at the Orpheum, the boys found they could do other small things besides touch Julie, like eat, and much to Reggie's delight, take showers.

She just giggled and grabbed Reggie by the hand, starting the short trek to the house, knowing the other two would follow. For a moment, she had forgotten what she was wearing, but stepping back into the cold night reminded her. She had walked out of the house wearing her pajama shorts and a short-sleeved crop top, and she was drowning in Alex’s hoodie. Her face heated at the thought of all the boys seeing her in nearly nothing but the large pink sweatshirt, playing off the color in her cheeks as windchill.

But she should have known the boys wouldn't have behaved.

Because while nothing the boys said would be able to be heard by her father or brother, the results of their actions were definitely audible. Alex was trying to heat the queso, but he spent too much effort trying not to drop the jar that he forgot about the spoon, which clattered loudly to the ground. All four froze in terror until Luke burst into laughter because some cheese had splattered into Julie’s hair, and she replied by smudging some cheese onto his nose. And after the ensuing cheese-throwing war, the kitchen was not a pretty sight. The mere thought of her dad coming down to see his daughter covered in cheese, alone, in the middle of the night, in their equally messy kitchen brought shivers. She’d surely be back to seeing Dr. Turner three days a week.

The boys did their best to clean, but mostly entertained Julie while she wiped up the mess and carried the plate of nachos back to the studio (how long does it take a band of three dead teen boys to make a plate of nachos? apparently, 38 minutes) before they flopped on the ground in a big pile. Julie laid with her head on Luke’s chest, who had his head on Alex’s lap. Reggie laid on Julie’s legs and she ran her hands through his surprisingly soft hair as they slowly worked through the plate.

“Hey Julie? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

“Are you serious?” Julie turned her head slightly to see him more clearly. She almost laughed, but then saw the look in his eyes, and couldn’t tell if he was serious or about to tease her. “Luke, you guys don’t even sleep.”

“Aw, c’mon Jules,” Reg begged, “You have such a nice voice.”

“The voice of an angel.” Luke added. Julie pushed all thoughts of the song she never let herself write down, yet constantly played in her dreams, and hoped that they couldn’t see the flush creeping down her neck.

“Fine. But only because I love y’all.”

Alex wiggled excitedly from under her as she cleared her throat and started to sing A Thousand Years (Julie was sort of glad they had died 25 years ago. She would virtually never run out of new material to impress them with, and Christina Perri was a classic). At some point Alex had laid down too, and Reggie had closed his eyes as Julie kept scratching his scalp as she sang. Luke ran his fingers over her shoulder as if he were strumming his guitar. And everything was alright.

A large yawn took over Julie’s voice just as she finished the song.

“Alright, time for bed, little miss.” Alex joked, poking her tongue as her mouth opened in another yawn.

She swatted his hand away yet made no effort to get up, instead choosing to nestle further into Luke’s neck. “Sorry, can’t, Reggie fell asleep on me.”

Reggie cracked one eye open. “Nice try. We don’t sleep, remember?” Reggie climbed off her and grabbed her hands, pulling her to a stand.

The blood rushed from her head down to her toes, causing her vision to turn dark and her balance swayed. Before she could catch herself, Luke had scooped her up into his arms.

“Come on boys. We got a girl to tuck in.”

“Yes sir.”

“At your service.”

Julie played off her wheeze as a snort of amusement, burying her face into her hands. A few moments passed and they didn’t move, so she peeked out from between her fingers, only to see all three boys looking over her like she was exactly what they asked for for their birthday.

She yelped in surprise which only caused the boys to laugh. Julie huffed and crossed her arms, pursing her lips to keep from smiling.

“Oh, lighten up, boss. We’re going now.”

And then he was smiling that smile that he usually reserved for when they were alone or on stage. She snorted (for real this time, but still in an effort to keep her composure) and poked his cheek.

For the fourth time that night, the cold night air whipped at her legs and face as Luke and the boys carried her to her bedroom. Reggie made an offhand comment on how absurd it would look if Ray woke up and saw his daughter floating around the house, and Julie had to slap her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud; the boys all laughing loudly without restraint didn’t help.

And finally, once they were in the safety of her bedroom, they did exactly what they said they would. Alex tucked the pink hood inside the sweater so she could lay on it more comfortably (“You look all cozy, you can sleep in it for tonight.”), Reggie pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows.

Julie felt like a princess, being pampered by these boys who had crashed into her life and nestled their way into her heart. Luke even laid her down, hand supporting her neck, and all three of them literally tucked her in.

“Hey guys? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

They groaned, mumbling together about karma, payback, and song recommendations. Eventually they settled themselves on her bed and sang her a song she didn’t recognize, one that must have been vaguely popular in the 90’s. It was soothing, and she felt the tugs of sleep start to take her under.

She must have dozed off, because she awoke to some shuffling, opening her eyes to see the boys tip-toeing out of her room.

“Luke,”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She had been thinking of him (and the fuzzy lingerings of a dream lined the edges of her mind, one with Luke and a magical dance and that sweet smile of his). But all three boys stopped, before Alex pushed Reggie through the door with a wink.

“You okay? Need anything?”

Her words failed her, heart full and eyes nearly brimming with tears. She scooted over and pulled back the covers, patting the sheets next to her and avoiding his eyes.

Just like she knew he would, he made no comment but slid into the bed and let Julie resume her earlier position on his chest. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the covers back over them both and wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her close.

Idly, she noted how much she liked laying on the boys (and especially him) because they were the perfect cuddling temperature. Not too hot, but not cold. Plus, she reasoned with herself, if he was nervous, at least he wouldn’t overheat the bed.

Wait. Nervousness. She was sure Luke could feel her pounding heart, beating like thunder against his too-quiet chest. He didn’t say anything, just rolled her curls between his fingers as they laid in comfortable silence.

Her thoughts began to wander, instead of relishing in the moment like she longed to do, but thoughts of all the boys had done for her, not just tonight, but in all the months she had known them.

And then his thumbs were running over her cheeks, whispering soothing words and lifting her face, locking their eyes. Her cheeks were wet. She must have started crying.

“Happy tears, don’t worry about it.”

He looked back at her quizzically.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that you guys are in my life.” She bit back the ‘especially you’ that fought to escape.

“We’ll always be here, Julie. You’re okay. Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you around 6? You’ll need to take a shower.” Luke took his hands out of her hair to show her a bit of cheese he picked out.

Julie covered a laugh again, resting her head back on his chest, relishing in his company and willingness to do whatever she asked. And she fell asleep, for real this time, with his fingers in her hair and soft hums pulling her into the best sleep she’d had in a while.

And never had she felt happier than that morning, Luke softly singing her into consciousness while Reggie brought her a cup of hot coffee and Alex picking her outfit for the day.

Bonus:

Julie came home from school later that day exhausted but overjoyed. Flynn had teased her endlessly, but she was too happy to care.

Like she did every day, she said hello to her family before going into the studio to do her homework.

But her brain short circuited as she opened the door and found all three boys jumping up from their seats to greet her, Luke wearing Alex’s pink hoodie. It was a little small for him around the arms, not leaving much to be imagined. Julie felt her eyes grow wide, her brows climbing higher, but unable to fix her face or look away.

Alex, never one to miss a cue, nodded his chin towards Luke. “He insisted on wearing it today cause it smelled like you.”

Luke sidestepped to him and whacked him with the back of his hand, but the message had been received. She’d think about that later. For now, she had math homework and a cuddle pile with her ghosts to continue.

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thegoodgayshit · 3 years

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Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Emperor Belos and his Nuclear Eye Drops

Luz’s dream hadn’t given away just how deep the caves of Mount Pelion actually were.

There was a moment when she was running where it felt like she was just sliding straight down, and she panicked for a moment, praying to every god she could think of that she was going the right way.

The torches on the wall were her only source of light, and the screeching and shouting from the battle in the armory were getting quieter and quieter the farther down she descended.

As she walked, Luz realized that this was the first time she was alone, truly alone, since she’d hopped on a bus to escape from Lina on her last day of school. Luz had been alone most of her life, so she knew what it felt like, but she had forgotten how uncomfortable it really made her feel.

She’d made friends, fantastic, lovely, and incredible friends since she’d come to camp. She definitely wouldn’t have made it as far as she had without them. But now that she was alone, she felt every cut she’d gotten during the last few weeks’ worths of battles… every bruise, every sore muscle, every piece of hair that had fallen into place. Without her friends, exhaustion was creeping into her bones, and she was starting to wonder if she should have run away without anybody following her.

She was just one demigod. How was she going to do this on her own?

Eventually, she made it.

All at once, the cave felt familiar. Luz had seen it plenty of times before in her dreams, enough times that she instantly recognized the widening of the halls, the damp aroma of the cavern, and the sinking feeling in her gut that something very unnatural was lying within.

Then, she saw the portal.

Luz didn’t understand how it was possible, but it had somehow gotten even more terrifying than it was in her dreams.

It was still around the same size, but Luz was no longer able to see what lied within it. Instead, the ten foot tall border of obsidian and metal was protecting layers and layers of dark mist. Instead of having one little hearth on the top of the portal, now there was two huge flames sitting on either side of it. The smoke seemed to rise up in to the air and get sucked into the depth of the portal, sinking deeper and deeper until it wrapped into the mist entirely. Next to the portal was the small table and the chalice she had seen in her first dream, and while it looked expensive, it was quite underwhelming sitting next to something like the portal.

Dread started sinking into Luz’s stomach. How in Hades was she supposed to destroy that?

She heard the clanking of chains, and her gaze was ripped from the portal when she saw the cage, and the girl lying within.

She looked like a ghost. Luz hadn’t seen many goddesses before, but based on the ones she had seen, Luz had a hard time believing this girl could be one. She was so small and tiny she barely looked a day over nine, and she was bent over on her knees, her face pressed into the floor of the mountain pitifully. She was straining against the chains, but they might as well have been pinning her in place because despite the obvious effort she was putting in to move, she wasn’t budging an inch.

“Lady Hestia?”

The girl looked up, and Luz’s heart sank. Her eyes… they’d gotten so dark they almost looked black. All the warmth they’d had the first time Luz saw her in the cage was gone.

“You’re too late, brave one,” she said, and despite her voice being barely a whisper it cut through Luz’s ears like an icy wind. “Belos has stolen the last of my flame, and in mere moments the mountain will fall. You must run! Leave this place before it takes you with it.”

Luz froze, blinking. “Leave you? But I came all this way to free you.”

“Do not sacrifice yourself for this,” she insisted, “you have a chance to regroup and fight another day. Do not fulfill the prophecy here… not when the portal has already taken my flame and all the nightmares of the Underworld will rise and serve their Emperor!”

The prophecy. Amity had told her the rest of it… she’d said something like that… Luz wracked her brain trying to remember.

From what you find in the nightmare, a hero’s life ends.

There was another tremor, the whole mountain shaking right beneath Luz’s feet. She stumbled, gripping the side of the cave as the walls shook around her. Eventually, they began to subside, and Luz grit her teeth pulling herself to her feet.

Nobody’s life was going to end. She didn’t come all this way to fail.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Luz retorted, “if the mountain falls, there’s nothing any of us can do to stop Belos.”

So Luz made up her mind. With a furious scream, she charged, sprinting across the room towards the cage and hacking down with her sword. The metal bars split like she was cutting through paper, and five of the thick steel bars fell. Luz cut a hole through, leaning in to crouch down next to Hestia, who was still chained to the floor.

“This is foolish, hero,” Hestia warned, as Luz lifted her hands to examine the chains, looking for the right way to cut through. “The mountain-”

There was another tremor, the metal bars of the cage rattling. This one was much stronger than the last and lasted almost a full thirty seconds. Luz had to cling to the slashed metal to avoid falling on her own sword.

“Nobody is getting left behind,” Luz panted as the shaking subsided, “we promised Demophon we would free you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Demophon?” Hestia breathed, and for the first time since Luz found her, Hestia’s eyes seemed to flicker with warmth. “You spoke to him?”

Luz opened her mouth to reply, but Hestia’s eyes suddenly widened.

“The Mist!”

Luz cocked her brow, confused before she looked down and her eyes widened in horror. All around her, black mist had slowly begun to fill the area around the mangled cage, and Luz had to scramble back to avoid it. She didn’t miss it all though, and some of it managed to creep up around her face near her nose. She choked, her nostrils filled with the horribly familiar smell of rotting meat.

Death Mist.

Luz wasn’t proud of how fast she ran to get away, especially with Hestia trapped in the cage unable to move, but she couldn’t stand it. Her eyes had already started to water, and by the time she pressed back against the wall next to the door she’d come through, she wanted to drown herself in water just to get it out of her lungs. She debated turning and running when she heard his voice.

“Up-pup-pup! Don’t go anywhere. I’d actually like to have a word with you, demigod.”

All at once, the mist vanished. When Luz took a few shaky breaths, she looked up and saw him.

Belos was standing between her and Hestia, one hand on his staff, the other watching her with what looked almost like interest in his neon eyes. The horns on his golden mask leered over her, casting a shadow in the haze of the torches hanging along the mountain wall.

Luz glowered at the sight of him, all the rage towards the way he’d been tormenting her dreams rising up in one furious bubble. Gripping her sword tightly, she felt her mouth twist into an angry scowl.

“Let Hestia go, or else!”

She yelled and swung her sword, feeling it collide hard with Belos’ staff as he raised it to block her. Luz strained against it, but he was completely unmoveable.

“Okay,” Belos said, and all at once, Luz felt him push, sending her skidding backward against the mountain floor. “I’ll play.”

He charged, his staff extending into a wicked four-foot sword, and Luz’s eyes widened. She did the only thing she could think to do; deflect.

Belos was stronger than her in every way imaginable. He had speed, strength, and strategy. If it wasn’t for Luz’s adrenaline keeping her dodging and deflecting, he would have already sliced her open.

She was gritting her teeth with every move, her chest heaving as she looked for an opening. She reared back, swinging at his shoulder when she thought he might be leaning too hard on the other side, but she nearly got her hair chopped off the top when he spun and swung right above where she was standing.

She was going to lose, and he knew it.

“What’s wrong, demigod? I thought you wanted a fight.”

With one brutal kick, he knocked Luz backward. She fell right onto her knees, Aletheia skidding away from her hand and back into a ring. Luz covered it with her left hand, breathing hard as Belos pointed his sword at her, tilting his head.

“Had enough?”

He was about two feet away. The perfect opening.

“Not even close,” Luz smirked, scooping up the ring and flinging it right towards his face. The ring shifted into a knife, striking him right in the left eye. Belos hissed, recoiling as there was a shattering sound, a piece of his mask falling at her feet. He clutched his face, and Luz scooped the knife into her hands, clutching it while she heaved on the ground, still recovering from his kick.

But she’d made a mark.

Belos chuckled, his back still turned from her, and Luz watched as his hand covered over his eye.

“I like your spirit,” he said, turning to look at Luz. His mask was chipped, two thick lines running above it. It made his neon eyes look more menacing like he’d been using nuclear eye drops.

“Try that again and things won’t end well for you.”

Belos turned, kicking Luz again and sending her spinning into the ground. She coughed, clutching her chest as she struggled to look up at him.

“I am just a man on a mission. In the grand scheme of things, the goddess’ life is inconsequential. But now, you’re here. And the mountain is falling, whether we like it or not.”

Luz was wincing as she looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing as she listened to what he was saying.

“If you want to save the life of everybody here in the mountain, let me use the portal. I will bring my army through, and spare the life of your friends, and the hearth goddess.”

It was an impossible choice. One that put Luz right between a rock and a hard place. She couldn’t pick.

“But… Olympus…” she whispered, biting her lip.

The mountain shook again, and Luz cried out as the shock of it flattened her right against the ground. This time, the mountain was not left unscathed, and the earth began to shift, the back wall of the cavern splitting away from the earth. Chunks of rock collapsed, and Luz shouted in terror as the wall of the cavern fell back and into the open air, and light suddenly rushed into the room. The back of the mountain dropped like an avalanche, and thank the gods it didn't take Hestia's cage with it, just some of the huge metal crates Luz had hidden behind in her dreams when she was spying. As bright morning light hit her face, Luz winced, doing her best to blink it out and take stock. She was alive, and the tremors hadn't dropped her off the mountain yet.

But it was also just after dawn, which meant it had almost been forty-eight hours since they left the Blight manor.

They were almost out of time.

Belos chuckled menacingly as the tremor’s eventually subsided, and it looked like he hadn’t even been phased by the earthquake.

“You probably think I want to invade Olympus. But the will of my army is not so boorish. We want to purify this world, rid them of the gods and every awful thing they stand for. There will be order and peace, a chance for demigods and the will of man to decide the fate of the world.”

“You want to take this world all for yourself,” Luz spat, glaring up at him. He tilted his head curiously at her outburst, but let her talk. She wondered if he found it humorous. Probably.

“You think getting rid of the gods will solve our problems?” Luz exclaimed, getting slowly to her feet, clenching her knife tightly against her chest. “That it will fix everything wrong with this world? Look at what you’ve done! You’ve brought back heroes from beyond the grave and instead of making things better you’ve only made the lives of demigods worse!”

She pointed her knife at him accusingly, all the frustration she was feeling from the quest, and her life back at camp, and from the way this quest has treated her friends… treated Amity. All this chaos and pain was Belos’ fault.

“You’ve done nothing but hurt the people I care about since I realized I was a demigod. You’re no better than the gods you hate.”

There was a twitch in Belos’ face that Luz might not have seen had she not broken a part of his mask. For a moment, Luz thought he was going to charge. She would have been dead, with him holding a sword and her the knife. But then, he straightened, turning away from her and towards the portal that was swirling again. The mist was getting thicker and thicker, the flames next to it rising higher and higher… and Luz realized what was about to happen.

It was going to open again.

“I think it’s best you reconsider,” Belos said, watching it. “Tik-Tok, demigod, time is almost out. Attack me, and die. Leave this place, and your friends shall live.”

The portal began to glow a deep purple, and the mist changed. Now, it was translucent, and Luz could see with terrified eyes the horrors that were behind it. Armies upon armies of the undead, souls waiting to come back to this world. They were clawing at the door, waiting to be the next one out.

The flames around the portal began to rise, and Hestia groaned from behind her chains. The mountain started shaking, and Luz knew then it was too late. She was out of time.

Then, her eyes locked on the chains.

The chains.

How far away were they? Ten feet? Fifteen? Much farther than the strings at Orpheus’ manner. She’d probably just hit Hestia. But she had no choice. There was nothing else she had up her sleeve, no other tricks she could pull. It was her last chance.

So, she threw her knife.

It sailed through the air, slashing through one of the chains right as Belos realized what she’d done. He twisted, his eyes following the knife as it made its mark, cutting through the ones wrapped around Hestia’s right hand. For a moment, the portal weakened, the mist darkening, and Luz could no longer see the hundreds of souls of the other side.

But she’d only cut one chain. She hadn’t done it, Hestia was still locked against the ground, her knees wrapped, one hand free to desperately try and throw the knife back towards Luz. It clattered against the floor to the right of Belos, just past his shoulder.

She’d never get there. She knew it. She’d failed.

Roaring, Belos turned, rearing his sword up and swinging towards her. Luz squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the slice that would inevitably kill her. She’d never be able to dodge, not without a weapon, and certainly not without Belos catching her.

But when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t greeted by death.

“Luz!”

She felt a body slamming into her from the side, sending her reeling against the mountain floor. She gasped as she landed hard on her stomach, her eyes flying open to see what hit her.

Well, more like who.

Amity had blocked the strike, meeting Belos’ sword with her own. She’d shoved Luz out of the way, and she’d managed to keep Luz alive, if not for a few seconds.

“Bah!” Belos spat, glaring at her. “Aphrodite’s brat. I see Achilles was thwarted by you yet again.”

“He should have thought twice before taking on a Blight!” She hissed, pushing back and swinging again. Belos blocked it, his eyes narrowing. Amity had always been better with a sword than Luz. The sight of it began to fill Luz’s chest with hope. The tables were starting to turn.

Luz scooped up Aletheia, shifting it into a sword, and charged, rearing back to swing at Belos while he was occupied with Amity.

He saw her coming, sidestepping both of them. Now, Luz and Amity were side by side, guarding the portal with their swords raised. Their eyes were narrowed in determination, their bodies tensed in a silent agreement.

They wouldn't let him open that portal. Whatever it took, they were going to stop him.

Belos’ eyes shifted between them, before spinning his sword into a staff. The pole was double-edged, with a foot of wicked bronze on either end. Perfect for when you were outnumbered.

The mountain rumbled again, and Amity gasped, stumbling. Luz reached over and caught her, dropping both of them to their knees while the quakes wracked through the cavern. Even Belos shifted, needing to grip his staff with both hands to keep himself steady. When they subsided, Luz helped Amity to her feet.

“Are you okay?” She whispered, and the daughter of the love goddess whipped her head to look at her like she had three heads.

“Am I okay? I’m not the one who ran off to try and free Hestia on her own!” She hissed, and Luz winced, shrugging her shoulders.

“Lilith saw an opening and told me to run.”

Behind them, the portal's flames popped, rising up again despite Luz cutting one of the chains. In the cage, Hestia flinched, but she was now at least on her knees and pulling at the other chain trying to free herself. Belos was stepping closer to them, his eyes narrowed, obviously angry.

This was a bad situation. One that kept getting worse. But at least now she wasn’t alone.

Luz turned back to Belos, gripping her sword tightly. “You’re outnumbered. Surrender, and close the portal for good.”

Belos chuckled and shook his head, his staff pressing hard into the ground leaving white slashes along the rocky floor.

“Oh no, demigod. We are not done here,” he said, lifting his left hand. The mountain got colder, the temperature dropping as Belos flicked his hand, and Death Mist curled out from around his cloak.

“Before this mountain falls, I am going to kill you both. Then I will open that portal and run Olympus to the ground.”

#the owl house #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #lumity #shelby speaks

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widowsofchaos · 4 years

Text

Kool Aid, i

summary: One phone-call is all it takes to unravel regret.

pairing: Winterwitch (Bucky x Wanda) x black!reader

warnings: mentions of drug abuse, vulgarity, domestic abuse, childhood abuse, mentions of mental health; eventual smut, angst.

a/n: Beta the glorious @heli0s-writes aka mom. Thanks for your incredible insight, and commentary; and for teaching this rusty writer to be better!

ao3 // kool-aid masterlist

do not repost my works.

Inky indigo falls over Pennsylvania.

Moonless darkness cloaks the fifty-acre land. Skittering stars twinkle and gleam in the night sky like uncut diamonds - crickets chirp across the freshly cut lawn. The low hum of security light sensors buzz around the perimeter as patients sleep off their detoxed bodies.

Security guards slip into hazy slumber in their seats at the front lobby. Jumpy crickets ignite sensors and the white light filters through the one-window of a shared room painted creamy white, rays of artificial light flares upon two bodies.

“I burned and ached for wings. A child born from hate learns to self-loath like a badge of honor.”

A watery sigh infiltrates the deafening silence, interrupting your overflowing thoughts. “Jesus - that’s heavy.” The crumpled paper held between two brown spidery fingers, handing it back to you, you huffed a hollow chuckle, as you retrieved the tiny note-pad.

Beyond crumpled due to constant refolding, an anxious tick you never quite kicked, you mumbled a genuine thanks.

It’s difficult letting strangers read your poetry, you feel as if your skin was peeled off, and exposed raw for the salts of judgment. Writing has always been an escape from reality, releasing pent up emotions onto paper. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to stop the binging.

But with MJ, you never felt more safer. You were comfortable. You read her lines of Shakespeare, both sharing books and music. She taught you odd historical facts - recites buzzfeed unsolved mysteries to exact memory, facts about serial killers, and feminism -- observant, bold, honest -- a whizz this spitfire is.

It’s been a long-time since you felt the comfort of another person, just a year ago - you were abandoned, thrown out into the cold by the very ones who promised a better future. How naive, you actually started to joke that the drugs were finally starting to rot your brains for believing such bullshit.

A cruel joke, all the day-dreams, obsessing over the tiny details, because when you’re in love, all the tiny minuscule moments of the ones you yearn for is pure brilliance. As if they could do no wrong. Mesmerized with moon eyes as your beating heart bleeds over the stitches in your fore-arm.

Love is a monster. A beast that feeds on the mush of your scrambled brains. Destructing your flesh, ripping your skin apart with its claws, gnawing on bones, till finally it reaches your soul - that's love.

You fall hard, deep within hell’s pits, but it’s agonizingly slow. It doesn’t bring the best out of you, because life is unfair, and humans tend to savor evil acts of betrayal.

Layers of trauma, and depression unravel - the strings that attached your leaning limbs are flailing, you become yourself a clingy, and needy little beast. Bury it under grave dirt, the maw of pure unadulterated pain. The falsehood of euphoria dwindles from a ball of sunshine, to a dying star particle.

You lost what made you years ago.

Moving on a greyhound to PA to a pristine rehabilitation center was meant to recover, maybe learn how to be independent emotionally - recover from drugs, you weren’t too sure.

You shouldn’t have talked to MJ, confess your dirty secrets, insecurities, the relationship with your parents - except for a particular one - that one needs to wither in ashes.

MJ understands. The pain, and the emptiness. She’s been there, one in the same. No one understands, especially your parents. Not for the lack of effort, or so you think. Mom, and dad supported you physically: put clothes on your back, fed your belly, gave you your prescribed medicine - although muttered chastised indirects on how pills were unnecessary, you weren’t ill enough. If you’re not dying, or suffering from broken bones and bruises - you’re not ill.

They were your parents - it’s their obligation by default.

It’s duty, not love.

The addictions crept slowly over the years, progressing into aggressive vices - suffocating, but balms of comfort. You became a masochist to your demons: you would hurt in the aftermath, but kept running for more-- that one moment in time - as if you were floating into emptiness.

No one can hurt you there - where you are nothing. Weightless nirvana. Self-hate festers in your mind, you don’t even feel like your breathing. Then it happens - the fall. Your breathing slows down, rapid choppy spurts - your limbs become numb, your mind fizzles like TV static.

You know a lot of people hate you, and you understand that - you hate yourself too. If you could turn the hands of time, and change yourself, you would. You don’t do it for yourself, but you do it for your mom, and your dad - although you resent them at the best of times, but ever so the people pleaser. And now for MJ.

“You’re beyond talented. I wish I was good at something -”You cut her off, “No, don’t say that. You have so much potential. You just have to unlock it. I never met a person so intelligent.” You turn your head facing her side profile, admiring her button nose, and the smooth slope to the tip. MJ side-eyes you, her face straight forward, a curled smirk before she winks at you. “You really think so?” Hazily smiled at her, you nodded.

“I know so.”

You mourn for the girl you used to be.

You wish you were like a girl like MJ.

Beneath a snarky girl is revived dreams. With her brains, beauty, intellience - yet tenderness; she will make it far in life.

You? You’re surprised you made it past eighteen. Maybe God is gonna snuff you out at thirty. Damn, you hope so.

It’s all in your head.

Maybe you’re not trying hard enough?

You don’t want to get better hard enough - you’re lazy. If you did, you would be feeling better now.

You want to get better - but how? Fake it till you make it, right? Crying spells, and the dissociation hidden from the outside world. Exhaustion from laying in bed all day, the copious amount of shedded weight, the purple hues under your eyes - one time, you couldn’t leave the bed for days.

Refusing to relieve your bladder, all the urine just building - the cramps were monstrous. Got a uterine infection, and spent a few days laid up on a hospital bed.

Why bother? Why try? You’re too hurt to give one single fuck - your garden is barren any fucks to give. Slowly die, just lay in bed, and do nothing. Maybe one day, you’ll disappear. What a miracle that would be.

Cause quite frankly, you’re just fucking exhausted.

“Hey-” a poke on your ribs, “Where did you go?” MJ has been trying to gain your attention, but you slip hazily into that decrypted space, as always in that depressing bubble. It worries MJ, but doesn’t surprise her. Not anymore anyways.

“Nowhere special.” Your tongue turning sour from the kool aid you had earlier, nervously rubbing against your teeth. You wiggle your body more into your old navy blue university sweater, skin seeking desperately for warmth.

Like a child seeking their own personal woobie blanket - your bird-nest hair sticks to your face, too tired to brush it, MJ usually badgers you for her to detangle the curls and braid it.

MJ’s nimble fingers caress your hairline, weaving it’s travel into your matted curls, “Do you wanna talk about it?” Not yet. “Later, I’m really tired. Can we just rest a bit?” you ask, a bit breathless. Panic of abandonment sores through your veins. Your throat constricts, as your first tear of the night threatens to fall.

Your body instinctively twists, and shifts into MJ’s caring arms. “Sure.” A loving embrace, a friend. Finally a fucking friend - while your old ones spilt to find their own purpose, and sobriety.

All contact cut off - because of that one night. That fatal night. A croaked laugh slips from your plump lips, the cracks of your shield splinters, and shatters. Tears form at your squinted eyes, a smile reaches your ears, stretching your brown cheeks, and it hurts.

All of it hurts.

MJ shushes you, engulfing you in her arms, the smell of laundry detergent floods your lungs. It’s a certain smell your nose is familiar with; a homebody smell - anonymous in description, and name but nostalgic.

Smells of the past - you nuzzle your nose into her loose fitted shirt, the flaps of her red checkered plaid shirt curtain your face, a quick kiss on the forehead.

Wrists tucked against her shirt, afraid to let go. Please God, let me have just one friend.

“It’s okay.” MJ, a Queens girl, forced here by her parents, has seen pain like you have. Thin razor scars on her arms, and thighs tell stories of a frightened girl who seeks to feel alive through pain. Cuts, and slashes - to remind herself, ‘Hey I’m still here.’

Rubbing circles on your scalp, “I gotta brush your hair soon.” She understands, and does it with sincerity. Encourages you what you need to do to take care of you, and somehow you listen to her advice. Listens to your troubles, and instead of mindless efforts to move, she says things like ‘It’s okay, take your time. I’m here for you.’ ‘You’re important to me.’

The only good thing rehab has done for you is bring her into your life. All the droning repetitive phrases uttered out of that tyrant therapist of yours, ‘How does that make you feel?’ ‘Um, shitty. As always. Now can I please get some fucking valium?’ The kumbaya bullshit in group therapy is - no, not for you.

The fake closeness, holding hands for inner strength and even passed judgement bestowed by fucking assholes who abuses the same drugs as you, but different reasons - upon each other. It makes you forget how to breathe - the compulsive urge to count your breathing has gotten worse over the weeks.

Family workshops? Choke. Die. Rebuke it. You screamed, and threw furniture across the facility like a feral she-beast - shouting on the top of your lungs that you rather sodomize yourself with your own detached right arm then confront the very ones who fucked you up since birth.

Two needles of tranquillisation settled your lungs, and brain - that was a spectacular one-woman show of mental deterioration. You slept it off for a day, and a half.

Nine months of being rehab buddies turned into a full-fledged friendship.

Thank God for MJ.

A disembodied voice beckons you out of a dreamless slumber, bracing above you as you clutched onto a knocked out MJ. The blinding fluorescent tubes shine through the dreary dark room. A constant call of your name. Through bleary vision, you croaked, “Yes, God?” A low timbre of your name. Scolding an overgrown child. “Y/n, there’s a phone call for you at the main desk. It’s your mom.” You grumbled at Ms. Brown, a nurse administrator.

There’s an edge to her voice, it’s odd - she’s usually patient, and speaks in kind tones.

“Okay.” You groaned, your eyes too dry, and groggy to roll back to the base of your skull of annoyance. Carefully detaching your arms, and legs that were tucked in MJ’s petite frame, crawling out of the nest of wrinkled paper-thin sheets, as Ms. Brown awaited with her hip leaning against the door-frame.

Padding out of the room in white socks, black shorts, and an oversized pull over. Trailing behind the massive presence of flesh and bone, like a baby chick to a hen, down the hall to the main desk in the lobby. Embarrassed by your repulsive state, you hide your ratty hair in your hoodie, and stash your chewed nails in the pockets. Ms. Brown picks up the black rotary phone that laid on its back on the shiny desk. Was that pity in her eyes?

You searched for the clock that hung above on the wall, 3:38 am. You snarled, your mother must have a good reason to bother you.

It’s been about five months of no contact with her, your spine crawled at the anticipation to hear her voice. Clutching the phone between ear, and shoulder, “Hi, mom.” you deadpanned.

A sniffle, then a sob. Your brows furrowed, “Mom, what’s wrong?” mindlessly your fingers toy with the curled extension cord. “It’s your father, baby.” Your chest began to cave, your eye twitched, “What’s wrong with daddy?” your chapped lips spoke closer to the speaker, your knuckles whitening from caramel brown.

“Oh honey -” cut the theatrics, and spill it. “He’s dead.” A light in your head went out, your pupils widened, your breath stopped, your lungs shriveled to ashes, “How?” you wheezed.

Is this shock? You couldn’t tell - your mother’s nasally voice drowns into white noise, unshed tears form at the brim, all you heard was heart-attack - perhaps two funerals are at the horizon, you’re tipping at the iceberg - a potential asthma attack.

Ms. Brown keeps ushering the words, ‘focus on your breathing.’ A caring hand placed between your shoulder blades, rubbing in circles.

“You have to come home.” You wretchedly spit on the marbled desk, dry-heaved on the spot at those words, and Ms. Brown quickly snagged the phone from your hand, holding your trembling form in her soft doughy arms. “She needs to lie down for a moment. It’s three in the morning, so she needs some sleep. I’ll make sure she’s okay …” all the bulbs in your head burn out, an empty cranium.

You have to come home.

Back to Brooklyn.

Ms. Brown leads you back to your room, constantly asking if you’re okay. You reply robotically, yes. Tending to you, tucking you into your own bed as if you would fall by the sims. Cocooning you in the white blanket, reaches up to your chin. You close your eyes, trying to numb yourself.

You wait.

Till her footfalls fade, with a click of the lock. Wait at least sixty seconds, brown hues open with a careless flutter of the lashes.

A moment of peace - now search. Perked on the tips of your toes sinking into your mattress, you skillfully remove the ceiling tile above your bed, your hand snuck inside, c’mon, c’mon, where is it? Aha! Stretched fingers glide a plastic packet out of its hideaway. A little jiggle between your fingers, white powder of delight - a morning snack.

Skip over to MJ’s bed, you grasped her arm, and draped it over your shoulder. “What happened?” MJ mumbled, her eyes still shut closed, a beat of silence. “My dad is dead.” MJ’s eyes peel open at the news, “How?” You love that she doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because you’re far from it.

“Heart-attack.” MJ hugged your body tightly against hers. “The last time I talked to him, I screamed that I hated him.” Your voice wavered, muffled at the crook of her neck, “I never got to say goodbye.” MJ harshly swallowed the bile at her throat, she didn’t say a word. There’s no need, the impassive cadence was enough confirmation - the grief hasn’t fully ingrained in you.

“You’re gonna save some for me, right?” A half-hearted joke.

The packaged cocaine still hidden in the confines of your pocket bellows for your nostrils, to rub it against your teeth and gums - your parched tongue.

“Of course.”

You blink.

Another blink.

You sighed a distant exhale, your swollen heart dying against your cavity, and you blink.

All you can do is blink.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #winterwitch x reader #scarlet witch x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes smut #scarlet witch x reader smut #scarlet witch smut #marvel fanfic #modern au #avengers x reader

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satsuma-saturn · 3 years

Text

Wings of Wax and Feathers - Belphegor x Reader

A/N: not my best work, but i felt the need to post smth, since i haven’t posted a fic in a while. was gonna finish it sooner, but i highkey had a seizure and have just been recovering from it. anyway, i hope u enjoy and feel free to request shtuff that u wanna read. i’m also expanding on writing for more than just OM!, like MM, MLQC, Love Unholyc, and that’s probably it, but idk. My brain is malfunctioning after sleeping for only 3 hours lmao. Uh, I’m not rly a big acc, so I don’t rly get any requests, so send in requests if ur so inclined!

WC: 1322

Warning(s): general angst, mentions of character death, mentions of strangulation

as always, fic is below the cut-

His dark hair shines bright in the moonlight, violet eyes illuminated, like stones of amethyst. You stand before him, watching him gaze off into the distance. He seems distracted, not having noticed your presence, despite you standing in front of him, within his line of vision, or peripheral, at least. A frown dances across your face as you decide whether or not you feel like bothering him. On one hand, you had sought him out specifically to speak to him, but on the other, you don’t feel like being snapped at. Even if he isn’t the Avatar of Wrath, he sure as hell acts like him.

For weeks, you have been avoiding him, knowing full well that he has wanted to talk to you about “The Incident.” The incident that everyone refuses to even acknowledge. Not even Mammon, who held your corpse after the life had been choked out of it. When you brought it up with him, he pretended to not know what you were talking about. Belphegor is different, though. He knows it happened and he wants to make amends. You aren’t sure that you want to, though. Often, you find yourself flip flopping back and forth between wanting to continue avoiding him and actually speaking to him. Even if he were to apologize, you aren’t sure if you could ever have the same relationship with him as you do with his brothers.

Yet, you find yourself standing in front of him, as he stares at the stars, blissfully unaware of your presence in front of him. At this point, you still aren’t sure you’re ready to talk to him and make amends, but your feet moved faster than your brain, leading you to seek him out. There’s a quality about him, giving him a soft, innocent look. Just a boy who wants to sleep and spend time with his twin brother and little sister. Beneath that soft exterior, however, is a cold-hearted killer. A demon. Of course, they’re all demons. This is their world and you’re just living in it. Even sweet, gullible Mammon is a demon beneath the surface, capable of what Belphegor did to you and worse.

Wind whips around you, chilling you to the bone. Why, of all nights, did you decide that seeking him out in the winter night was a good idea? Ordinarily, one would assume that Hell, or the Devildom, as it’s known by the demons, would be hot at all times. At least, that’s how it’s been portrayed in all forms of media you’ve seen. The Devildom does have winter, though. Winters are different in the Devildom, compared to the human world. Temperatures are colder than anywhere in the Human World, even the coldest of places. Despite the cold, tonight is warm, compared to other nights in the Devildom, yet freezing to you.

“MC.” A quiet voice drags you from your reverie, as stoic, violet eyes bore into yours. He seems to have finally noticed you. Beyond saying your name, however, he says nothing else. Just stares. There’s a tired expression on his face, but just beneath the surface, you sense his irritation. Obviously, he had come all this way to be alone and just think, but you showed up, invading his space. The demon doesn’t say anything about it, but somehow, you’re sure that that is what he’s thinking. It’s hard to tell with him, though, as he wears the same tired look on his face, no matter his mood, similar to a certain police captain on a show that you watch in the human world. Dark circles accentuate the bags under his eyes, which anyone would assume came from a lack of sleep, but you know better. All he does is sleep.

“Belphegor, hello. I was looking for you.” He says nothing, just staring at you, not blinking. You feel like a turtle, wanting to slip back into your shell, but there is nowhere for you to run. The Avatar of Sloth isn’t a threat to you, at least not now, but you still feel uneasy around him. Perhaps you should have brought Mammon or Beelzebub with you, but they’re back at the House of Lamentation, unaware of Belphegor’s location, or that you had sought him out. If Mammon knew anything of your fear of the youngest brother, he would have kept you from searching for him in the first place.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he finally speaks again. “Why? You’ve been avoiding me, but suddenly you wish to be in my presence?”

You ponder his question. Other than trying to make amends, for the sake of the other brothers, what is your reasoning for seeking him out? The two of you know that you would rather be anywhere than where you were. “I guess I just want to smooth things over with you and make amends, y’know? For the sake of your brothers. All this time, I’ve been playing the demon family therapist, and it seems my work isn’t over yet.” Momentarily, you pause, giving him time to absorb what you just told him. “So, you don’t hate humans anymore. You’ve seen that we aren’t so bad, right? It isn’t any human’s fault that Lil-”

“Don’t say her name!” He snapped, his violet eyes blazing with anger. What is the point of trying to patch things up if he won’t even listen to you? His anger was starting to rub off on you, as you scowled at him. Maybe you made the wrong decision in coming here. “Humans are insolent, insignificant beings! Just because you are the descendant of someone that I cared about, doesn’t mean that my viewpoint has suddenly changed on your kind. You’re the only human that’s worth allowing to live. The rest can all die, for all I care,” he says, as if that makes anything better. His voice grows louder with every word, causing you to back away slightly, out of fear. You don’t notice it, but he does. Even if it is his fault, it still stings to see you so frightened of him.

Even without the fear of him, his words are not what you wanted to hear. You should have known. Demons are creatures of habit, not putting forth the effort to change themselves for the better. It was in their nature, and you should have expected the Avatar of Sloth to be the least likely to make a change in his nature. “You know what? I tried! I tried to patch things up between us for your brothers, but you’re too far gone! You don’t care about me! You don’t like me! I only matter to you because I’m some distant descendant of your sister’s! This may not be what you want to hear, but it’s the truth! Stop pretending that I’m anything to you but some vicarious version of your sister!” Your hands tremble as you shout. The demon is silent, his violet eyes piercing yours. He doesn’t even appear to be reacting to your words. “What?! You have nothing to say?!” Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, as you try to fight them off, not wanting to cry in front of him. Sniffling, you wipe your nose and turn to walk away, the icy dew soaking into your boots, which offer little protection against the cold. As you start to leave, he settles on a fallen, rotting log, burying his face into his hands.

Belphegor lifts his head from his hands, speaking quietly to himself. “My name is Icarus, and I have flown far too close to the sun.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark locks, feeling all alone in your absence. If only his love for humans hadn't turned to hate. Maybe then you would feel comfortable around him. For now, though, he will have to watch you from a distance, keeping tabs on you from Beel.

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moonraccoon-exe · 4 years

Note

Hi, Connie. I know it's been a while since you did any headcanons and idk if you still do them, but I'm curious of your opinion. I realize the wall is one giant quarantine bubble, but the people are still free to do as the please inside it. How do you think each of the chocobros would handle an Insomnia-wide quarantine like what's going on in most of the world right now? What if one of them got sick (assuming a FFXV equivalent of COVID-19?) How would Regis, as King, take care of his people?

PS: Aparently the Keep Reading line is having some troubles. May appear right under the question (how did it get THERE?) or nowhere at all lol pls forgive tumblr he trying.

HEEEEEEEEEELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s definitely been a while since I did any headcanons, but that’s because school has kept me busy like crazy, and when I have spare time, I put it into my two big fanfics going on (I don’t want people to wait too much!) but I’ll definitely keep doing these, every single one of them, until I finish, even if it takes me years and years <3

The ask prompts are one of my favorite things in the world so of course I’ll keep them going!

HOH

YOUR PROMPT IS SUPER INTERESTING!!!!! AYYYYY, let’s see what this raccoonie brain has there!!

FFXV Insomnia in a quarantine

First things first, the government

Regis, as King:

Regis is going all the way into making sure EVERYONE can stay home.

Regis is going to ask the other countries to lend Lucis money. As in. M I L L I O N S.

“Your Majesty, you ARE aware we’re nowhere half to repaying that debt in a near future?”

“THIS IS A LITERAL PLAGUE WITH NO CURE YET THAT’S KILLING DOZENS SOME OF WHICH THEIR FAMILIES CAN’T SAY GOODBYE TO AND YOU W O R RY A B O UT T HE E C O NO M Y ¿¿¿? ?!??”

Regis has brain and, most importantly, humanity. He’s definitely going to put the country in debt for the next 15 kings is that helps people right now.

Mostly because he’s aware it’s no one’s fault.

Regis is announcing what he’s going to do to keep people safe publicly:

The next three months of any loans are forgiven. Mortgage, rent, water, electricity, and all the public services will be free for the next three months. If you own any debts, be it a house or a little clock, you don’t have to pay on the next 3 months, and instead that amount will be divided into future months in small amounts so it’s recovered in the medium or long run. No one needs to spend one gil in any of the basics, don’t worry about that, it’s covered, government’s got you, SO PLEASE STAY HOME.

Regis is aware that some people can’t stay home because what little they earn is what they spend in basic food; Regis is going to spend lots of the money he burrowed in them.

Regis is going to pay as well to teachers and artists for online classes and entertainment, because he’s aware of the mental/emotional distress people can be in after certain time indoors.

Regis is going to put most the money in the medical and cleaning services.

Regis is going to keep online and phone polls for people to fill in particular cases (I still need to go out because I need to go look after my mother each friday, I still need to go out because I need to go get medicines each certain time at this district) so the Citadel’s intel know best what to do.

Regis is going to make sure to have teams sanitizing public transport and places everyday.

Regis is a no-game man, dammit.

((Regis is the reason Insomnia only needed three months before being free))

Makes sure the media broadcasts not only the death cases, but also and most importantly the healed cases. Not gonna let the media get stupid with this for money or paranoia, no sir

Noctis, as prince

DID YOU THINK HE WAS JUST GOING TO MOP, THIS IS THE PRINCE

(Remember the game tells us he was a damn good prince as in politically? what a bean <3)

Noct was taken more off guard; Regis acted immediately like a (good) madman, Noctis still needed a bit to process it

Noct is who comes up with some ideas that Regis puts into action (the phone/online polls, the online classes, for example)

Noct too manages some of the intel going on during quarentine to see how the city is progressing and how else they can help.

Noctis is in charge of the interviews along the...health minister (?) everyday, while Regis stays at work and intel.

Noctis makes sure to do a livestream each certain days to greet the people, answer questions, or just have a bit of fun, and to remind them to stay home and to keep the spirits up. We know Noct would rather rot in boredome in his sofa because Sleepy Boy, but he knows the effect he has on his people, so he does the livestreams for them; to keep them entertained, informed, and simply to keep them sane.

Noctis came up with the idea of making an app/text service for those that suffer of domestic violence; “staying home” sounds easy to him because he has a huge house and a good family, but he’s aware that not do everyone.

(Putting a keep reading here)

Noctis

Sleeps it away lmao

Honestly Noct doesn’t have much troubles with the whole “stay home” thing. He likes home. He LOVES staying home. LET HIM STAY EVEN AFTER QUARENTINE IS OVER.

Noct has videogames and his bed. You don’t need to tell him twice to stay home.

Noct sleeps most of the day.

Noct decides to not shower everyday.

The only trouble Noct goes through is that his room starts getting super messy everyday and Ignis isn’t going to appear to help him out.

Noctis spends his time doing homework and mumbling about how “teachers didn’t use to give us this much homework until quarentine, this is just their excuse goddammit fuck this shit”

I feel you Noct

Besides that, videogames, trash food, and sleeping.

It’s 9 pm, he’s in pajamas. That he hasn’t taken off in three days.

It’s 6 am and Noct is out of bed. He hasn’t slept since 2 am.

What is this guy’s sleep schedule.

Despite the careless and carefree attitude, Noct still worries. He still has to stay the most informed, as the prince, of the international and national situation, and it sometimes gets stressful.

When Noct sees numbers grow and a gloomy future, he gets stressed but won’t say it; that careless attitude is his way of coping. Like pretending it’s not true.

Noct worries about the poor, too, and the low and working class. He too came up with more ideas along with Regis to keep them safe too and not force them to work while the middle and upper classes stay indoors like it’s not the big deal.

Noct thinks a lot about Prompto. He knows he doesn’t need to go out too much, but he also knows how much of a terribly, horribly emotional distress Prom is in when staying at his house for too long.

Noct takes up on video-phoning Prom, everyday. His best boy can’t be sad, stressed, or messed up, and he’s going to keep him sane and cheer him up everyday.

Noct may or may have not ended up inviting Prompto to spend quarentine at the Citadel with him. He hadn’t finished saying it when Prom was already at the Citadel’s door asking to be sanitized before going in.

If he got sick, everyone around him would be more scared than him LMAO

“OHNOTHEPRINCEISILLHE’SGOINGTODIEIAMNOTREADYFORTHISNOOOOOOOOO”

Noct: so can I skip online school like this?

He’d be looked after with almost paranoia, there’s only two of the Lucis Caelum alive and honestly losing the heir and only one that can have kids at this point to the virus woulnd’t be very epic on history books

Noct IS worried, just pretending he’s not.

Noct is going to avoid Regis LIKE A PRO. He’s going to ask to live somewhere else, will ask to sanitize his room and keep it locked, will ask that Regis gets nowhere near ANY of his belongings. Basically, Noct is going CRAZY over avoiding Regis...so Regis doesn’t catch it :’’(

What a pure bean

Even if Regis tries visiting him, and even if the whole place is sanitized and like a little bubble away of the rest of the world, Noct will still not want him to come inside.

Honestly, this is going to make Regis really, deeply sad and maybe even hurt. He wants to stay positive, but he keeps thinking of what if Noct dies to it, and not only dies, he’d also die without having held him for a last time or seen him.

They meet through the window. They phone each other and just touch through the closed window... :’) </3

Noct knows he may be over protecting Regis, but he’s honestly not going to have it any other way. He has way more than enough watching his old man grow old too fast from the Ring to run the risk of giving him this stupid virus. If he has to make his old man sad in order to keep him healthy, SO BE IT.

Ignis

He’s fine.

He’s just so cool with this.

“Ah, of course. A plague. It was our turn, as was expected.”

...w...what are you talking about, Ignis.

He’s barely impressed.

Master of following instructions, they told Ignis to stay home and THAT he did.

The store? The neighbor? Just an inch outside his main door? NO. THAT’S NOT INDOORS.

It’s not that he’s paranoid, he’s just not bothered by the idea fo not going out and he knows that the more he stays home the faster this will pass that he just. Stays in, sometimes not even looking out the window for a day or two.

Ignis still phones Noct each two days to remind him his room is messy do something because I won’t, or do nothing, the cockroaches will help you with the crumbs and leftovers in a day more.

Ignis isn’t bored. He still has home office and paperwork to do, the poor, young, miserable thing.

In his spare time he likes doing stuff he likes, as he normally didn’t have the time to do.

Ignis is making sure to call the other chocobros to make sure they’re ok. He’s particularly attentive to Prompto.

Boy is having video calls with Gladio because Best Friends.

Ignis attempts to do as your raccoonie; will try to finish two-week worth of his paperwork in one or two days t o have the rest of the time free LMAO

(I hope, unlike me, he’s succeeding at that)

Ignis worries mostly about others and the outside Lucis. He takes up on the advantage of being bros with the prince to suggest something, that Noct can suggest to Regis to make it better for as many people as possible.

If he got sick, he’d attend hospital and not go out until he’s 100% okay AND spent 2 weeks with no fall back into it.

He’d thank the doctors and nurses like every five minutes honestly. Iggy appreciates they’re doing such high risk job, keeps admiring them. Dammit.

He would accept no visits. Is it the prince? tell him to FUCK OFF.

Mostly the throne family Ignis won’t dare visit even after he’s healed.

“IGNIS IT’S OK YOU’VE BEEN FINE FOR A MONTH”

“TALK TO ME WHEN QUARENTINE IS OVER AND/OR THERE IS A VACCINE, GET THE FUCK OFF MY FRONT YARD”

Ignis is not overly worried about the illness. He has stupidly strong defenses and can see himself getting out of this. He worries just what’s normal but keeps spirits up with all the numbers of healed cases.

Go Iggy!

Gladio

Surprisingly, he’s taking this really well.

Gladio’s sort of more scared than the rest at the news; he was so prepared for physical enemies, the idea of an abstract, non-physical one suddenly sweeps him off his feet.

But he handles it well. So long he doesn’t watch the news.

Gladio won’t listen or read the news on the virus; he’s aware of it, he’ll take care and be careful, but he won’t read or hear numbers or updates, he’ll just live this out until it’s over.

Gladio takes his mind off it with indoor exercising, lots of it.

Gladio’s job was mostly physical, so he takes on the advantage that he has nearly no chances of home office to do stuff he likes; mostly, this nerd will drown in history documentaries on KupoTube, will watch the equivalent of Disney and Dreamwork movies, will read like the world is ending, and will take up on online courses.

He likes crafts. Okay? Leave him alone and let him give his baby steps into watercolor painting.

Gladio is video calling Noctis. To force him to exercise LMAO

“OY, NOCT, THIS IS PRE-RECORDED, DO YOU THINK I’M AN IDIOT? COME BACK HERE TO YOUR COMPUTER OR IT’LL BE WORSE”

Gladio is holding back a Desperate-To-Go-Out Iris.

She’s not irresponsible, she just HATES INDOORS LET ME GO OUT IT’LL BE JUST AROUND THE BLOCK

Gladio’s not letting Jared go ANYWHERE

“SOMETHING HAPPENS TO YOU AND I DIE, YOU STAY HERE, I’LL GO BUY GROCERIES AND DON’T YOU DARE GET ANYWHERE NEAR ME AFTER I’M BACK UNTIL I’VE SHOWERED”

Gladdy it’s ok :’)

A bit paranoid when it comes to others, though will still be a bit paranoid about himself.

Gladio is mostly calm about it; just a few times every now and then he’s stressed and a bit too troubled for an easy sleep.

Video calls Iggy every day because Best Friends.

Iggy keeps him sane, the baby :’(

Honestly, Gladio also makes sure that Ignis is ok. Ignis is always looking after all other three, but Gladio is who’s most aware of looking after Ignis. Ignis won’t say it, but he’s probably feeling very lonely after a month indoors, as his family won’t pay much attention to him. Gladio’s making sure to keep him happy, distracted, and in good spirits, and in company.

If he got sick, he’d probably have a very bad emotional time at first.

Gladio would cry and think nearly for sure that he’s dead already.

Not like in drama, he would seriously get sad and be very, very scared :’(

Same than Noct, he wouldn’t let Clarus near him or any of his belongings, nor Jared. Not Iris either, of course, but he worries more for the older men.

Gladio would probably not do very well emotionally in hospital. He’d spend there the necessary time, but then he would probably like most to be in an apartment for himself if available or in his room without letting anyone near.

Gladio will keep thinking of the chances to live or die, of how scary the idea of a virus with no cure is, will get really gloomy and negative on it.

His family try to provide emotional support, but every time they call Gladio just drowns himself in ideas like what their family would do if he died and it just makes him sadder

The doctors and Iggy are what keep his spirits up, to be honest.

The sadness lasts the first days. AFter that, Gladio’s going to handle the ilness like a DAMN WARRIOR

“YOU INJECT THAT THING, DOC, BRING IT ON”

A new treatment and the consequences are unsure? BRING IT ON.

Whatever it is, Gladio’s HEAD IN FOR IT

Baby boy just needed some time to process it. After that he’s just taking it so lightheartedly, even the doctors get cheered up at his bright attitude towards it.

“You’ve progressed on a 1%”

“HELL YEAH ONE PERCENT!!!!!!!!!!! :D”

What a beautiful boy omg

Prompto

This one is the chocobro that REALLY gets hit by quarentine.

Prompto’s not hyperactive, he can stay indoors if they ask him to...the problem is his house.

Prompto gets easily anxious staying at home for too long. He spent his childhood locked away in there, isolated. No parents, no friends, nothing. He stayed locked away in what was the toughest moments of his life. He doesn’t hate indoors, he hates indoors at his house. It brings all of that back.

Prompto’s trying to keep all the lights on to make it less like in his childhood; gets easily guilty remembering the huge debt the King put himself into so he doesn’t have to pay for electricity and now he’s wasting it.

Prompto gets easily anxious around food nowadays. Remembers it was staying indoors doing but eat what got him so fat and lonely.

(Prommy it’s ok, fat is not bad :(( this poor angel )

Honestly Prompto’s so busy emotionally stressing over being indoors at his house that the pandemic in the world isn’t even super concerning, it’s just as if there was a storm outside; he knows it’s bad and that not everyone can stay safe from it, but he’s just worried in his own situation at home.

His parents get to stay indoors with him for home office, which is as good as it is bad.

For some reason it’s not so comforting because it makes Prompto think of how absent they used to me. For some reason, it also IS comforting because unlike his childhood, at least they’re there now.

Prompto tries to make the best out of this and tries bonding with them when they’re not busy.

It actually works <3 They don’t get overly emotional or anything but they get to spend some good time together, watch movies, talk more, etc.

It helps Prom with the food issue that Dad does the cooking this time.

Good as his parents are with him during quarentine, it’s home, like the physical place what keeps gnawing at his emotional health.

Prom is going to try EVERYTHING to keep himself distracted.

Iggy phones him constantly, which helps a lot. Noct videocalls him everyday, which really keeps him up.

Prom is taking BUNCHES of online courses and classes, bECAUSE THIS BOY LOVES DOING AND LEARNING STUFF

Week 6 of quareantine, Prompto has made his own jacket out of kitchen towels. It’s...actually impressive.

If he got sick, he too would be paranoid.

More than sad, Prompto would be openly scared and nervous.

EXTRA

The chocobros as a Four:

They’re having online video parties and meetings.

The four got a pizza each. They’re video meeting, and pretending it’s the same pizza lol

“YOU ATE THE LAST SLICE HOW DARE YOU, I TOLD YOU I WANTED IT!!! >:’‘(”

The guys are showing their quarentine achievements to each other.

“Look, I’ve let my feet nails long because I don’t need shoes anymore and I shaped them like I’m a dragon haha”

“Oi look, I learned a new trick with my yo-yo”

“Look how GREASY my hair is right now haha. what do you mean if I’m attending the national interview later like this, of course I am”

The chocobros are sending each other online courses that they think the others or one of them will like

They’re having one of those online movie in different computers together.

Also multiplayer games because they can.

Ignis wins every time.

The chocobros are playing a 4-members Squad mode in Battle Royale games. Noct and Prom are okay. Ignis is the Pro. Gladio is the bait.

Iris:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Cor:

Cor is surprisingly calm about this.

Cor is spending his time meditating.

Cor has barely any paperwork, as his work is mostly physical, so he gets a lot of time free with Regis’ politics for a proper literally-no-need-to-go-out politics. Meditation that is.

Cor is phoning Prompto each now and then, too.

Prompto would answer happily that he’s fine and with no virus. Cor finally once tells him he’s not asking if he’s ok about the virus. Prom needed no more explanation and just said he was ok, if a little sad.

Cor is working out at home.

Cor is getting bored.

Cor is reading, watching series, or meditating, or cooking just for the sake of it.

Cor just has one problem. He’s a workaholic. You give him no work, this man starts slowly having a meltdown and descent into the abyss of madness. He needs to die of stress, how else do you expect him to live?

The first weeks were fine. After the first few weeks Cor starts getting anxious about needing work to do.

Cor you stupid thing

Cor is starting to get distracted in meditation because he keeps getting anxious about working in something.

Cor starts phoning Regis.

“Do you have any paperwork for me now?”

This is every two days.

Regis COULD have given him something. Regis doesn’t. Cor needs to learn to know how to be AT PEACE FOR FUCKING ONCE.

Cor is making paperwork up to work on lol

Cor was diagnosed with the virus. They put the virus in quarentine for its safety.

#ffxv #chocobros #ffxv headcanons #final fantasy xv imagine #coonanswers #coonheadcanons #AYE BOY THIS WAS NICE TO ANSWER #hopefully i can nail some more around these times <3 #I'm really trying to turbo do my homework...not working so far but im trying lol #noctis #ignis #gladio #regis #prompto #cor

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