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thepixelelf · 2 years

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Pansy

Genres: fluff, angst, childhood friends au, neighbors au, brother’s best friend au Pairing: Reader & Dino (Seventeen) Words: 7.4k (00:30) Warnings: language, annoying older brother things. it's not mentioned, but reader and their brother are adoptive siblings Note: this is the svt version of a tbz Q fic I wrote almost 3 years ago, so just know my writing's changed a bit since

Over the years, you learned that being a Pansy wasn’t so bad.

Six

The swing set in your backyard, coupled with a bright yellow slide about twice your height, had to be your favourite place in the world. Your aunt — or maybe your uncle, you couldn’t remember — gave it to you and your older brother once her children had grown too big for it. The blue swing was yours, and the green swing was your brother’s, as it was bigger (according to him) and therefore he deserved it. Though, you were happy with having the blue swing, as it was something undeniably yours.

Which was why, coming home from the last day of kindergarten to your favourite place in the world, you were less than ecstatic to find some boy sitting in your swing.

Logan seemed to be doing his classic "swinging higher than mum or dad liked" move on his green swing. He was only eight, but he already liked going above and beyond. While he swung back and forth, your eyes studied the stranger in your spot.

He sat still in the swing, his feet planted firmly on the dirt underneath. The grass from before had been uprooted long ago from weeks of being kicked and stomped. His eyes were on yours as well, only fitting of a child seeing someone new for the first time.

"Who's this?" Normally you were quite good at meeting people; your parents complimented you on it much more than Logan, which you took almost too much pride in. But on that day, a stranger was sitting in the only place you knew was your own, and you were not happy about it.

"Chan," Logan answered, his voice warping as he swung high above you. "He's from the new family across the road."

The house across the road had been empty for a while, but a few weeks ago, two moving vans filled the street and loud noises interrupted your tea party. You knew they had a kid, you just weren't expecting Logan to befriend him so quickly, especially since he only had two friends at school. Maybe your mom made him go over with her and dad to greet the new family with over-baked chocolate chip cookies, just as they did with every new neighbor.

"He's on my swing," was all you said, as you weren't ready to confront the new boy — Chan, just yet. It may have been your swing, but Chan could've been like the boys at school, and confronting them was never a good idea.

"That's not your swing, that's my swing."

"No, your swing is the green one and mine is the blue one! Why do you get two swings anyway?!" You stomped your little feet beneath you in protest, hands on your hips and cheeks puffed out.

"'Cause I'm older, pansy."

Logan had been calling you pansy ever since he learned the word because your parents would always chide him for calling you "stupid" or "idiot". You thought pansy was a lot worse, though. You were no pansy.

"You're only two years older dummy!" You stomped off into the house, ready to tattle to the first parent you saw.

"Hey!" Logan yelled after you. "Dummy is a banned word, pansy!"

•

For the first week of Logan and Chan's friendship, Chan thought your name was Pansy.

The first time he called you that, you were beyond shocked. Who was he, the new kid, to call you a pansy? You ignored him, turning up your nose and walking away. As if you were going to interact with some swing-stealer.

He only learned your real name when your mom had called you all in for dinner. You were sitting at the top of the slide, waiting patiently for a turn on your swing. (Which you never got all week.) She yelled both you and your brother’s names out through the screened windows from the kitchen, beckoning you inside for chicken curry and rice. "You're welcome to join us, Chan, but make sure you ask your folks first."

Chan looked to Logan, who had jumped off his swing and landed mightily on the grass. "Who's that?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"The other name she yelled," Chan clarified. "And she didn't say Pansy's name, either."

It took Logan much less time than you to figure out what he meant, so you stayed quiet when Logan burst out laughing.

"That's not their name! It's what you call somebody who's a..." Logan paused as he put an arm over Chan's shoulders and led him into the house, snapping his fingers when he finally found the word. "...a coward!"

Chan didn't stay for dinner. And Logan somehow got curry all over his shirt.

Seven

Chan turned out to be the same age as you, which you only figured out once he transferred into your first-grade class. Apparently, the private school he was going to before didn't fit his parents' standards. Though, you never understood why your regular public school was any better, other than maybe the fact that it was only a two-minute walk from your houses.

Even though he was your age, he joined in on calling you a pansy.

Since Logan had started using the word as punctuation more than an actual insult, you'd begun to desensitize, yet Chan saying it gave the word more sting. You never did anything to him, so you wondered why he would ever call you that. Your parents always said that Logan used the word because he was your brother, so what was Chan's excuse?

He started coming over every afternoon, once school let out for the day, so you'd been relegated to using your swing at nighttime, when the stars twinkled and the bugs serenaded each other. It was peaceful, nice even, but cold and lonely.

"Chan here says you two are neighbors," Miss Ossen said in her sing-song elementary teacher voice "Why don't you show him around the playground, hm? Ask him what he likes to do."

It was Chan's second day at your school. On his first day, Logan's third-grade class had gone on a field trip to some botanical garden, so he had no one to play with during recess, but you knew that today he'd surely find Logan and cling onto him like a leech. He didn't need your help.

"He likes swings, Miss O," you said with a huff. "Blue swings."

You got in trouble for being rude to a classmate.

Ten

The first time you thought you might be a pansy was fourth grade, when you found out you were afraid of heights.

The whole class was playing grounders with a few of the sixth graders, a game where one person had their eyes shut and everyone else had to avoid them. At. All. Costs. (According to the sixth graders.) Chan was 'it' and had you trapped in a corner along with another classmate, but they ran and took the only hiding spot. Your only choice — other than being tagged — was climbing the playground equipment and hanging off the edge. You'd never done it before, but you'd seen Logan and Chan do it plenty of times. If they could do it, surely you could too, you thought. But when you climbed over the railing, you realized how far up you really were. The sand blurred beneath you, and you screamed, making Chan open his eyes in shock.

"What's wrong?"

You didn't answer, just screwed your eyes shut as sobs began to rack from your chest. Your grip on the playground equipment tightened more, if possible, as you tucked your head in. The world blurred around you as you drowned it out, focusing only on your grip and the blooming colors behind your eyelids.

You don't remember exactly what happened, but you have a faint memory of Logan and Chan pulling you over the railing.

"Why'd you go up there, stupid?!" Logan chastised.

You didn't have enough air in your lungs to complain about his use of a banned word, so you only crouched down and cried as they watched.

"Don't cry," Logan mumbled, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets. He wouldn't look at you, instead, his eyes skirted everywhere else. "You're such a pansy."

Through squinted, blurry eyes, you looked up at your brother and Chan, who was standing awkwardly in front of you. His fingers kept twitching as his arms laid limp at his sides, but he made no move to comfort you. All you could do was cry until the bell rang a minute later.

That afternoon, once you all walked home, Chan told Logan he wanted to play games inside, so you went to the backyard and sat on your swing. Maybe you were a pansy after all.

Eleven

After Logan moved on to middle school, Chan was left behind without his older friends, but he seemed to have no trouble becoming friendly with the boys in your class. Though, he was always closest with Logan. School ended earlier for him than you and Chan, so you'd find him already in the backyard every day after you'd walked home.

You sat at the top of the yellow slide as Logan and Chan swung back and forth, braiding too-big flower crowns out of the backyard's abundance of dandelions. The first one was much too big for your head, so you made it a necklace instead.

It'd become a sort of daily tradition. The boys on the swings and you atop the wooden platform the slide came off of. Your time on your swing came when Chan would leave for the night, and you were fine with that. He was Logan's friend, and yours too, you supposed, so there was no point in arguing over it. Besides, he let you take it if you really wanted — despite Logan's adamant attitude about older-brother-ness and superiority or whatever.

"What are the older kids like?" Chan asked, his feet uprooting the grass as he abruptly stopped swinging.

Logan kept swinging, unbothered. "Tall. But mum said I'll be that tall when I grow up, too."

You often wondered why Logan chose to be best friends with Chan rather than other boys his age, as well as the other way around, but over the years, you realized they were, in a way, meant for each other. Logan was loud and overbearing, and while Chan wasn’t necessarily shy, he would often keep quiet if he thought it’d help others, even if it hurt him. When they were together,though, Logan became a good listener (to Chan, at least) and Chan plucked up courage from seemingly nowhere. Each brought out the good in the other. Maybe not the best, as Logan still wouldn't listen to you — or anyone else for that matter — and Chan wouldn’t dare to stand up for himself if Logan wasn't around, but still, good.

Chan asked a lot about junior high, even though Logan had only been there for less than a year. At the dinner table, Logan would always tell your parents that it was no different from elementary — that he was handling it perfectly, especially science, but he talked about it completely differently with Chan. Like it was a whole new adventure, but still, nothing to be scared of.

"How tall?"

"Taller than me, so way taller than you," Logan said casually as he kept swinging. He was almost too big for the swing, you thought. Maybe it was the feeling that came with the swingset that kept him going, not the comfort of the swing itself.

"Logan," you cut into their conversation, holding up a completed flower crown — the first one actually crown-sized.

Your brother scrunched his nose, eyes thinning, and you dropped your hands to your lap. "Ew, I don't want that. It'll make me look like a pansy."

The pout on your lips was much too evident for your liking.

"Give it to Chan," Logan compromised. "He likes flowers."

You held up the flower crown in front of you again, asking Chan with your eyes if he wanted it. He seemed almost panicked when he sent some sort of look to Logan, but eventually, he gave you a slow, hesitant nod. At that, you went down the yellow slide (which was much more exhilarating when you were three feet tall) and walked over to where he sat on your swing.

He looked up at you as you approached, and you swore you could see the whole sky reflected on his eyes, clouds and all. The yellow dandelions looked great against his soft hair; you were almost jealous. Once you'd placed it on his head, you'd planned to go back to where you were, but for some reason, you stayed standing in front of Chan. Entranced.

"See?" Logan pulled you back to your senses. "It looks good on him. You wouldn't like it on me."

You didn't see that Chan was still staring.

Thirteen

Logan stopped swinging. Now, in the afternoon, after all of you walked home together, he and Chan would take over the living room and play video games. Or sometimes, they'd take various balls from the garage and bring them to the park. Either way, you finally had your swing back during daylight. Though it wasn't as fun without Logan or Chan around, you still swung as high as possible, getting closer and closer to the sun's kisses.

You weren't in the same homeroom as Chan, so you only shared one class together that year — math. There were things he understood that you didn't, and things you understood that he didn't. You helped each other out, but that was the extent of your relationship on school grounds. Your friends always asked why Chan called you "Pansy" when you passed each other in the halls, but you never had a real answer. He just did.

He meant no malice behind it. That's just what he called you.

Even Logan had stopped calling you a pansy, but to Chan, you guessed it just stuck. Not a pansy, but Pansy. You never asked him why he still called you that; for some reason, you just didn't feel the need to.

On a particularly sunny Wednesday, Logan stayed home sick, all whiny and annoying even though it was just a cold. You and Chan walked home together, just the two of you, for the first time since last year. The walk was silent, but not uncomfortable.

As soon as you reached the house, Chan immediately went up to Logan's room, but he was kicked out by your mother.

"I can't have two sick young boys in my house," she said. "The whole neighborhood will get infected."

He joined you outside in the backyard with a simple explanation. "My parents aren't home yet and I don't have a key."

Neither of you used the swings the way they were supposed to be used that day; just sat and conversed; caught up with each other. Somehow, even though you saw him every day, you'd never talked to him like this before. You barely even know what you talked about, but you spent hours that day just… with him and nothing but him.

His parents were home long before he returned.

Fifteen

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You looked at the people around you, all of them sitting in a circle on some classmate's living room floor. The half-empty bottle of soda that you'd just spun pointed straight at Chan.

"...I thought this was truth or dare," you said, confusion clear in your voice.

Everyone, except Chan of course, looked at you as if you were crazy (you did just spin a bottle, after all) then went back to chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Fine!" You only raised your voice to shut everyone up — if that classmate's parents heard, you'd be embarrassed past mars — but maybe you sounded a bit angry. Getting on your hands and knees to cross the circle, you grasped Chan's chin and turned his head to the side, planting a quick, almost nonexistent kiss on his cheek. That might have been the fastest you'd ever done something. If there were races like that at the Olympics, you'd win every event.

On a late Friday night in a house you don't remember the owner of, you gave your first kiss. (On the cheek.)

On a late Friday night in a house he'll never forget, Chan received his first kiss. (On the cheek.)

Sixteen

You didn't know why, but Logan and Chan were incommunicado.

When you asked your mother about it, she simply said she'd heard them arguing while you were out, but she couldn't figure out exactly what they were saying. Apparently, Logan had pushed Chan all the way out of the house and slammed the door in his face.

Logan wouldn't answer you, not clearly anyway, when you asked after a whole week of radio silence.

"You're not allowed to worry about it," he told you. "And you're not allowed to talk to Chan either. You're on my side this time — you know, blood before hoes or something."

"That's not even close."

•

You totally went against what Logan said (but when did you ever listen to him anyway?) and knocked on Chan's bedroom door that night.

Judging by his facial expression, he wasn't expecting you at all, though you supposed showing up like that was quite out of the blue.

"Oh, Pansy… um, come in." He opened the door and gestured behind him into the room, but when he did, his eyes widened and he immediately slammed it shut. From behind the door, he raised his voice, "Give me a minute! Maybe five!"

Four minutes later, he invited you in for real.

You sat down in the chair he had for his desk, pulling your legs up to sit in a way the chair was clearly not made for. "So… what's up with you and Logan?"

You never saw the point in pussyfooting around what you wanted to talk about.

Chan stood by the door after closing it, seemingly feeling too awkward to sit with you. Maybe it was because of the topic or maybe it was because this would be your first time in his room, either way, his awkward tension was almost making you feel uncomfortable yourself.

"...You noticed?"

"How could I not notice? You haven't come over in a week, and that hasn't happened since you caught the flu in sixth grade."

"Right…"

The last time Chan looked this awkward around you was within the first few months of meeting, so you had no idea what was making him so tense now — ten years later.

"Sit down," you said, pointing at his gray sheets. "This isn't an interrogation, chill out."

Once he sat — though still stiff — you asked again, “Alright, give it up, what’s the deal? Logan won’t tell me anything.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t an interrogation,” Chan whined.

“It’s not. It’s not, I swear.” You shifted in the chair, not sure how to position yourself comfortably in the new environment. “I just want to know why you two fought, or, I guess, why you’re still fighting. Logan’s really sad about it, trust me. I offered him a peanut butter cup yesterday, and he refused! Can you believe that?!”

“Really?”

“Really!” Logan loved peanut butter cups more than he loved physics, and that said a lot for a nerd like him. “And! A few days ago he got accepted into his first-choice university — the one downtown, but when mum and dad suggested we go out with your family to celebrate, he shut himself in his room!”

Chan seemed to relax and tense up at the same time if that were possible. It was almost as if he was glad Logan wasn’t taking any of his anger out on anyone, but also feeling guilty for fighting in the first place.

"What did he do? Did his friends make fun of your dancing again? Because I swear to god—"

"No!" he interrupted, then cleared his throat. "No, he didn't do anything wrong. It was my fault."

You clicked your tongue. Chan was never at fault; it was always Logan and his big mouth.

"Oh come on, Chan. I've literally never seen you be the stupid one when you guys fight. You don't have to protect Logan all the time."

He wasn't looking at you, but his hands instead. They fiddled with each other in his lap, picking at his nails or rubbing his knuckles. "It really is my fault…"

"Oh." The air in his room was suddenly stale. "What happened?"

There was a silence, one that made you want to curl up into yourself and disappear. It felt as if you were intruding on something you shouldn't have. And even then, you still had no idea what was going on.

After a moment, Chan didn't answer your question but asked one instead. "You really love Logan, don't you?"

You were caught off guard by his words. It wasn't, "do you love your brother," but, "I know you love your brother, will you admit it?"

And the truth was, you didn't know how you really felt about Logan. He was annoying, egotistical, obnoxious, but he was also ambitious, self-confident, not afraid to say what he's thinking. Sometimes you were jealous of him, of people like him, because there were times you too wanted to yell at the top of your lungs or pursue your dreams without caring what other people think. He may have been overbearing, but he brought out the voices in others.

"Nah," you finally answered. "There's no way I'd love that idiot."

Chan breathed a heavy sigh. He knew you were lying. "That's the problem."

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing, nothing." He stood from the bed and walked over to the door, opening it. "You should go. Logan and I will figure this out."

•

They figured things out. You weren't a part of it, but they did.

After that, Chan didn't talk to you.

He stopped helping you with math or saying hi when you passed each other in the halls. He stopped greeting you when he and Logan were in the living room and you'd walk through to the kitchen for a snack. He stopped that small smile he always made when you met his eyes, and instead kept looking away as fast as he could.

You wanted to ask, to complain, but you never found the right timing. Chan wouldn't even look in your general direction, and Logan would avoid the topic like the plague.

Months passed, and you still couldn't figure it out. What did you ever do so wrong?

Both swings were much too small for you now, but that didn't deter you. The cool night air sent pinpricks to your cheeks. It felt like a slap to the face, the way it stung, though you didn't mind. You sat in the blue swing, pushing your feet against the dirt and going back and forth only a foot or two, thinking about what had brought you here. A dandelion flower crown sat atop your head, and another hung around your wrist.

Voices came from inside the house when the back door opened, and Logan walked out, Chan in tow. They made it halfway to the garage — both of them skillfully avoiding eye contact with you — before Logan patted both of his back pockets and cursed.

"I left my keys somewhere. Wait here."

He ran back into the house, leaving Chan to stand alone in the middle of your backyard. You watched as he stared at his shoes, stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets, kicked around stray leaves. He wouldn't look at you.

"Chan."

He tensed but didn't look up.

"Chan."

He sighed and turned to face you. His actions told you he was angry, but his face said differently. He looked scared. Afraid. But of what?

"Come here."

His steps were slow and careful, but he eventually made his way in front of you, about a foot away. You gestured for him to lean down, and he did, before placing your second flower crown on his head. His eyes widened as he straightened back up, his hands going up to inspect what you'd done. He ran his fingers delicately over the dandelions.

You smiled. A tired, but happy smile. "Yeah… these always looked better on you, didn't they?"

"I—"

"Did I do something?" Tears pricked at the back of your eyes, but you held them back. "I can't help but think I did something, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what."

He took half a step closer. "No, no don't say that. You didn't do anything."

"Then what happened?"

"I…" His explanation faded away as he came even closer, both hands on the chains of your swing. Your faces were so close that you could see the imperfections in his skin; the acne from growing up, the spots from his days in the sun. His eyes glistened, though you didn't know why. Shouldn't you be the one crying?

You thought he might continue, but he only gulped. He adjusted his grip on the chains, eyes moving from yours to your lips and back again. For a second — just a second — you thought he might kiss you.

Stupid.

He stepped away too quickly for you to comprehend and took off the flower crown, putting it on your head so you wore two. Logan stepped out and found Chan already on his way to the garage, with you staring at him open-mouthed.

The tears that you'd worked hard to keep away finally spilled over your cheeks. You didn't stop them.

As Logan pulled out of the garage, Chan caught one last glance at you sitting on your blue swing, two flower crowns on your lowered head.

He never meant to make you cry.

Seventeen

"You're in group six, so go wait by the…" Your Leadership Strategies teacher squinted at her clipboard. "By the volleyball nets."

Your school was hosting some sort of event for children around eight to ten, with random games and snacks in and outside the school's gymnasium. It was a huge thing that happened every year, but this was the first time you'd volunteered — well, it was for a class, so maybe not "volunteered" per se.

The volleyball nets were in the corner of the gym, tucked away for the offseason. You could already see a group of kids waiting around there with another student volunteer.

Chan.

You sucked in a breath, pausing in the middle of the gym. He and you hadn't said anything to each other since that night almost a year ago. But that shouldn't have made you so hesitant. You were a strong person, you liked to think, so this really shouldn't have affected you as much as it did — and for so long. Chan must have been past it by now, and there was no way you'd lose to him like that.

Raising your chin, you walked to the group.

If Chan was surprised about being partnered with you, he didn't show it. He gathered all the kids in a circle and sat down with them without so much as batting you an eye. His eyes shone as he talked to the children, and his bright smile never left his lips.

Okay. So you might lose to him like that.

You cleared your throat and looked at the instructions your teacher had given you. Introductions first.

"Okay, kids! Let's go around the circle and introduce ourselves," you said cheerfully. "Just tell everyone your name and…" you glanced at the instructions, "your favorite flower."

As an example, you told them your name and thought for a second. A certain soft-haired boy wearing a certain yellow flower on his head popped into your head. "...Dandelions. My favorite flowers are dandelions."

They went around saying their names and their favorite flowers like daisies or roses or sunflowers, when finally, halfway through, Chan was next.

"I'm Chan," he said, still smiling at the kids. "And my favorite flower? Hmmm…"

From across the circle, he met your eyes.

"Pansies. I've always loved pansies."

•

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the one on the closet by your front door, wondering if what you wore was good enough for the get-together you were going to tonight.

"If I ever had a boyfriend and they broke up with me, would you beat them up?"

Logan looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow quirked. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I'm saying: if I did, would you?"

He closed the book and took off his reading glasses. "Dude, I'm five-seven and a hundred twenty pounds — I'm not beating anyone up anytime soon."

"Pfft, nerd."

"Besides," he said, standing up and walking to the fridge. "You're not gonna get a boyfriend while I'm around."

Your bottom lip jutted out. Rude. "Why not?"

With a glass of juice in his hand, he walked up to you on the way to his room and looked you up and down. "Uh, because you're ugly? The fuck kinda question…?"

•

The get together wasn't the most amazing party you'd ever been to, but it was nice seeing everyone and hanging out without the premise of a study session.

When you got home, the clock in your room read 10:38, though since it was about an hour slow, you knew it was really almost midnight. No one else was home; your parents had gone out for the weekend for their anniversary (gag) and your brother left earlier to stay with one of his university friends — he said it was to study for an upcoming engineering exam, but you didn't really believe him.

You changed out of your clothes and into pajamas, brushed your teeth, and you were about to get in bed when the doorbell rang.

In the back of your brain, the thought that, hey, there's literally no salesperson that would go door to door at midnight, crossed your mind, but maybe you were a bit too tired to also think, this could definitely be a serial killer. So you swung the door open.

"The sign says no soliciting—"

Chan stood on your doormat, head down and hands in his jeans pockets. He looked up when you opened the door, and you immediately noticed the red around his eyes, the tears brimming just behind his eyelids.

"Oh my god," you breathed, taking in the sight of him. "Oh my god, Chan, what happened? I mean, come in, come in."

You backed away from the door, giving him room to walk in, but he didn't move.

"Is…" he choked out, "is Logan home?"

"He's at a friend's place."

A stagnant silence filled the air between you.

You'd seen Chan cry plenty of times, sure, but all those times were from years ago; over spilled milk. One of his toy cars had lost a wheel. Or he dropped his multiplication table homework in a puddle. But this? You'd never had to deal with this before.

"I'll just… I'll just go," Chan said, turning, but you took one step outside in your bare feet and gently wrapped a hand around his arm.

"No, come in. I'll make you some tea."

Chan sat on the couch as you walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. As you waited for it to boil, you pulled out your phone to text Logan.

Chan's here and he's not looking too good. Come home ASAP

You didn't bother to wait for a response.

"Here." You set his mug on the coffee table in front of him and joined him on the couch, keeping a safe distance. After such a long time of only being the 'best friend's little sibling', you weren't sure what boundaries were set between the two of you.

The air felt stiff and cold as you sat there without anything to say. Only the sounds of the house creaking and Chan's occasional sniffles could be heard for several minutes, but you still kept your mouth shut. Chan didn't want your help, he wanted Logan's.

Eventually, though, he spoke.

"Can I tell you something?"

You nearly choked on your tea, but you caught yourself and placed your mug on the coffee table. "Of course."

He kept his eyes on his hands, which were clasped in front of him on his lap, though it didn't take away from his sincerity.

"You never laughed when I said I wanted to be a dancer. Everyone else… they don't believe me the first time I tell them, and then when I say I'm serious, they laugh. I know they try to hide it, but it doesn't work. Nobody's ever believed that I'll make it. Or that it's a good idea. Everyone says it unrealistic— that I should go into business, or science. Or just get a desk job. You never did that though. Thanks."

When he finally looked at you, his close-lipped smile was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Oh Chan," you whined, finally breaking. You may not have spoken to each other for almost a year, but you still cared about him. Seeing him in pain still broke your heart.

Despite the boundaries you'd made up, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gently putting one hand on the back of his head and pulling him into a hug. He stiffened but relaxed within a moment, letting his forehead fall to the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

"What happened?"

With a heavy sigh, he shivered in your arms. "Nothing happened. I just realized how stupid my dream was."

Was. Not is.

"Chan…" you started, holding back tears. This was when you needed to be strong. "Your dream isn't stupid. It never was."

You could feel his shaky breath on your skin. Two hands slowly snaked their way around your waist, pulling you closer. If this was any other situation, your heart may have fluttered, but this wasn't about warm touches, or skin contact, or crushes. This was about a person who needed you and what you were willing to give. Chan was sinking, and you didn't know if you were strong enough to bring him back up again.

"Most— most people give up on their dreams, Chan. They give up earlier in their lives and they're just… jealous— envious. They want to follow their 'stupid' and 'unrealistic' dreams just as much as you do, but they've already given up, and they're upset that you haven't given up too." You ran your thumbs back and forth on his scalp and his back, hopefully in a comforting way. "I want you to follow your dreams, Chan— to achieve them. You're stronger than the rest of us. Show us how it's done. Give us hope that dreams aren't dead… because I know you can. And you will."

He pulled away.

Your shoulder felt cold with his tears left behind, and you feared you said something wrong. Did you offend him in some way? Were you being insensitive? Was—

"Thanks," he said, laughing lightly as he leaned back into the couch, hands returning to clasp each other in his lap. "I… really needed to hear that."

"Oh…" Relief flowed through you like a stream, slow but sure, as you sank back to sitting regularly, this time much closer to his side than before.

He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, then turned to you, his face much closer than it had been in a while. "There's just one thing, though."

You furrowed your brows and pursed your lips, trying to figure out what else he was upset about, but you came up with nothing. He didn't seem that distraught over it.

"A dream," he answered your silent question. "But I had to give up on it a couple years ago."

"What…" you stumbled over your own words when he moved his entire body to face you, and you unconsciously did the same, "...what dream?"

His hand reached up to your cheek, grazing your skin with the touch of a butterfly's wing; there, but so light, you'd think it was a dream if you weren't watching it with your own eyes. You saw his eyes flicking back and forth all over your face — at your eyes, your cheeks, your lips.

You wanted to ask him again — what his dream was — but he leaned in.

And maybe you leaned in too.

The kiss was slow, shaky, unsure, as if the slightest misstep could destroy you both. You supposed it might, with the minefield that had been your relationship until now, but the feeling of his lips against yours, of his fingers landing on the skin behind your ears, of his thumb grazing your cheek, they all pulled you into a whirlpool you had no intention of escaping.

You kissed him back slowly — with everything that you'd missed saying over the past decade, but after a moment, he retreated.

Your lips followed him unconsciously, but when they couldn't find his, you opened your eyes. He sat there, looking at you with tears about to spill.

"I'm sorry," he nearly sobbed, bringing his hands up to wipe the oncoming tears. "I'm sorry, I just… I've wanted to… for so long… I—"

You slipped your hands under his to cup his cheeks and raised his head so you could look him in the eyes. Tears of your own started to fall, but that wasn't your main priority at the moment. You smiled. It was easy, yet so difficult at the same time, but you smiled.

"Me too, Chan. Me too."

He broke, his face crumpling before he tackled you. Your back hit the couch cushions and you laughed at his desperation. He looked as if you'd shattered and blown away, but you were there.

You were there.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms around your waist and chest laying on yours. When he raised his head, his tears had ceased again, and despite the red of his eyes, the puffiness, the streaks down his face from crying, he looked happy. Elated. In…

In love. Maybe.

You wondered if your eyes reflected his, shiny and bright.

"Pansy?" Chan whispered, his lips almost touching yours as it was.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"Okay."

It was messy, full of tears, past midnight, and on your living room couch when you shared your first kiss with the boy you loved, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Well, except for how it ended.

Logan slammed the front door shut when he came in, the view of you and Chan on the couch clear as day from where he stood. He stormed in and pulled Chan off you before you even knew what happening, throwing him to the floor.

"This better be a fucking hallucination, Chan," he growled. "This better be a fucking mirage because I did not just fucking see you making out with my little— agh!" He rubbed the palms of his hands in his eye sockets. "I don't even want to fucking think about it."

"Please— wait, I can explain—"

"I don't want your explanations! I don't need them! This was exactly what we agreed wouldn't happen, and look what you go fucking do."

Logan pointed a finger at you, but you were still frozen. You had no idea what the hell was going on. What they agreed wouldn't happen? You?

"I just—"

"No, you don't get to say anything right now. Get out."

"I—"

"OUT!"

Chan stood, and when he went to leave, he reached to touch you, to reassure you somehow that things would be okay, but Logan swiped his hand away. "Don't you fucking dare."

From the look in his eyes, you knew Chan wanted nothing more than to stay, but you doubted either of you had any say in the matter.

Chan left without another word.

"...Logan," you said after a moment.

"No."

He walked out the door again, and you ran to the windows to make sure he was driving off — instead of going to Chan's house and finishing what he started.

An Hour Before Eighteen

Logan came home late the next day, immediately going straight to his room. You got up from where you waited at the kitchen table and followed.

The door creaked when you pushed it open. "Logan—"

"Out," he said without looking up from his desk.

"No, it's my turn to talk now."

He sighed. As your brother, he knew you weren't backing down. Not this time.

"Fine. Talk away."

You sat down on his bed, which was covered in laundry he had yet to put away and homework he had yet to finish. "What happened yesterday? And don't tell me it's regular older brother stuff because I know it's not."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"I deserve an explanation."

"You don't deserve anything." He finally looked up from whatever he was doing to face you. "This is between me and Chan."

"But it's not anymore. It's between you and Chan and me, ever since last night. And if you don't tell me anything, then I'm going to Chan."

"Oh, and what? You’ll start dating him?" He scoffed. "Do you know how bad of an idea that is?"

At your look of confusion, he scoffed again.

"What happens if you fight, huh? If you break up? Our families have been friends since I was eight. If you get all your stupid relationship problems mixed up in that, the whole thing will fall apart. If you fight, whose side am I supposed to take? Yours? Or my best friend's?"

"...You sound like you've thought about this a lot," you said, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, well Chan's basically been in love with you since that stupid flower crown thing you did. I've had a long time to overthink."

"He has?"

Logan swivelled in his chair, back to half-heartedly writing in his notebook. "Don't act like you don't know. He did a terrible job of hiding it."

"I really didn't," you mumbled. "He didn't talk to me for like… a year."

"That was me, not him. Trust me, he wanted to talk to you."

For a while, you sat in silence. The only sound was Logan's pencil scratching on the paper.

"Fine! Whatever!" he finally exploded. "Go to your prince charming, I don't care anymore!"

A Few Minutes Before Eighteen

Chan's mother answered the door and rushed you to his room, complaining that he hadn't come out all day.

You didn't bother knocking, instead just opening the door and walking in. "Chan…?"

A mass under a bundle of blankets on the bed moved at the sound of your voice, and Chan's head poked out. He gasped when he saw you, eyes wandering all over as if to make certain you were actually there in front of him. You smiled and walked forward, crawling onto the bed, to which he threw off the blankets and gathered you in his arms.

"Oh my god," he breathed, squeezing you even harder. "Oh my god."

"Hi."

"Hi." He sounded breathless. Like he could break any second.

"Don't cry again," you said. "It's a happy hug this time."

He nodded, but you could tell with his face tucked in the crook of your neck that he was this close to crying anyways. You stayed like that for a moment, you in his lap with your arms around each other, his face in your neck and your chin on his shoulder.

"...What did Logan say?" Chan finally asked.

"Something along the lines of… 'You two are so disgustingly cute and romantic that it'd be more of a pain to keep you apart than let you be together.'"

You felt the vibrations of Chan's laughter through your body, and you couldn't help but join in.

"Besides, I'm turning eighteen in a minute. Logan won't have any say anymore — not that I ever thought he did."

"Hmm," Chan hummed into your skin. Perhaps he wasn't quite listening to you, getting lost in the feeling of you in his arms instead. You were starting to drift a bit too.

"There's something I want for my birthday."

"What's that?"

Eighteen

"I love you."

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smiling too.

"I love you too, Pansy."

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #dino scenarios #dino imagines #dino x reader #lee chan scenarios #lee chan imagines #lee chan x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #.100 #.200 #.300 #.400

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babybatscreationsv2 · 11 months

Text

Run Rabbit

Marvel | Starker

Peter has bad luck with boyfriends. The kind of bad luck that means his previous two boyfriends have ended up mysteriously dead. At least he has Tony. A stead fast and loving friend who his taking him to his cabin in the woods to get away from it all. So far away from the city, all alone, Peter might finally be able to relax. He really owes Tony for taking such good care of him…

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, noncon, yandere!Tony, referenced/discussed murder, graphic violence, blood play, gun violence, fear kink, sadism, blood as lube

For Aech <3

The air smelled like flowers and freshly churned dirt. It was much too gentle a scent on much too gentle a day for Peter's second funeral in only six months. He knew what everyone thought. That somehow this was his fault. The police had questioned him for hours this time. First Harry, the best friend he'd grown up with who had never given him the time of day as far as romance. At least not until college. Then Quentin, whom he'd only been dating for about a week. He hadn't even really been ready, but Quentin had insisted he would feel better if he moved on and Peter did just want to be happy again.

A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You ready to go, kid?" Tony asked. His voice was gentle and comforting. Too gentle once again. They were the last to leave. Even Quentin's parents were long gone. Peter just couldn't shake the guilt.

"Do you think they're right? Is this my fault somehow?"

"Did you kill him?" Tony asked simply.

Peter flinched. "Of course not!"

"Then don't worry about it." He squeezed his shoulder. Peter turned around and looked at his face. He was such a comfort to have in these moments. Even if none of this affected him. It wasn't his fault he wasn't great at emotional advice. At least he was here.

"Thank you for coming, Tony. I don't think I can do this alone."

The man gave him a small smile. "Anything for you, Peter."

He almost smiled back. "I think I'm ready to go now."

Tony offered his arm and Peter took it, glad for the comfort of physical contact. They walked back to Tony's car parked to the side of the narrow cemetery road. The shiny black metal was at contract in the natural landscape. It seemed cold. Yet those leather seats were warm as Peter sunk down in the passenger seat. He was safe in here. He was always safe with Tony. The man gave his hand a little squeeze before starting the car.

The drive was long and quiet. Tony grabbed a blanket from the back and wrapped him in it when he started to cry. He fell asleep leaning against the door. He woke each time the car stopped. Tony kept trying to feed him at every gas station fast food place, but he just wasn't hungry. And he fell asleep every time the tires touched the highway.

Tony had a cabin up in Maine. The long drive was well worth escaping the city. Getting away from whatever demon had cursed his life. At least here it would be just him and Tony. No boyfriends to get murdered and no murderers to come after him. He was safe here.

Tony made dinner. It was warm savory comfort food. Finally, Peter felt hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he actually ate, but Tony put a plate of chicken and gravy in front of him and he couldn't get enough. He finally felt himself relax. He was safe. Everything was okay now. And Tony was so easy to talk to. It was nice to laugh again.

They ended up sitting on the couch talking by the fire as the sun set.

"I know Quentin wasn't great for me," Peter admitted. "It still hurts that he's gone."

"That's normal," Tony said. "There's someone out there for you though. Someone who makes you happy." Peter looked away from the fire to Tony's face. Tony's eyes seemed to stare into his soul.

"Someone who loves you unconditionally, who makes you laugh. Makes you feel safe. Someone who would do anything for you."

Peter laughed awkwardly at his intensity. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice."

A hand came to rest on top of his. "I would never allow anyone to hurt you, Peter."

"Thanks-"

"I know what they did to you. How Quentin was pushy even when you were unsure. How Harry didn't give you the time of day until he realized how easily he could have you. They didn't deserve you."

Peter pulled his hand back. "What are you saying?"

"You don't have to worry about boys like that anymore, Pete. I'll take care of you."

"That's really sweet Tony but-"

"But?" He raised his eyebrows. "I did all of this for you, Peter." Peter leaned away from him. What was he saying? Why was he so angry all of a sudden? Then he laughed lightly. "No, it's okay. You don't understand yet, but you will."

Peter looked at the man. Really looked at him. He seemed deranged in a way that made his hair stand on end. A sixth sense told him to run. He wasn't looking at a man, he was looking at a predator.

A hand stroked his hair and he flinched. Tony pretended not to notice. "You're smart. I'm sure you're putting it together. Don't be scared, sweetheart. It's just love. Love can make a man crazy."

"You killed them," Peter breathed.

Tony nodded. "I did. I saved you from them. You don't have to suffer sleeping with lesser men now. I know it was me you always wanted."

"Yeah..." Peter's hands were shaking. What should he do? He couldn't stay here with a murderer, but Tony wasn't going to just let him leave.

Tony smiled. "See, I knew you'd understand."

"Yeah, of course." Tony took his hand away and Peter was grateful when he changed the subject. It was concerning how easily he moved on as if murder were nothing at all. Peter almost thought he imagined the whole conversation. He tried not to let the terror show. He needed to stay calm, find a way out without pissing him off. He bit his lip to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry." Tony reached for him and Peter pulled away. He just came closer until he could wrap his arm around him. His hand stroked his cheek. The concern in his eyes seemed almost real. Maybe it was to him. "You've been through a lot, I know it's scary. Let me help you."

Tony left the couch looking for something. Peter glanced at the door. It was just around the corner of the couch. He could make it if he was quick. He glanced at Tony again. His back was to him. He could make it. He could...

Peter lurched to his feet and ran, but his fingers fumbled on the lock. When he grabbed the handle and pulled the chain snapped tight. Tony grabbed him around the waist and the sharp prick of a needle stung his neck.

"It's okay, Peter," Tony cooed. He dropped the syringe and pet his hair. "It's okay. Sleep tight, Petey."

Dull light from the window woke him as the sun rose. For a moment he was groggy. He rubbed his eyes, sore and raw from crying.

Peter watched Tony's chest rise and fall. He was still asleep. If there was going to be an opportunity, this was it. He moved slowly, dragging himself across the bed in such small increments it felt as if the floor were miles away. When his feet finally touched cold wood, he froze, watching Tony's face. When he gave no sign of waking, Peter slipped out and laid the blanket down carefully in his place.

He tiptoed through the cabin until he found his shoes and jacket. Then he faced the door. Was there an alarm? He didn't see one. He didn't see Tony's car keys anywhere either. His head was scrambling, trying to come up with a plan, but he had no idea where he was. He wouldn't even recognize the roads since he slept the whole way up. He looked at Tony still asleep on the bed. The best thing to do was to get away. Find help. He couldn't just stand there waiting.

He turned the dead bolt. Then he unhooked the chain. He didn't look back to see if Tony woke. If he broke his momentum he'd freeze. He turned the lock on the door knob and opened the door. Then he was out.

Peter closed the door slowly behind them and turned the knob so the latch wouldn't click. He walked carefully down the steps, but once his feet hit the grass he ran.

The morning air was cold enough to sting his face. The low light of the rising sun cast shadows in the trees that heightened his paranoia. He hadn't gotten far when behind him heard a bang.

"Oh, Peter!" Tony called back in the direction of the house. "Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

The sound of his voice made him stumble and he realized how much noise he was making. If he could hear Tony, then Tony could probably hear him. He stopped and crouched with his back to a tree. What should he do?

Tony went quiet. He couldn't hear anything. No yelling, no footsteps. He risked a look around the tree trunk and saw nothing. Maybe he'd gone the wrong way. Maybe he thought Peter would follow the road. Too many maybes. There was nothing he could do but run again.

Tree roots threatened to trip him if he didn't look down. Branches smacked him in the face when he didn't look up. This forest was old and dense and unfriendly to someone who didn't know the first thing about nature. He tried not to think about what that meant when he was being chased by someone who spent the fall season using this place for a hunting cabin.

"Run, Peter Rabbit, run!" Tony's voice laughed through the trees.

He was too close. Peter was afraid to look back and see how close. He was younger, more spry, that had to be enough of an advantage right? He could out run him.

Pain stole all thought from his mind. He screamed, vision going white, and fell forward onto the ground. He rolled through the leaves and stopped on his back, holding his thigh. Blood dripped between his fingers.

He tried to examine the wound, but the sight of blood and tissue made his head spin. He dragged himself to his feet, sobbing through the pain, and started running again. Adrenaline pushed the pain to the back of his mind but not for long. He felt cold and tired. He took his jacket off and tied the arms above the wound as tight as he could get it. It wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't. Tony was going to catch him.

He dropped to the ground, but he kept crawling. He won't kill me. He wants me alive. He told himself.

Tony tisked behind him. "Were you even trying to get away? You left quite a trail." Leaves crunched as he came closer. A foot planted on the back of his wounded thigh made him scream. For a moment he thought he might pass out. Maybe it would be better if he did. He couldn't look at him, couldn't pull his head up from the dirt. He didn't know the monster that stood over him.

"Sweetheart," Tony crouched beside him. "You can't get away from me." He ran his fingers gently through his hair only to grab a fistful at the nape of his neck and pull his head to the side. His pupils were so wide that his eyes gleamed. Peter's stomach twisted as he realized the mistake he'd made. It was the chase that thrilled him.

"Let me go." He could taste dirt stuck in his teeth, but that was the least of his problems.

"If I let you go you'll bleed out. Is that what you want? Do you want to die in these woods where no one will ever find your body?"

"You don't want to kill me, Tony. You love me, don't you?"

He smiled sweetly. "You know how much I love you, but if dying cold and alone is what you really want..."

He let go of his hair and his head dropped back to the ground. He barely had the strength to lift it again. "No, please," Peter whimpered. "Help me please, Tony."

A gentle hand stroked his hair. He couldn't see what the man was doing, but he felt him moving. Then something slid over his back like an uncoiling rope. His arms were pulled up over his head.

"What are you doing?"

"I caught a rabbit, didn't I?" Peter struggled as he looped the rope around his wrists, but he was quick and the rope dug into his skin as he pulled. Tony stepped off of him and tied the length around a thin tree. He pulled a knife from his hip and a grin spread across his face. "I have to make sure my rabbit doesn't get away while I skin him."

"What? No!" Peter squirmed, but Tony pinned him with a hand between his shoulders. He felt the knife scrape over his lower back where his shirt had ridden up and he still. "Please- please," he sobbed.

The knife slipped under the fabric of his jeans. Tony pulled up and the cotton split. He ran the knife down to his ankle on one side then cut through the other.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a better look at this leg." Peter couldn't help the pathetic sounds he made as fingers prodded at the wound in his thigh. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

"What's the bad news?"

"Well actually," Tony laughed. "It's the same either way. You're not gonna bleed out."

"What do you mean?" He couldn't put together what part of that was the bad news and Tony didn't give him a chance to think it over before he told him without saying a word. The cold edge of his knife found the fabric of his briefs and in hardly a second the fabric was torn and his ass was bare.

Peter kicked with his good leg and tried to squirm away, but Tony climbed on top of him, knees hugging his thighs. "Tony stop! Stop, please- don't!"

"Don't start begging just yet, kiddo. You'll get me too excited. I want this to last."

Peter sobbed. He clawed at the ground but he couldn't crawl away and there was no shaking the man off. He was only hurting himself as he grew more fatigued. He felt Tony's cock, hard and hot against his ass. He let his head fall into the dirt, tears making mud on his cheeks.

"Spit or blood?" Tony mused. His hand covered the hole in his thigh and he pushed. Peter screamed, he felt blood gush out into his palm. He was so dizzy and cold now. He didn't react other than to moan in pain as Tony forced his cock inside him.

Tony sighed as he bottomed out. "So perfect for me aren't you?" Peter trembled. He cried into the dirt as Tony moved his hips, slowly, fucking him like they were lovers and his cock wasn't slick with Peter's own blood. It hurt as the blood dried and turned sticky, but Tony didn't stop as he cried harder.

"Please stop," Peter begged. "Please Tony please!"

Tony groaned. "Fuck, keep begging."

Peter bit his lip, disgusted to hear him getting off on his pain, but Tony grabbed him by the hair and growled in his ear. "You want this to be over don't you? Open your slutty fucking mouth and beg me or we'll do this until the sun sets."

"Please! Let me go," Peter sobbed. "Stop please- it hurts!"

"Fuck, that's it." Tony let go of his hair. He pulled his cock from his tortured ass, a hand on his lower back pinned him in place. Tony groaned as he came and Peter shuddered, feeling hot cum splatter on his ass and in the hole in his thigh. "Fuck," he groaned again.

Tony sat panting for a moment. Then he got up and untied Peter's hand. He was too tired and in too much pain to move. He didn't even complain when Tony rolled him onto his back and picked him up.

He carried him back in the direction they had come. "Don't worry, Petey. I'll get you patched up and in a week or two you'll be ready to run again."

#marvel #starker #nff #non/con

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buzzybee3 · 4 months

Text

I need help-

I have two au’s in my head atm and can’t decide which one too start on, kinda leaning towards greenhouse cause it’s like based on true event ft me. But I wanna see what some people think

Au 1: Experiment Au

Ships:

Y/n x sun/moon

(Married to Stephanie ofc poly) Matpat x Dj music man

(Dating Amy ofc it’s poly) Markiplier x Glamrock Freddy

Y/n parents:

Human: (tbd these are just filler names if anyone has suggestions) Sandra and Martin (younger siblings Reily and Alya)

Animatronics: Bonnie and Freddy

Y/n age: 17 when kidnapped, 19 during main story

Y/n Story: on family trip to the Pizzaplex with family, they are just leaving the area and she goes to the bathroom at a gas station across the street. Vanny happens to be around and kidnaps them on their way out. They wake up 3 months later in a laboratory, before being put back under again

Y\n behavior: Sassy, loves kids, nice, has an attitude when needed, calmer later on but still very jumpy, forgetful (thank god for tech), likes listening to music while in the daycare.

Y/n appearance: nothing specific, but for self insert, long hair, freckles

Y/n likes: Chicken nuggets, gets along with Vanessa, like both sunlight and dark places, stickers, rock en Español(specifically la flaca, lives playing it and one day sun hears it and it goes as one would expect),

Y/n dislikes: fazbear management, rowdy kids(nothing they can’t handle), sudden changes in light, cherry flavoring,

Names for Venus- Sun: Morning Star, sunshine, sunspot, Moon: Evening Star, moonlight, starlight, star,

Au 2: Greenhouse AU”

Timeframe: post ruin

Ships: Y/n x sun/moon

Y/n parents: tbd but not mentioned. Godparents are, they are important to story(tbd if you guys have any name ideas shoot): aunt/godmother: Yelina uncle/godfather: Rafael godsiblings/cousins: Ulices and Maddy

Y/n age: 23

Y/n story: they always wanted a greenhouse, grew plants all the time. Their godparents had land in Arizona, and they had surrounding land that hadn’t been bought yet. Y/n decided to buy it once they were older, and they have the land now, 3 acres, plus the two acres from her godparents that she used to build her house on.In her house she had a ton of plants, it is somewhat small but cosy, she has a giant garage for robotics and stuff since she had always wanted to work with that, and they make small little guys similar to helpy. Once they begin construction on their land they start looking for workers, there was going to be the main greenhouse area which they would tend to, a restaurant in the center, a small daycare for kids of adults who wanted to go to relax, and a small cafe, all inside the giant greenhouse. They start looking when someone catches their attention, they went out on a ride with their cousins on ATV’s and found robot parts by the mountains, that seemed to be mostly intact, they looked like the sun almost, and considering every time y/n found machine parts they would take them, they decided this time would be no different, they place the animatronic in their lap and continue their ride as per usual, and going fast over the bumpy parts of the dirt makeshift road because that is always fun. Once they make it back to the land, they show their find to their godparents, who are thrilled! And their cousins are excited too. They take them to their garage with the help of their godfamily and get to work on fixing up some damaged wires and cables, and also cleaning up the shell and endo skeleton. The animatronic seems yellow, like the sun, it reminds them of something but they can’t place it. Then they turn it on and shenanigans ensue.

Y/n behavior: Nice, assertive, loves doing fun or dangerous stuff(ridding atv’s at 60 mph on dirt paths on the mountain) but also loves arts and crafts, is good with kids but never wanted them, which is why the greenhouse has a daycare, like to joke around a lot, and hanging out with their cousins even if they make fun of them sometimes, they have a ton of hobbies like sewing, crocheting, 3d printing, drawing, building crafts out of cardboard, 3d modeling, and building with legos.

Y/n appearance: is often seen wearing gardening clothes, a sun hat, or mechanic clothes and a bandana(that they made by crocheting it)

Y/n likes: doing crafts, dangerous things like riding the atv’s, having fun, relaxing, robots, sun/moon, learning about psychology, always 3d printing stuff, playing Mexican music over the greenhouse speakers(like la flaca) especially in the restaurant,

Y/n dislikes: karens, people destroying their plants in the greenhouse.

Y/n nicknames: Cabron(a), Sunshine, sunspot, moonlight, star,

Silly moments and memories: y/n is sitting with her grandma by a fire pit with their family, she notices she is eating peanuts, they ask if they could have any, and grandma pulls an endless well of peanuts out of her pocket, with some candy, surprise lol. The whole family just looks in shock at grandma, like how tf???

They had a piñata one day to celebrate Christmas and a hook was sticking out, so y/n gets a small gash on their hand (horizontal from the base of their thumb to the other side of the hand(no this is not very specific wdym)) while blindfolded and going at it on the piñata. (Yea y/n is sorta Hispanic I’m sorry but it’s so fun to write that stuff)

So what do you guys think?

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #sundrop #sun fnaf #moondrop #moon fnaf #like giving y/n a personality #moon x y/n #sun x reader #moon x reader #sun x y/n #fnaf daycare attendant #dca au #fnaf dca #dca x reader

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sleep-can-wait · 11 months

Text

My Gift To You ~ College AU Part 3

Aru hated to admit it, but they were lost. She and Aiden stood in front of a dilapidated building, peering into the open doorway and eye-balling the spiders that were scuttling across the walls and floor.

Backtracking to how they got there, their friend group, who called themselves the Potatoes for no apparent reason other than 'Brynne said so', went to the annual carnival that was hosted every year in Atlanta.

It had everything from flash mobs to rides to junk food. Naturally, Aru dragged them all there, fighting tooth and nail to haul their stupid butts to the damn place. Aiden was the only one who easily agreed to come.

While walking parallel to thousands of stalls and treading the dirt-packed road, the couple had gotten distracted. Aiden started taking photos of everything and Aru stared in awe at the ginormous fuzzy panda that was hanging on a nail in one of the prize booths. When she snapped out of it, she realized everyone was gone.

She had quickly tugged on Aiden's elbow and told them their predicament.

"I'm afraid we have just been abandoned by our so-called 'friends'."

They both decided to wander around, trying to find the others in spots the Potatoes would most likely be at. But perhaps they had gotten carried away again, because moments later they halted at the door of the haunted house that was at the edge of where the festival was held.

Also, she and Aiden were holding hands again when she was fairly certain they weren't before.

And that is how they got up to this point. Aru looked thoughtfully at the house, then at Aiden. He saw it and tried to back away but couldn't because of the fact that they were still holding hands, and apparently, he didn't want to let go.

".... I'm afraid to ask, but what?" She grinned.

"I have an idea."

"Oh no." He groaned.

"You haven't even heard it!" Aru protested.

"Please, since when are your ideas good-?." She clamped her hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence.

"Just hear me out. What if we go through the haunted house and whoever screams first loses and has to give the winner a gift? It can be anything, as long as it's nice and the other will like it."

"But-"

"Chicken?"

"Never." Aiden huffed. "Alright let's do this. Prepare to lose, idiot."

Aru smirked. "You wish, nerd." They signed their names on the clipboard hanging near the entrance and entered the dark hall.

To say the least, it was really hard. Eerie music floated through the corridors, and there were six of them. At random intervals, realistic monsters would pop out.

The actors who were playing them stood awkwardly, however, when neither victim looked terrified, before walking away. Then they both would continue as if nothing happened, but that was a lie. Aiden was shaking slightly and Aru was gritting her teeth.

In the third part, things really started to get scary. They got chased by murderers, Bloody Mary, the government, you name it. The duo were just leaving the fifth hall when one of them finally screamed.

They had just escaped Pennywise and Aru was full-on shaking by then. She despised clowns with every inch of her body. Both of them were running at top speed, glancing back every two seconds to make sure they weren't being followed. Aiden was not looking too good, but was much better off than her.

Why couldn't he have the clown phobia? Aru thought grouchily, glaring at his stupid, beautiful face.

Pennywise was still a bit in the distance so both of them didn't expect it when a corpse hanging from a noose dropped down from the ceiling. Aru stuffed her fist into her mouth and bit down hard. But Aiden wasn't fast enough.

He screamed and jerked away, instantly falling down. Distantly Aru thought how unfair it was that his voice still sounded pretty even while shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Once the dead body was pulled back through the ceiling tile, Aru helped Aiden up. He sighed.

"I suppose you win."

"Yeah," She smirked at having another victory over him. "Let's finally get out of here."

Once again, they were standing in a daze outside of the haunted house, but this time they were facing the other way.

"Um, could you close your eyes?" Aiden looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with Shadowfax's strap. Aru gazed around and spotted a weeping willow with fairy lights dangling from each branch, deciding that was the perfect place to finally rest her legs.

She walked over and sat down, with her back pressed against the tree's trunk, before reciting something Hira had taught her.

"I think this tree is very appropriate, you know?" Aru grinned. "It means mourning and loss. And you are right now grieving over having lost to me!" Aiden's mouth twisted into what he tried to play off as a grimace, but was definitely a pout.

He quickly covered Aru's eyes with his palms, probably to hide his sulking. "No peaking, and I am not!." She laughed, but shrugged her shoulders in agreement, closing her eyes.

She heard the sound of his footsteps fade and waited in the leftover silence. She hadn't realized how lonely it was when he wasn't by her side, hand ready to hold hers.

To use up the time placed in her hands, Aru amused herself by blowing away the leaves that landed on her face and shaking out the ones that fell on her hair.

She also didn't notice how tired she was until her butt hit the ground and was tiring quickly. She had just started to doze off when she heard someone whisper her name.

"Shah?" Before Aru could jump up, firm hands held her steady on the ground. "It's me, don't open them yet." She crossed her arms but uncrossed them as Aiden entwined their hands together.

"What took you so long?" He went silent for a moment.

"Would you believe that I am terrible at aiming?"

"What-?" A warm hand cupped her cheek, dislodging a few leaves in her hair, his other softly squeezing their already clasped hands. Lips pressed against her own gently. The scent of clean laundry and cooking spices wrapped around her.

Aiden Acharya was kissing her.

It was only for a second, but it seemed much longer. Her eyes flew open as he pulled away.

"Was that-" He breathed out. "Was that okay?" Aru probably looked just as stunned as him but couldn't stop a smile nonetheless.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was great." They both hesitated, before connecting and pressing against each other again, Aiden going back to his original position.

Aru panicked, unsure what to do with her free hand this time, but instinct took over and she slipped it into his hair, tangling in his soft curls. They didn't break apart as fast this time.

After pulling away, they just sat under the willow tree together, not really saying anything. Their hands were still woven together and resting on Aiden's leg. Aru wasn't sure about him, but that was her first kiss.

Lame, she knew, but it was just that she had never really liked anyone romantically before and even questioned herself if she was aro-spec. That all changed when she met Aiden and suddenly she was a high schooler in love. And they had only started dating a couple of weeks ago.

After a few minutes of trying hard not to randomly smile out of nowhere, Aru nudged Aiden and broke the silence.

"What were you saying before? About the aim thing."

"Oh," He looked flustered. "I didn't want to take any chances with the kiss, so just in case you hated it or felt uncomfortable, I was going to use the prize I won at the Ring Toss booth to apologize or bribe you into forgetting it ever happened."

"Where is it now?"

Aiden went behind the tree and came out with a giant stuffed animal. The panda she had been eyeing before they got lost. Aru's eyes lit up and Aiden sighed.

"I'm guessing I won't be able to keep this then?"

"Nope!" She said cheerfully, before adding, "But we can share."

"I'll take what I can get."

"Next time, I'll win you a prize Wifey." Aiden scoffed.

"No way!"

"Who's gonna stop me?"

"Then I'll win you more prizes than you can win for me."

"Are you challenging me?"

"I don't know am I?"

"Are you?"

"Yes, and I believe I will absolutely leave you in the dust."

"You wish."

"Prepare to be overwhelmed with tons of stuffed animals, Shah."

"I'll overwhelm you first." Both of them jogged off, Aru gatekeeping the panda the entire time, and played as many games as they could before being found and dragged away by the rest of the Potatoes.

Bonus: Aiden finally won and shoved all his stuffed animals at Aru with a well-deserved smirk on his face. Aru did the same but was still kinda grumpy about losing.

-----

I'm sleep-deprived, but here is this! Tell me what you guys thought of the kiss and I always accept constructive criticism :) My next oneshot will be on Mindy but I have no idea what to do so I'm begging you guys to please give me suggestions for them.

Hope you enjoyed! Going to sleep now.

#aru shah #the pandava quintet #tpq #rick riordan presents #roshani chokshi #aruden #aiden acharya #aru x aiden #college aru shah

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theadventurerslog · 4 months

Text

The Curse of Monkey Island | Part 5

This will be a shorter post as we head into Part 3 of the game, but it includes one of the many big highlights of the game in my opinion.

First, however, I needed to follow that map and find Elaine.

The map is referring to the theatre. When you go on stage, they're already in the midst of their performance to an audience of monkeys. Good on the crew for finding something to do, enjoying what the island has to...offer.

Toward the back of the stage is a mound of dirt with a shovel. There isn't much to do here while the performance is happening.

The map itself is more specifically referring to the light controls above the stage.

The map directions were as follows:

"With all eyes open, follow the path to the X. South East North West West South East Two paces North Easat East South West X Marks the Spot!"

So, I simply needed to press the buttons in the location that matches each cardinal direction then flip the switch. The lights change each time you press and there's a fun little easter egg.

Max light! I have some extra appreciation now that I've played Sam & Max Hit the Road even more so than having only watched the TellTale games. I don't remember what I thought when seeing that before I even knew what Sam & Max was.

Once all the right buttons were pressed in the right order the lights formed an X over the dirt pile.

Of course I couldn't do much when the play was still on. Stepping back onto the stage led to Slappy Cromwell's juggling act.

"Is this a dagger I see before me? No, it's three!"

And in the prop room, the travel trunk was now open, revealing a load of cannonballs that would be used next for the juggling act, "The famous 'Cannonball Juggling' scene from Romeo and Juliet."

What's a little sabotage, right? There are two options for the cannonballs: the chicken grease or the cooking oil. I tend to go for the grease, but it really doesn't matter and this time I used the oil just for the change of pace.

Juggling slippery cannonballs goes about as well as you'd expect and he drops them and one flips one of the wood slats of the stage, launching Cromwell into the other actor sending them both off stage. The monkey audience were ecstatic. Standing ovation.

That cleared the stage and I was able to dig Elaine up and she was stored in the ship's crowsnest.

With Elaine found and a ship, map, and crew acquired, that brings an end to Part II.

Time for Part III and one of my many favourite bits in the game coming up.

"Part III Three Sheets to the Wind"

Things very briefly started off peaceful enough, sailing the sea, while the crew chatters. Then a ship approached.

And of course it was our ol' pal, Captain Rottingham.

He wanted my map to Blood Island, so he could get the diamond there--some details Guybrush should have kept to himself back in the barbershop, but it's too late now.

It was time for a duel. This is a major callback to The Secret of Monkey Island with insult sword fighting, except they're on the sea, so the insults have to rhyme.

Rottingham tosses out a couple insults in what's essentially a tutorial but of course I didn't have the correct responses yet, so I lost and Rottingham takes the map.

That gross skin tattoo map... Rottingham was also grossed out. This is what he gets for stealing.

But that leaves us stranded. Guybrush was raring to go get that map back but the crew have another idea first...

It's time! It's time for the pirate song!

youtube

It's ridiculous, I love it so. This was another song dad recorded on tape for listening to while driving. We'd always get a kick out of it and sometimes he'd sing along to parts.

There are a few things from the series as a whole that are just embedded in my brain by this point:

This song

"Hmm...no."

"Ohhh there's a monkey in my pocket and he's stealing all my change! His stare is blank and glassy I suspect that he's deraaanged"

"I think it was a conspiracy. And if there's one type of piracy I don't like it's CONS-piracy." (generally paraphrased when I think of it but from Secret)

"It's a whole bucket of mud. And it's mine...all mine!" (from Monkey Island 2. I dunno why, it just stuck)

Anyway, once the song ended with an orange, it was down to business.

On the ship deck there are two main things to interact with aside from talking to Haggis for a bit of guidance:

-Cannons - they're weak

-The map: how we move!

The whole point of this section is to fight other pirates and learn insults as well earn treasure. Ships will move around the map and when you click one your ship will sail over and initiate ship combat where you fire at each other with cannons.

You just want to avoid Rottingham of course because you can't beat him until you gather some insults and more powerful cannons.

There's an easy mode and a harder mode. I always go for easy ship combat as I'm not really a big a fan of that bit.

You want to earn treasure to buy new and better cannons at Puerto Pollo where...

Kenny has given up his lemonade scam and is now running guns! He's supplied from 'Bob's Big Bore Boomer Brand Cannon, Inc.'

"Can I interest you in some shrapnelizing ammunition designed to bring exquisite pain and unreasonable suffering to all your enemies?"

He's got the:

Buccaneer's Buddy Ouch-Master Holemaker Deluxe Paingiver 2000 Mr. Massacre Destructomatic T-47

Basically: beat a pirate in ship combat, insult sword fight, if you win, get treasure and go spend it, if you lose and still have treasure they take your booty, and hopefully you learn more insults and replies along the way.

Some samples: "You're as repulsive as a monkey in a negligee." (one of the two you start with courtesy of Rottingham) "I look THAT much like your fiancée?" "Throughout the Caribbean my great deeds are celebrated!" "Too bad they're all fabricated."

"I'll skewer you, like a sow at a buffet." "When I'm done with YOU, you'll be a boneless fillet!"

I got all the cannon upgrades and most of the insults. I tried to get them all, but the one I was missing just wasn't coming up and you don't need them all, so I gave up.

I also accidentally ran into a tourist ship and freaked them out, but I was nice and skedaddled.

It was time to face Captain Rottingham and with my shiny new Destructomatic T-47

and easy mode, I took him down with ease and boarded.

Rottingham, like the Sword Master in the first game, has a different set of insults, so you need to figure out which of your stocked up replies will work.

"You'll find I'm dogged and relentless to my prey!" "Then be a good dog. Sit! Stay!"

There are several rounds and you don't have to get every single one right. I did miss one because I didn't have the reply, but otherwise it was smooth sailing and down he went.

Guybrush continues to rhyme every response to Rottingham's comments while Rottingham suffers. It's great. For example:

"You win! You win! You'll get your map back!" "You were doomed from the start, you kleptomaniac!"

"All right! All right! I give up already!" "It's no wonder you lost with a sword so unsteady!"

But all good things come to an end and Guybrush gets the map and returns the ship.

Leading to Part IV: The Bartender, The Thieves, his Aunt, and Her Lover.

And another cutscene as the ship sails off into the sunset, victorious and ready to find Blood Island.

Until a vicious storms hits.

And they can't keep control of the ship, though even the crew actually attempts to help this time...mostly. Haggis was preoccupied with his kilt....and high winds...Y'know, not the best combination.

They end up crashing on shore, but on the shore of Blood Island!

Unfortunately, while everyone is intact, the ship is less so and Haggis informs Guybrush that they're staging a mutiny.

It was a real pleasure serving as his crew, but the voice of the siren is calling them back to cut her hair. They want to return to being barbers. Not much Guybrush can do to protest and all in all a pretty amicable mutiny.

And as for Elaine she got thrown from the crowsnest and landed a little ways off.

Nothing more to do but start exploring, find Elaine, and learn about this diamond ring.

Next time: Blood Island. I love Blood Island!

#monkey island #the curse of monkey island #CMI #CMI_Log #adventure games #LucasArts

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davy-zeppeli · 1 year

Note

The Nesmith siblings discovering Matthew the ((not really)) prairie chicken?

Behold, a short story that is a bit disjointed but it's the thought that counts. I wrote this in 3 separate sessions and you can tell (one of which being my commute home from work via tram). If you see typos, no you don't.

“D’ya think ma will yell at us?”

“Probably. S’your fault anyway.”

“It ain’t my fault! You’re the one who said it was a good idea!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Two squeaky and frustrated voices echoed down the forest path, bickering amongst one another and trying desperately to pass the blame back and forth until it got motion sickness and decided to take the day off. In theory, their plan was solid - excellent, Mike had called it - and practically infallible to the two of them: running away from home to start a new civilisation in the wild and become primal warriors seemed like the only thing that was right in the world at the time. Mike had already planned out how he was going to hunt and start up his own crafting business that he’d commit to for the rest of his days, and Michelle had created drawings for the different huts and shacks they planned to build. Although Mike’s ideas didn’t accommodate for other possibly important priorities, like eating and sleeping, and Michelle’s architectural endeavours ventured no further than crayon scribbles on some old wood behind the cottage, it seemed like the most amazing plan in the world. Running away from home sounded easy enough. How could they possibly fail?

What they hadn’t considered, it turns out, was pretty much everything else outside of the scope of their youthful imaginations.

Leaving their cottage was the easy bit - all they had to do was just… walk out. Their mother knew the two of them often ended up going on their own little adventures, Michelle more often than not coming back with more bumps and scrapes than she left with, and Mike returning looking extremely dazed - what exactly it was they did when they were out was a mystery, but it was evident they had an absolute blast doing it, so when they left to go out and ‘play’, no one really cared all too much. Together, the two of them marched down the dirt path of their home, picked a direction, and started walking.

…And walking.

… At least, that’s what it felt like to them. The reality was that after about twenty minutes or so, Mike started complaining he was cold, and Michelle tried to ignore how her feet were starting to ache a little bit. Despite that, they both continued marching towards their joint goal of independence and civilisation.

Well, that was until the sun started to set.

Michelle was the first to show any hint of doubt in their surely fool-proof plan. When she asked Mike what he was going to hunt with, she was not filled with confidence when he said he didn’t know, ‘maybe a stick or somethin’ like that’. Passing through a few more fields, Mike asked Michelle if she knew how to make a shack, to which she responded with ‘not really, I thought it’d be easy enough to just figure it out’. Only when dusk started to rear its calm and eerie head did the two of them stop to think for a moment, reconsidering their once-stellar plan. A few rustling sounds from a nearby wood made Mike flinch, and Michelle felt uneasy at how quiet it was.

Just as the sun gave its final goodbye in the form of a bright orange light which lit the road with fiery hues, Michelle asked Mike if they should turn around. When their surroundings grew dim and grey, Mike grabbed Michelle’s hand and nodded nervously, and the two of them turned around, staying close to each other-

-Which left them in their current situation.

“Man, I don’t even know how to hunt,” mumbled Mike, evidently reflecting on the impeccable goal he’d set himself earlier. “Don’t even think I could bring myself to look at a rabbit wrong, never mind hurtin’ one.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if this was a good idea, Mikey,” Michelle sighed, listening to how painfully loud her footsteps sounded against the gravel in the silent passage they found themselves in. “I think I remember the way back, though. We’ll be fine.”

Mike nodded with uncertainty. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Almost as if it could smell their fear, a rather large bird chose that time to swoop down from a nearby tree and skim the tops of their heads, Michelle yelping and Mike instinctively pulling both of them down until they were huddled together on the floor. The bird squawked and flew into the distance, and Mike lifted his head to check the coast was clear. Nudging Michelle and pulling her up, he noticed she was crying.

“Aw, no, Mimi, don’t cry, it’s gonna be alright.”

“I ain’t cryin’, shut up,” she denied, although she didn’t let go of Mike’s hand. Quietly, the two of them started walking again, Mike keeping an eye out for any more unwelcome feathery guests.

As they approached a rather large and intimidating looking forest, they decided to have a break, Michelle reassuring Mike that they didn’t have too far to go.

“I remember that big evil lookin’ forest, I’d say we’re about ten minutes away,” she spoke with a new-found confidence, gesturing to the mass of trees ahead of them.

Sitting on a rock, Mike rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Mimi, are we silly?”

Michelle plopped herself next to Mike on the rock. “You’re silly - that don’t mean I’m silly,” she said, “but if you think I’m silly, then I guess I am.”

“What if we got eaten out here? Like some big monster came out and decided we were his food?” Mike whispered worriedly, picking at the skin on his arms.

“Now that’s silly. Y’know that there ain’t any monsters out here, Mikey,” Michelle explained, shaking her head before elbowing Mike, “besides, they’re all under your bed. I saw them.”

“W-what? D-don’t say that!”

“It’s true, I saw two werewolves tearing apart some kid under your bed ‘n’ eatin’ him for breakfast-”

Mike whimpered pathetically. “Stop it, no you didn’t!”

Michelle smirked. “Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not-”

An eerie hooting sound emerging from the woods cut the both of them off, their heads snapping around to the gathering of trees the sound originated from. It was silent again.

“Mike, what was that?”

“Shh,” Mike waved at Michelle, getting her to be quiet. Standing and putting himself between Michelle and the trees, Mike listened.

The sound came again - a low, wobbly hum, fading in and out almost like a pulse.

“There it is again! Mike, what is it?” Michelle hissed, scrambling from where she sat to stand next to Mike.

Squinting, Mike peered off into the trees. “Shh.”

“It sounds like another bird. I don’t wanna be dealin’ with any more birds, Mikey-”

“Mimi, shh.”

“It’s gonna swoop at me! I don’t-”

Michelle was silenced by Mike putting a hand over her mouth and shaking his head, fighting very hard to not flinch away in disgust when he felt her stick her tongue out and lick his hand.

“Ew, don’t do that!” Mike whispered at her, frustratedly. He felt her laugh underneath his palm, and was about to shush her again when the hooting returned. The two of them fell into an uneasy silence, and shortly afterwards Mike started walking towards the sound.

“Mike, what are you doing?” Michelle urged, worriedly.

Mike didn’t respond - instead he tip-toed to the edge of the forest and towards a large tree branch that had fallen to the ground. As he approached, the sound that had been growing gradually louder seemed to stop - not that it mattered, because Mike let out a little gasp as he caught a glimpse of its source.

“Mikey?” Michelle queried, intrigue in her tone.

“Mimi, it’s a weird lookin’ bird! C’mere ‘n’ look!” Mike waved Michelle over, and she cautiously approached, clinging to Mike’s arm as soon as she was close enough. “Looks like some kind of weird chicken.”

Michelle shrugged. “Looks more like a grouse to me.”

“How d’you know what a grouse looks like?” Mike asked, pulling a face at her.

“Saw a picture of one on the inn near the cottage - the innkeeper’s son told me last time me ‘n’ ma went to drop off some shoes.”

She saw Mike tilt his head in intrigue. “That the curly loud one who keeps wearin’ holes through all his boots?”

Michelle shook her head, keeping her vision focused on the bird in front of them. “Naw, grouses don’t wear boots - they don’t got hair either,” she spoke flatly, before gently pushing past Mike to kneel next to the animal. “Somethin’ ain’t right here - I think it’s hurt.”

Joining her in kneeling down, Mike observed the bird as well, checking where Michelle was gesturing. The bird definitely looked peculiar, and was most certainly out of place on the edge of a big creepy forest without a single farm in sight. Not that it would have explained much either way - Mike hadn’t seen a bird that looked like that before. It had brown feathers marbled with white, a short tail, and more feathers poking up from its head, but the most intriguing feature was the large orange patch on its neck that seemed to twitch and expand slightly every so often. Almost like it knew it had an audience, the bird began chirping quietly again, emitting a low hum.

Mike furrowed his brow when he spotted a wound on its wing, sighing as he twisted his mouth in concern. “Poor thing. What happened to you, buddy?”

What Mike didn’t know was that the bird before him wasn’t just any bird. If, somehow, this bird could speak, it would have responded to Mike very bluntly, weakly admitting that it was not, in fact, a bird at all. It would have explained how it was once a fairly powerful wizard, at one point the sole owner of a magic pendant, and that it had only recently been cursed by a different wizard who was particularly unpleasant and rude. It would have elaborated further, explaining that the wizard wanted to use both of their powers and the pendant to assist him in controlling the world, but it refused. It would have then, very frustratedly, recalled being turned into a bird - a prairie chicken, to be precise - and discarded, left to fend for itself in the wild. It would have offered the explanation that the wound on its wing came about as a result of a close encounter with a pack of wolves. Once a wise and powerful being had been reduced into a pile of feathers, clucking and chattering on the side of a woodland path with no hope of ever returning to its original state.

There was a lot that both Mike and Michelle didn’t know about the little bird in front of them, including what kind of bird it actually was, but there was one thing they both knew:

If they left it alone, it was going to die.

As the bird let out a low chattering sound, Mike huffed, an indication his mind was made up. “Mimi, can I borrow your coat?”

Showing up at their front door in the middle of the night, dirty and hungry, went down exactly how you'd expect. Their mother was furious and had been worried sick about them, going as far as to rope some of the townsfolk into searching for them. As they were lectured for being so foolish, Mike hugged the coat he held in his arms close to his chest, the half-conscious bird wrapped in the garment remaining silent.

Again, this wasn't your standard bird - having experienced being an actual being for all of its life until recently, it was able to think rationally and opted to remain as quiet as possible as it listened to Mike and Michelle's mother scold them. It was hard to believe that she'd be upset at them for running away, but not be upset at them for bringing a half-dead chicken into their house that they found on the side of the road. For its own sake, the bird stayed silent.

The next bout of movement was rushed - Mike and Michelle, having been well and truly told off, sprinted into their room and took the bird with them, placing Michelle's coat down on the floor and unwrapping it from around the animal they'd rescued, although if you'd have asked the bird, it would have deemed it more of an opportunity than a rescue. Cooing quietly, the bird remained still as the two siblings looked down at it.

"I'll make it a bed, chickens like beds, right?" Mike asked, gathering up a few loose blankets from a nearby chest of drawers.

Michelle shrugged. "I guess so. Why'd you call it a chicken? It don't look like a chicken."

"Sure it does, it's small 'n' round, got a funny thing on its head," he reasoned, piling up the blankets at the foot of his bed inside a spare wooden crate that he'd set on its side. "Sounds like a chicken to me."

She looked at him for a moment, comprehending his reasoning. "Whatever."

Following that, Mike placed the bird into its new crate, taking extra care to not disturb its wing too much. Michelle left it some left-over bread and some water in a bowl, seeming to assume it would probably be fed like a dog. If you'd asked the bird what it thought at that moment, it would have said that the two kids who'd kindly 'rescued' it may be morons - but they were kind-hearted morons. The next morning, either Mike or Michelle left it some left-overs and water, cleaned its wing, and left to go about their day, visiting occasionally to check on it. Mike visited more frequently than Michelle did, but the bird got the feeling that Mike was more of the worrying kind in comparison to his sister.

And so a routine was built up: the siblings would wake up, feed the bird, leave, and come back - then they would feed it again and let it sleep. It wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually the bird couldn't even remember what its name used to be. It felt sad about it, but chose not to dwell on it - it was alive and cared for, even if it was in the care of two literal children.

When the two of them started calling it 'Matthew', the bird realised it had completely forgotten if it had been a boy or a girl. Despite that, hearing the two children bicker over it, calling it their own little name, made the bird feel oddly loved.

"You can't feed him that!" Michelle objected, following Mike into their room.

"Why not? Food's food."

Michelle sat on the edge of her bed, shaking her head at Mike. "You're gonna feed the chicken a chicken leg? That just feels wrong."

"Dogs eat chicken don’t they? Mattie here's like a dog. He's eaten everythin' else we've fed him," Mike observed before placing the leg in front of the bird. "Here ya go Matthew, hope you like it."

As the bird pecked at the leg, it decided it liked the way these two idiots went about things - but more importantly, it decided that it liked the name Matthew. And so from that point on, he accepted the name as his own.

It wasn't long before their mother found out about their 'pet' - after food was slowly disappearing from their pantry, she grew suspicious they had some kind of vermin problem, but when she witnessed Mike smuggle some beef into his room, she decided to investigate. Needless to say, she wasn't too pleased, but agreed to let them keep him.

He wasn't sure when days merged into weeks, or when weeks into months, but suddenly Matthew was watching Mike come back from his first day work, and he saw Michelle tell Mike he needed to get his own room because they couldn't share now they were 'grown up' (and despite her reasoning, Matthew couldn't help but feel that either of them were particularly happy about the arrangement). Matthew still felt exactly the same as the day he was rescued, although now he had a healed wing and a bed that Mike had made himself out of some spare pieces of wood - although he actually ended up sleeping at the foot of Mike's bed on a regular basis. Matthew wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to fathom why these two children - now adults - cared so much about some bird. And every time Michelle came home frustrated, tears in her eyes, or Mike retreated to his room in one of his 'brooding' moods, Matthew found himself always cuddling in to them, trying to cheer them up, and wondered when exactly he had started caring so much about some kids.

His trust in the two of them was only cemented one day when Michelle wandered into the cottage, Mike and the innkeeper’s son following close behind her. Matthew clucked enthusiastically at them when they entered, earning him a wave from Mike. Michelle was too busy talking at about a hundred miles per hour to say hello, and was undoubtedly giving Mike and his friend a headache.

"I'm just sayin' I think y'all are lookin' too deeply into this. She don't like me like that! And I don't even know if I like her like that!" Closing the door behind them, Michelle sighed and sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Matthew hopped up to stand next to her head, cooing quietly.

The innkeeper’s son scratched his head. "Hey, uh, there's a bird on your table."

"Oh, that's Matthew. Don't mind him, Micky. You're alright, ain't you, Mattie?" Mike laughed, patting his friend - Micky - on the back.

Matthew simply chirped in response before pecking Michelle's head. She looked up at him and smiled tiredly before scratching his head. "Yeah, yeah, I see you. Hello to you too, Matthew."

"You guys talk to your bird?" Micky asked, bewildered.

Mike pouted at him and nudged his arm. "He ain't just a bird, he's family. Matthew Nesmith here's been with us for over ten years now."

Staring at him for a moment, Micky was evidently trying to connect some kinds of dots in his head. "Did you raise him yourself?"

"Naw, we found him on the side of a road - looks the exact same as the day we got him."

Micky blinked. "Dude, how is that thing still alive?"

"He ain't a thing, he's Matthew. Me 'n' Shelly here must be real good at lookin' after him - whaddya say, Mattie?" Mike nodded towards Matthew, smiling.

Matthew boomed in response, and the four of them settled down for the afternoon. It turned out that Michelle had ended up falling for a girl in her first week at her new job, and the other two were trying to be supportive. Well, Michelle wasn't admitting she liked her, but it was pretty clear to see it - almost as clear as it was to see the painfully adoring gazes Mike continued to shoot Micky's way when he thought he wasn't looking.

And so, the three of them bickered and Matthew clucked along, very much a part of the conversation and providing his two-cents as the unofficial third Nesmith sibling.

#sorry if this is pure ass. I was trying my best to come up with plot points for this at work #but uh. yeah. here it is!#writing ideas #the nesmith siblings #ily owl friend #girl mike #my writing

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youngpettyqueen · 1 year

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Hello I’ve been tagged by @thebreakfastgenie in a fun looking fic game, so here we go!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Here are my 10 most recent fics, from my ao3-

1. “what remains”

“God only knows why BJ is awake at this hour, but he is.”

(A short post-Goodbye, Radar fic where BJ sees something he doesn’t expect, but it doesn’t surprise him)

2. “it’s not chicken soup, but it’s good for the soul”

“Trapper steps through the door to the Swamp quietly, mindful of where he places his feet on the messy floor as he closes the door softly behind him. He pads over to Hawkeye’s cot, still being mindful of his volume, not wanting to startle the bundle of blankets within said cot.”

(Post-Carry On, Hawkeye, in which Trapper takes care of Hawkeye while he’s sick)

3. “a cautionary tale of not paying attention in close quarters”

““Charles, have you seen that letter I got yesterday?” Hawkeye asks, rifling through everything like a mole snuffling through the dirt.”

(Charles accidentally breaks Hawkeye’s nose and he feels bad about it but it’s REALLY funny)

4. “and miles to go before i sleep”

“Hawkeye yelps as BJ drives them right through another pothole, the resulting buck of the Jeep almost throwing him right over the side. He braces himself with one hand on the side and one hand on BJ’s shoulder, gripping his friend tight like he’ll be sent flying if he lets go. Honestly, with the roads as bad as they are and BJ’s unique driving, it’s a fair thought to have.”

(Hawkeye and BJ are lost, injured, and without transport behind enemy lines. Inspired by Comrades in Arms, and my one and only multichapter fic)

5. “like a dog”

“There are days Henry wonders if he woke up a schoolteacher instead of a Lt. Colonel.”

(Hawkeye bites Frank and Henry has to deal with it)

6. “things that cry in the night”

“Hawkeye doesn’t tend to sleep through the night. Hasn’t ever since he was shipped out here. It’s something he usually regards with the same bitterness he regards the rest of the war with- it’s just another way the war has changed him, it’s just another annoyance, the list could go on for miles. Sometimes he wakes up to the night patrol being too loud, sometimes it’s to shelling, to Charles snoring, to screaming, to nothing at all.”

(Hawkeye comforts BJ after he has a nightmare, set a couple days after Where There’s a Will, There’s a War)

7. “a good nurse (friend, a good friend)”

“Margaret is reading in bed when someone knocks on her door. She lowers the book, frowning. She wasn’t expecting any company tonight, and she isn’t due in post-OP until the next morning. She gets up and throws her robe over her pyjamas. Perhaps she’s needed after all- there were a few difficult cases today, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing.”

(Margaret insists a very sick Hawkeye stay with her for the night)

8. “chivalry and bloody knuckles”

““That was a stupid thing you did.” Is the first thing Hawkeye says to him once they’re sufficiently hidden away in the supply tent.”

(BJ punches out a marine to protect Hawkeye, and Hawkeye’s not thrilled about it)

9. “leave your roles at the door”

“It’s Margaret who finds him.”

(Radar goes missing after the OR session in Abyssinia, Henry. Margaret finds him, and comforts him, and sits with some of her own grief as well)

10. “petty vengeances”

“Hawkeye is in one of those moods today.”

(Hawkeye’s been menacing Margaret all day and she gets her revenge- with a little help)

Thanks for tagging me!! Pretty much everybody I would’ve tagged has been tagged, so I’ll leave it open for anyone who wants to hop on!

#mash #fic bitching #scraping in with 12 total fics to my name #sorry if formatting is weird I’m on my phone #mobile has me fighting for my life #I just reread a bunch of my fics hdjdjjcjdjd #so this is timely

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msitp · 9 months

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Chapter 3: A Man a Bird and A Hard Place

The ride is quiet for a long time; the peaceful sound of hooves crunching against dirt. I eventually drag myself out of my head and enjoy the beautiful forest as we pass through. The trees are much bigger than I’ve ever seen, the classic greens are mixed with vibrant and strange hues I’m not used to just seeing in passing. Nature here feels exotic and magical, as it burns under the setting sun. I take deep breaths and ground myself in this moment, not allowing any serious thoughts to keep their hold of me. My body still weighing my down as I try and ignore my mind.

The sound of wings and the gentle tickle of feathers wake me from a nap I hadn’t realised I slipped into. The horses have pulled off to what seems like a rest point, a familiar bird is glaring daggers at me from the window.

What am I supposed to do here? Do I tend to the horses? Probably not. They came all the way to me, seemingly on their own. I get up and step out, the small lanterns hanging from the carriage are the only source of light. How they glow on their own, I’ll just write off as some sort of fantasy bullshit. I walk over to the horses their large and sturdy bodies almost intimidating. A trough full of clean water sits to the side and a pile of grass and grains has already been laid out for them. Is there some magic pit stop worker around, or does the Division just have its tricks?

The horses both handsome brown mares’ glance at me between bites. Curious I give a faint whistle and the closest horse steps closer, lowering its snout to me. Unable to resist I slowly put my hand up waiting for her to get a good look at me, before I gently pat her long face. I feel like a cowboy bonding with a trusty steed; a stupid smile stretches across my face. I’m relieved no one is here to see me so excited, just from petting a horse. As if jealous at the attention the other mare also comes up and bumps me; I happily indulge the two with all the pats I can give.

After thoroughly doting on the two for their hard work; I go rummaging into the bag of supplies Sabine had packed me. Pulling out a meat pie, I sit near the horses stretching my legs out. The hawk comes swooping in, landing next to me. Ever overseeing it scans the dark.

“I’d give you a bit of meat, but I don’t know if seasoned meat is safe for you.” I pull out a small piece wiping some of the sauce off it. Holding it out, it sharply turns of its head to face me seeming hesitant. After a moment, it hop-steps a bit closer and takes the meat from me.

“Playing hard to get, but taking it in the end huh. Don’t suppose you’d want any pets this time.” Can hawks sigh? It sounds like it just huffed at me.

The night passes quite comfortably, the inside of the carriage is padded and warm. The hawk seems to keep watch as the horses and I sleep. When I wake the next morning, we are already back on the road. How the horses got re hitched I’ll just chalk up to more magic for plot convenience. I munch on a piece of fruit for breakfast. The dutiful hawk comes into the carriage, seemingly deciding to keep me company.

“You are the same birdie, aren’t you? I know the Division has a lot of messengers, but your glare feels distinct. Yours is the first face I saw since-.” It might be silly of me but having the chance to talk without a care, isn’t something I’ll be able to do once I’m reunited with the main plot.

“Since I woke up here. Is it too obvious hmm? Am I fitting in well for not having a clue what I’m doing? Or will I be punished for not being who I should. Will that sister of mine be heartbroken, that I’m not the brother she had,” a long sigh I had gotten used to holding escapes.

I know a glorified chicken isn’t going to be able to help me. Yet talking out loud seems to ease my worries, keeping them from becoming overwhelming me again. The chicken in question, also acts as if it’s thinking seriously about my raving. I can’t resist its cute reaction, lightly brushing a finger over its head. It goes stiff but doesn’t peck or squawk at me, so I test my luck and give it a few more light strokes. My chest feels much lighter and I can’t help chuckling at the disappointed glare it gives me when I pull my hand away.

“Thank you, clever birdie. If you ever want more head pats, I’m always available,” more laughter escapes as it ruffles its feather acting offended.

The day goes by slowly, we pass through a few smaller villages and rest briefly now and again. We enter a densely populated forest, the trees here are thin and dark. The road becomes smaller as we pass less and less travellers. I don’t doubt the horses know their way and lounge on the carriage seats with the hawk.

A loud crack suddenly cuts through the silence and the carriage comes to a sudden crashing halt. Both me and the bird fall out of the seat and into the floor. The horses start making a ruckus. The shouts of men also rise. Worried for the mares I quickly get up, peaking through the driver window. The horses have been cut from the cart. Two rough looking men are trying to keep a hold of the two but their bucking and lashing keeps them from getting hold of them. Sensing an opportunity one horse suddenly charges. The space the men make to avoid her, allows both horses room to break into a full sprint. Relief briefly washes over me as I watch the cloud of dust the two make as they disappear down the weaving path. The two men quickly hop onto their own hidden mounts but the strange gangly beasts they ride don’t seem likely to be a match for the strong Division horses.

The sound of hooves is soon swallowed by the dense forest surrounding us. There’s no chance any sort of bandits would leave the carriage unchecked. With hawk beside me, we both tense as the carriage door is opened. Not wasting a moment hawk dives at the invader the moment he appears. Not having a chance to take note of my presence the man barley raises his arms in time to spare his face from the talons that are stabbed towards him. A glint catches my eye, a dagger with a strange aura unsheathes itself from the man’s waist. The bird is too busy digging his claws into his arms to notice the threat that dives their way. I’m unsure how my body reacts as quickly as it does but I manage to get my body around hawk snatching him out of the path of the dagger.

A slight stinging feeling creeps into my right shoulder, I must have pulled something from moving so fast after being stagnant so long. The bandit also stumbles back holding his bleeding arm as his dagger hovers protectively at his side. With the faint smell of blood in the air I clutch hawk close to my chest, the bandit and I exchange glares. I’m rather annoyed at the man that sneers at me, his face handsome despite the layer of grime. His eyes shine with a cocky defiance as he sizes up me and the fidgeting bird in my arms.

“If you give me the bird and whatever else you got in that box on wheels. I’ll make your ransom cheaper,” the smirk he flashes makes it seem like he’s offering me a great deal. I can’t stop the twitching of my brow at his audacity.

I scoff, “Sorry to be the one to tell you but the most valuable thing’s from the carriage were the ones who were dragging it.” I take some pleasure in watching his smirk slightly falter.

“Bullshit, no one gets to ride in one of these carts if they aren’t worth something,” his eyes are quickly moving across me again.

This time instead of evaluating threat he seems to be gauging my worth. Slight annoyance is apparent as his eyes keep returning to hawk. Whose screeching has practically become a hiss, as it glares from my arms. I’m in -what I assume- is humble cloth that Sabine had given me. I must be disappointing to look at, as he accidentally tightens his grip on his bleeding arm. The moment he winches from his carless action, my eyes are drawn to the movements of the dagger. As he winched the aura around the blade seemed to dimmer slightly, losing its place in the air by a few inches.

An idea begins to form in my mind, “I’ll give you my bags, it should be clear I have nothing to fight you with.”

I take a cautious step back towards the carriage, he arches a brow following but not stopping my movement. I don’t push it too far only reaching into the compartment for the bags, I pull out the snack bag first tossing it at his feet. His eyes dart from me to it, the dagger stays pointed in my direction. I reach back for the bag the original left behind, whispering to the hawk as I do so.

“This time I’ll distract him, you fly away,” the hawk in my arms goes quiet from shock; clearly having understood me.

When I pull this bag out the bandits’ eyes seem to shine a bit. The make of this bag is much better than the snack bag; which he’s already emptied out in the time it took me to turn around. Acting as if this bag is too heavy to throw, I leave hawk in the carriage. Passing the bag directly allows me to get right up to him. Before he pulls away bag in hand, I dive at him. The sound of wings taking flight behind me, blends with the bandits startled yelp as I big my nails into the cuts on his arm. I twist to check but the dagger still attempts to pursue hawk. The bandit up close might be shorter than me but his strength is no joke, as he quickly takes hold of both my arms. He is distracted, trying to keep track of hawk in the sky while wrestling with me. Since I’m unable to keep scratching I go to my next option. Using our proximity, I plunge my teeth into the only exposed skin not protected by his leather armour; his neck. The dagger falls from the air, as the bandit lets out a startled yelp. His focus turns fully on removing my teeth from the soft flesh of his neck. I hold on long enough, by the time he’s peeled me off him and pinned me to the ground; I see no sign of hawk in the sky.

I let out a breath, stopping my struggling. The bandit keeps me tightly pinned making sure his legs have my arms trapped at my side; mouth also a safe distance from him. He stares at me with wide eyes his hand on his neck, seemingly quite stunned by my display. The dagger doesn’t return to hovering, it’s been proven his own strength is enough to take me. He sits on top of me too shocked for words.

Assuming I’ve dug myself quite the grave I don’t bother holding back my tongue, “I told you I wasn’t worth anything. Do you believe me now? I’m worth less then a pigeon.”

“You really shouldn’t be so proud of that, you damn crazy fool,” he rubs at his neck while shaking his head.

“Well either way if you’re going to kill me, just get on with it.”

He blinks at me aghast, “Who’s going to kill you? I’m a thief not a murderer.”

“You were going to stab my bird,” I huff.

“A dead bird is still worth at least a meal, your worth even less dead. I don’t want to waste more of my time burying you”, the smirk makes a return to his face.

I attempt to brake out of the vice grip his legs have me in, to no avail. Ah well its was curiosity more then anything. He seemed pleased with himself despite having gained nothing from his carriage heist.

He let out a laugh, “Are you really, worth nothing? I thought with that long pretty hair of yours you’d be some noble’s bastard at least.”

I looked at him stone faced, “If my hair is so valuable then take it, it’s a pain to have anyway.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’ll trade some hair for not having this conversation between your legs.”

He stared at me again, seeming scandalized by my choice of words. Reaching out he slowly runs his fingers through a lock of my hair. I could see the math calculations hovering around his head. Finally, he stands up, releasing me from his vice thigh grip.

“Deal.”

I blinked, “Wait. Really? If its that easy, what kind of thief are you.”

His smile is like that of a cat still cleaning canary off its lips, “If you don’t know the value hair like yours has, that’s my gain. If you give up your bags, I’ll even escort you out of my woods.”

This brat, acting like he’s won again. Does he fancy himself bandit king? He can’t be older than me, what’s he got to be swaggering around about. He happily collects my bags, while calling his dagger back to its sheath without a sound. He takes a moment getting his baring’s as he stares at the suns place in the sky, before heading off in a direction off the path.

I don’t follow easily, “Don’t you know how paths work.”

He is quick to quip back, “Haven’t you heard of a short cut.”

#my sister is the protagonist #msitp #MSITP #ongoing story #original story #writers on tumblr #isekai #portal fantasy #polyamory #queer story #queer writers #transmasc character #transmigration

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