#BUT IVE PRATTLED TOO MUCH ive talked too much
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Something Better || Chapter 1: Hope
Ghost x Reader x Soap
Fic is below the cut!! Please enjoy !!
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Word count: 2,100+
Warnings: Angsty thoughts, mentions of poor eating habits, not taking care of self
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The steady beeping of your IV was the only thing keeping you company as you laid there in the hospital bed. You stared numbly at the ceiling, mind empty. Sunlight drifted through your window and gently laid upon your legs. But you couldn’t feel its warmth. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. Your life fell into shambles the moment those bullets entered your back. A mission gone wrong had left you with a permanent limp and nerve damage in your right leg. Your Major had personally visited you and relieved you of your duties. Years of work and service, gone in an instant. Now, you’re stuck with nothing but fucked up lower back and a debilitated leg.
Your teammates had visited you over the course of your recovery, offering their condolences and sympathy, leaving you with vases full of flowers and cards with sweet notes. Not like it really mattered much to you. They could continue on with their lives as normal. They could continue with their careers as normal. Not you. Not anymore.
Your days were plagued with aches and pains, and your nights full of nightmares. You woke up nearly every night with the same dream of those damn bullets piercing through your body. When you weren’t wracked with nightmares, you were left laying there unable to sleep. The only thing you had to look forward to was physical therapy as they tried to get your stiff leg back into shape.
Days dragged on into weeks, and you felt more like a shell after each sunrise and sunset. It was torturous. What were you to do now? You had your dream job, you were helping people. And now that’s all gone, and you were left here with nothing. You had to start from scratch all over again. Where would you go? What would you do? These questions floated endlessly through your head as the days went by.
You could hear the nurses whisper about you, about how the bags under your eyes grew larger with each passing day. How you rarely spoke. How you would just sit there, vacant, empty, looking at nothing. You would hear the concern and pity in their voices as they spoke about how you would eat just enough to not be force fed. How you would drink just enough to not be pumped full of liquids. How you did the bare minimum to survive.
You hated it. You hated hearing their pitying voices, seeing their sympathetic eyes wash over you. You wanted to scream at them, yell, cry, do anything to make it stop. But you didn’t have the will for that anymore. So you just sat there, and tried to ignore it.
Your teammates eventually stopped visiting you. Either because they got too busy, or they were unnerved by your devoid state. Good. You were glad they were gone. You wished to be alone anyways. The loneliness was comforting now. It allowed you to wrap yourself in a thick blanket of misery and sorrow. You couldn’t do that with people around. You watched as the flowers by your bedside wilted and were carried away by nurses. You watched as the cards given to you collected dust, and were eventually thrown out. You watched as you imploded in on yourself, becoming a black hole that devoured light itself.
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It was like any other Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? You couldn’t remember, didn’t care to remember anymore. You had just returned to your room after physical therapy, reluctantly using your cane given to you by the hospital. You hated using it. It made you feel weak. But until you got stronger again, you couldn’t walk more than 10 steps without it.
You sat on your bed as your nurse prattled on about some gossip around the hospital. You didn’t particularly care, but you know she thought it helped you to have someone to talk to. So, you let her talk about anything she wanted.
“Oh, by the way, you might want to get changed into something nicer. You have a visitor who’s waiting down in the lobby!” She said excitedly. That piqued your interest. A visitor? You haven’t had a visitor in weeks. You looked at the nurse curiously, who practically beamed at your change in expression. You let her pick out a nice outfit for you to change into. It was nothing flashy, just a plain button up and a pair of jeans. Though, you insisted on changing yourself, despite the nurse’s protests.
You hobbled over to the elevator, your nurse close to your side, leaning on your cane like a life-line. You were nervous. It was the first time you had even felt something besides self-pity and anger in weeks. You and your nurse entered the elevator and she pressed the lobby button. You shuffled where you stood slightly, straightening your shirt, messing with your hair, generally trying to look your best. The nurse glanced at you and smiled slightly. You suspect it was because she was happy to see you actually do something for a change.
The elevator dinged and opened to the lobby. You stepped out, leaning on your cane for support as your nurse gently guided you out. You scanned the lobby, looking for any familiar faces. Then your heart stopped. You made eye contact. It was Kate fucking Laswell. The, Kate Laswell. The one who got whatever was assigned to her done, perfect, and more. You swallowed a lump in your throat. What on Earth would she want with someone like you?
You stood straighter and walked up to her, not using your cane much to your leg’s and the nurse's dismay. You saluted her like you were trained to do, posture perfect and feet together. Muscle memory. Laswell smiled at you.
“At ease, soldier. There’s no need for formalities.” She said, and you relaxed your posture slightly. Your nurse patted your shoulder.
“Alrighty! I’ll leave you two to it. Call if you need anything, dear.” You simply nodded in response, and with that, your nurse walked off, leaving you and Laswell alone. There was silence for a moment. You weren’t sure if you should say something or…
“Would you like to get some coffee? There’s a nice café in the lobby.” Laswell asks, breaking the silence. You gave her a curt nod, and the two of you walked over to the café. She ordered for the two of you, just two medium cups of black coffee. She found a small table in the corner, out of the way of people. As you sat down, her hand reached out to take your cane, but you simply held a hand out, the gesture saying you had it. You sat down, secretly relieved for the break. It took longer than you thought for the coffee to be made, making the two of you stand more than your leg would have liked.
You and Laswell were silent as you both sipped your coffee. You savored its warmth and roast. When was the last time you had coffee? Was it that morning before your last miss- No. You’re not going to think about that. After a minute or two, Laswell cleared her throat quietly.
“I read your file. You did… You did a very brave thing there.” She glanced at your face. All you did was nod in thanks, not making eye contact. She stayed silent for a moment, before reaching into the bag she carried and pulling out documents. You eyed them curiously.
“I came here today to give you an offer.” You turned fully towards her, attention captured. Laswell flipped through the documents, and slid a couple towards you. You picked one up and skimmed through it. It was a debrief of one of the missions you completed before your injury. You looked at the others. They were all debriefs of your missions. You looked up at her, brow raised in question.
“You did some incredible things in the task force you were in. You executed every order effortlessly and perfectly. Not many soldiers can say that.” You glanced down at your leg. If she was asking you to come back-
“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to rejoin the task force.” You relaxed slightly. As much as you’d love to, you know you’d be a burden on whatever team they stuck you in.
“But I am asking you to come out of retirement.” You perked up, looking Laswell directly in the eyes. She leaned forward over the table. “Look, I know you’re still in recovery, but you’ve got talent. Talent we need.” She slipped her hand back into her bag and pulled out another document. She slid it across the table into your awaiting hands. It was a contract. “We’re offering you a position as an Intelligence officer. You’d be trained by me and assigned to one of our task forces as their strategist.” Your eyes widened. The CIA is offering you… a job?
You opened your mouth. “But… Why me…? Why now…?” Your voice came out dry and slightly raspy from disuse. Laswell smiled slightly, as if she expected you to ask that.
“Well, after your discharge, we had some very persistent soldiers vying for you to come back. They testified for your resilience and planning. And, well, they were very persuasive. After looking at your files and debriefs, my superiors think you’d be an excellent fit for the position.” Your heart swelled. Your… Your teammates had pestered their superiors so you could come back… A small grin tugged on your lips.
Laswell watched you for a moment. “You were an excellent soldier, one of our best. We could use someone like you in our Intelligence offices. Hell, I could use someone like you.” She patted the contract with one hand. “Think about it. Give me a call when you have an answer.” She handed you a small card with her name and number on it. She downed the rest of her coffee in one swig. She collected the documents she showed you and stood up. You followed, grabbing your cane.
Laswell stuck out her hand. You took it and she gave you a firm handshake. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today, L/N.” The look in her eyes softened slightly. “You could help a lot of people. You can still make a difference, L/N. Never forget that.” At those words, you felt a small weight leave your burdened shoulders. With that, she gave you a curt nod and smile and walked away, out of the hospital.
You stood there for a minute, clutching the contract to your chest, coffee forgotten on the table. You then slowly walked back into the lobby, mind racing. Your nurse spotted you and excitedly ran over.
“Well? How was it? Was it good?” She queried. You stood there for a moment, not saying a word. Then, your face split into a small smile.
“It was… Nice…” You said quietly. You thought you saw a tear form in her eyes once she heard your voice. Man, when was the last time you spoke? She gently took your arm and guided you to the elevator, and for once, you didn’t feel shame needing some help. Your mind was occupied elsewhere, in an area you hadn’t been in awhile. For the first time in weeks, you were thinking about the future in a new light.
Your nurse brought you to your room and left you be, though, not before she let you know you could always call her if you needed assistance. For once, you smiled at her as she left, and you swear you saw her choke up. You sat in a chair next to your window, and looked outside. You felt the sunshine on your skin, and closed your eyes as you savored its warmth. You looked back at the contract. Could you do this…? Should you? How much help could you really be?
You sat there for hours, lost in your own thoughts, only interrupted as your nurse brought you lunch, then dinner, then snuck you some desert. You ate more than usual, making her very happy. Your nurse helped you change for bed, then insisted you lay down. She gave you some painkillers for your leg, and wished you goodnight.
You laid there, staring at the ceiling. But your eyes weren’t vacant, they were filled with thought. You were still mulling over the offer, trying to decide whether or not you should accept. On one hand, this position would give you back your purpose, your drive. It would let you help people again. While on the other, what if you accepted and messed up? What if you led people to their deaths? What if you caused more damage than good? You played this back and forth deep into the night.
Then, you decided.
What else did you have to lose?
You rolled over, and pulled your blankets to your chin, letting out a sigh. That night, you slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. And you finally felt something you never thought you’d feel again.
Hope.
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Hellooooo !!!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter !!! It was rlly fun to write !!! Its so interesting exploring the sorrowful side of humanity in writing. Anyways, I know this is a Ghost x Reader x Soap fic, but this is also a slowburn !!! So kick back and relax and enjoy the ride, cause it’s gonna be a long one !! People can still be added to the taglist btw !!! Ciao !!! 💕💕
XOXOXOXOX 💕
#x reader#gim fic#call of duty#cod x gn!reader#gn!reader#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#cod modern warfare#cod mwf2#cod mw2 fic#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost x soap#simon ghost riley#ghost x soap x reader#soap mactavish#soap mw2#ghost mw2#john soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#johnny mactavish#john mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#this is a lot of tags#but i wanna reach people so#shrugs#disabled reader#soldier reader#medical inaccuracies
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For the requests: maybe Brott? (Brick x Scott)
full disclosure: i haven't gotten to TDROTI in my rewatch yet (mid-TDWT rn) so if anyone seems OOC i apologize it's been a while since ive seen it!! but i think brott is a super cute pairing and brick has always been one of my faves from the newer casts so i hope you enjoy :)
also on my ao3!
Part of a soldier's duty is to keep alert, and notice the little things not everyone else does. Brick may not be top of the class, but he had to have gotten picked for the new season of Total Drama for a reason. And if he really wants a shot at the money, it's probably best to start strategizing before the game even begins.
Which is why Brick starts people-watching as soon as he boards the boat to the island, so he can get a head start on sizing up the - somewhat intimidating - competition.
The most obvious threats, he checks out first. The girl in the grey tracksuit is clearly super athletic, as is the guy in the jersey he's pretty sure is named Lightning. Loud, both of them, but probably also headstrong. Easy to anger. Brick's known plenty like that over the course of his years of training. They'll be ones to watch out for, for sure.
The big guy is quiet - really quiet - and Brick's positive he's got to be secretly housing some mad brains up there. The small kid with the glasses won't get anywhere in the physical challenges, but in Brick's experience, those types of people can serve up a truly merciless smackdown of intelligence. Brick wouldn't call himself dumb, but he's never exactly been an Einstein - watch out for them, too.
Zoey is sweet - she'd introduced herself to Brick near the top of the boat ride, obviously eager to get to know her fellow competitors - and therefore not much cause for concern. Ditto Mike, who seems both nervous and excited, and ultimately, non-threatening. Dakota (and he knows her name is Dakota, because she'd loudly announced herself as she'd sashayed on board) is caught up in her own glossy glamorous self, the curly-haired guy too wrapped up in his video games to give Brick cause for much worry. The Italian girl is a little scary (not that Brick's afraid or anything, haha) and the small kid in the green sweater has done nothing but meditate this whole time. Yeah, they shouldn't be a problem.
Neither is the loud girl in the pink jacket. Brick never caught her name - he's sure she introduced herself, but she's been talking the ear off of everyone non-stop and in all that prattle, none of it seems to actually hold any merit. And Brick would know a thing or two about merit, yes sir!
Chatty Cathy's current victim appears to be the only other remaining contestant - looks like your classic Nova Scotian farm boy, chopped red hair, threadbare wifebeater, unimpressed look on his face. Brick doesn't know his name, or his deal - strength from years of outdoor chores? Some hidden smarts no one would assume of him? Brick has no idea. Come to think of it, Brick's not even sure he's heard the guy say a word. Not that it's in any way easy to get a sentence in edgewise with pink jacket girl around, of course - had she said her name was Tracey? Sarah?
"What are you staring at, buzzcut?"
Brick instantly straightens his spine, standing at attention, embarrassed to have been caught looking at the farm boy. "Nothing. I wasn't staring at anything."
"Uh, yeah, you totally were," says pink jacket. "It was so obvious! By the way, did you know that my great-great-great-great-great uncle Gordon first coined the term obvious wayyyyyy back in - "
"Put a sock in it," farm guy mutters, and strangely, she seems to listen to him. He diverts his attention back to Brick, advancing on him like some sort of terrifying jungle cat. "Trying to size up the competition?" He sniffs, thin lips curled into a sneer. "All you need to know about me is that I'm gonna kick your sorry ass off this island."
Brick stands his ground. "With all due respect, you don't know that for certain. Mr....?"
"Scott." He grabs a hold of the front of Brick's shirt, pulling him in close and oh no, he's hot, and whoa, he's got freckles like everywhere. "I'll make sure you won't forget it, private."
And with one last withering glare, he lets go of Brick and stomps away.
"Wow." In all that had just happened, Brick had forgotten Staci (!!) entirely, but she's throwing an arm around his shoulder now in what she likely thinks is a comforting manner. "That guy is gonna eat you alive! Speaking of cannibals, my cousin's sister's dog's landlord totally eats people! Chris would probably love to have him on the show, yah, he's a total maniac but I bet he'd be great for ratings, ya know? Ya know, my great-great-great-great - "
But Brick isn't listening to a word. He's staring down at his shirt, positive he can see the imprint of Scott's fingers seared into the fabric there, because why else would Brick have burned the way he did when Scott touched him?
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Jack hates to see the Clancy fans win I guess,,,I am funny guy from before who just realised I was anonymous and that felt too cryptid for me-
Not to ramble too much, especially as I already prattled on about how I love the au, but I really like the art you guys have done and the story is very cool to me- is there anything that like- you’re particularly excited about with it? :0 I’d like to hear about your funny thoughts
RAMBLE ALL YOU LIKE IT MAKES MY BRAIN RELEASE HAPPY CHEMICAL HAHA…..Oh my godd we have sooo many good moments mostly angsty but HAHA like ugh it kills me this family is so fucked up wtf……. /POS i feel embarrassed talking about it because its so fuckin bad bro /pos again BAKQHQ, ive been working on this animatic that idk if i can finish but the rough sketches are done I’ve been thinking about just posting it how it is. its a bit of backstory on how Ethan lost his leg to Jack tho I’ve cut down the full scenario for pacing purposes ghehe,,, the full story is way worse aahhqhaja, Ethans been conforming to the fucked up family shit since he’s about 2 years into being at the bakers 😭😭 he’s extremely stubborn about escaping and he finally snaps at jack and jack does not fucking take it well 😭 LMFAO.
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I’m sorry if this is annoying but I NEED to talk about this to someone. first you got me into infamous and now bg3. and I have been thinking about this for A DAY But I already have a character concept that is SO delicious and I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. ive never played the game I had to look up the characters but I have a fic outline already. in a genre I’ve never wanted to write before. ive been lurking tumblr since like. 2012. but I’m thinking of getting an account now because the fixation hamster wheel has been spinning constantly. idk where I was going with this sorry, but I think I should thank you, because all the advertising in the world is no match for Winnie From Tumblr, apparently. and I am having such a good time. I’m going to be unbearable when this thing comes out and I hope you are too because 💜💜💜 I love watching you talk about these things. anyway thanks and stay lovely ✨ and please never ever shut up
Annoying? NEVER!!! Mystery friend i love these and your enthusiasm!! I just wish tumblr would ping me when you send them so i could answer in a more timely fashion 😭😭. SINCE 2012 W NO ACC? you’re so much stronger than me 😭😭 PLEASS if you do make an acc feel free to DM me!! or send asks whichever you want ofc ofc!!<33 SJSJS IM SO GLAD I COULD INFECT YOU WITH MY BRAIN WORMS DKSJS BUT ALSO SAMMEE i already have so much shit plotted out in my head 😭😭😭 it’s so insane. This is SO SWEET! i’m glad someone enjoys my insane prattling as much as i love doing it SJSJSJ and PLEASS feel free to info dump to me to your hearts content you are NOT annoying at all!! these messages are so fun and you’re so kind!! <333
#submission#i’m glad that i make a good advertisement#all the people i follow are so talented and deserve so much attention#it genuinely brings me so much joy that someone might see my art#or see my enthusiastic rants and that makes them want to play to#too*#like i literally want nothing else that’s so worth it#asks#bUT ALSO ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO SCREAM WOTH ME?? the only thing better than going crazy is going crazy Together!!!#idk i’m just a very opinionated and passionate person SHSJS#i figure these are probably very annoying qualities sometimes#but it’s nice to know it’s also seen as a positive at time
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Autoresponder, Jake English
Act 6, page 4191-4192
timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 6:17
TT: Hey, it's me.
GT: Oh hey!
TT: The auto-responder, I mean.
GT: Dammit!
GT: What is it now?
TT: I'm just wondering,
TT: If you still have your stupid old-fangled knickers in a twist.
TT: Because that's the sort of thing you would say.
GT: In regard to what exactly?
TT: To my proposal. Well, our proposal.
GT: Whose proposal now? Man what are you even prattling about.
TT: Mine and DS's. It's a joint proposal. I'm always authorized to speak on his behalf, because I'm basically fucking him.
TT: And try not to take those last four words as a clustered literal sentiment. That would be lame and unfunny.
GT: You mean making the rabbit for me?
TT: No, I know you don't want that.
TT: I meant my recommendation for how to go about procuring a new supply of uranium.
TT: Operation U-235 Brocurement. Codename: Big Man Hass the Rock.
GT: Oh yeah.
GT: Well ive thought about it.
GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad.
GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found.
TT: Well yeah, Jake.
TT: That's sort of the point.
TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.
TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure.
GT: I do!
GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome.
GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win.
TT: It seems you are conflating adventure with bodies necessarily governed by the result of victory or defeat.
TT: Any useless fuckwit knows it's all about the journey.
GT: Well...
GT: I dunno.
TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake?
GT: It seems it seems it seems!!!
GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off!
GT: And it seems there is a BILLION POINT BILLION percent chance that youre a shitty stubborn jerk of a program who wont listen to reason and that if theres even a 1% chance my REAL LIFE FRIEND would be cool and help me out here then i think i LIKE THOSE FREAKIN ODDS!!!!!
TT: It...
TT: Appears
TT: That you are upset.
TT: The auto-responder observed in the least artificially infuriating way possible.
TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being?
GT: Oh malarkey.
GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.
TT: I think you knowingly confuse the field of robotics and artificial intelligence to engender some sort of cavalier attitude about technology that a rough-and-tumble guy who's all about brawling and fisticuffs would probably have, and if this is cultivated to a humorous effect then I commend you.
TT: But you're wrong.
TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them.
TT: It sucks.
GT: Oh.
GT: Um.
GT: Im sorry then if thats the case.
TT: No problem.
GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often.
GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me...
GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct... uh... THING from my buddy.
GT: And then i could respect your emotional robofeelings and you could respect that sometimes maybe i just want to talk to my bro without a lot of spurious hijinks.
GT: Can we agree to this?
TT: Is this a counterproposal?
GT: Uh to what?
TT: To my earlier proposal.
GT: Oh.
GT: Yeah fine i guess.
GT: Man where IS he anyway???
GT: Is he taking one of his legendary infinite showers?
TT: What can I say.
TT: Dude fancies his ablutions.
GT: Frig ok.
GT: Whatever i guess its time to prepare for the thrill of the hunt!
TT: Fuck yes.
GT: Sigh...
GT: But seriously that brobot has been the bane of my existence ever since you sent it.
TT: I didn't send it. I sent the parts.
TT: Or, correction, DS sent them.
TT: You then assembled it. You were therefore complicit in your own spectacular, daily humiliations.
GT: Yeah whatever.
TT: You wanted somebody to wrestle with. DS was being a kickass bro if you ask me.
GT: I didn't expect it to be nigh impossible to spar with!!!
TT: You know damn well there are adjustable difficulty settings.
TT: I have always recommending setting it to Novice, as has DS.
GT: Yes.
GT: I know.
GT: Ive tried that.
TT: Yeah?
GT: Its just...
GT: Well...
GT: When hes pulling punches...
GT: And taking it all easy and such...
GT: And we start wrestling up a storm and whatnot...
GT: Umm.
TT: What.
GT: Its just that the whole proceeding seems to become...
GT: A bit tender for my liking.
TT: I don't understand.
TT: Isn't that what you want from a Novice setting?
TT: Sparring with minimal discomfort?
GT: No i know.
GT: Its all fine and dandy martially speaking.
GT: Just the way he...
GT: Sort of...
GT: Man its so awkward trying to convey this just never mind.
TT: No, I think I get it.
TT: You're saying you were somehow dissatisfied within the presence of my robotic avatar's personal space.
TT: Was there an odor problem? Was the metal too hot to the touch?
TT: Help me out.
GT: No no.
GT: Really never mind!
TT: This is bullshit, Jake.
TT: We had a pact. You were gonna tiptoe all the fuck around my brittle feelings. Totally mind the shit out of those eggshell riddled motherfuckers.
GT: Oh come on dude.
TT: What does the guy have to do, Jake?
TT: You want to wrestle. He's fucking game. Just a man, a machine, a secluded tropical island. Sounds like you died and went to fucking heaven, if you ask me.
TT: Seriously, what does this simple, loyal brobot have to do to prove his worth to you?
TT: What does he have to do to make you at ease with the alkaline sting of his gentle robogrope? I really want to know.
TT: Maybe he should just rip his heart out of his chest and pound it into green gravel there in the jungle with his hella strong robot arm.
TT: Invoke_Onomatopoeia(Pound * some ridiculously precise value retrieved at astonishing speed from my rad neural net);
TT: Check it out, little green rocks all over the goddamn place. More than you could ever hope to cram in a shoddy metal rabbit, or any other pliable orifice which might be convenient.
TT: Because clearly its up to a soulless droid to feel emotions for the both of us, you callous, corporeal carbon ape, all trotting around with your fancy fuckin' DNA and shit.
GT: ...
GT: But gosh does your prose ever make a fella feel uncomfortable.
TT: Brose.
GT: Oh right. My mistake.
TT: You know what, I've just decided.
TT: If the brobot's Novice setting makes you uneasy, I'm going to disable it remotely.
TT: Done.
TT: Now you got nothing to worry about.
GT: Awww maaaan!
GT: But now hell be impossible!
TT: Happy hunting, Jake.
GT: Fuckin.......
GT: SHUCKS buster. :(
timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]
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sitting here watching aqua hug eraqus like god i wish that were me
#snap chats#aka i want to hug my dad too </3#like ven hugs him too sure but aqua's looks like shes got the best hug you know what i mean#i dont even know what the fuck my dad doin nowadays i know he just got surgery LMAO but anyway im goin bonkers#i was almost done with my goofy ass height chart and then my computer hard reset or whatever and it erased all my progress :^)#so i now have to start over :^)#ive tricked all of you this post was just an excuse to rant about my loss of progress and this whole progress Period#like im pretty solid on most of them i just need both eraquses and scala xehanort#HOWEVER thats where the problems come in because those three only show up standing up for like. five minutes#'but snap why not just use BBS for eraqus' because their models are different !!!#and that doesnt seem like too much of an issue but it is because points i used for height reference no longer line up#like aqua has a lonegr head and face in KH3 so i cant use parts of her face to line up with eraqus#and thats not to mention mx hunches over more in KH3 so im at risk of making eraqus TOO tall#i actually went to this scene to like. get the best ref i could for his height i just feel like prattling about my progress#ive just been sitting here in the dead of night talking about george lopez episodes with myself i need a fake sense of outward communication#alright bye i guess im gonna finish this up
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I’d love to read a blurb about aster!reader meeting Harry’s parents and family 🥺 I think it would be so cute
ive been planning on writing this for SO long so I hope this is worth the wait for everyone!!!!
wordcount: 12k+
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"Baby, is that you?"
(Y/N) perked up at the sound of Harry's voice traveling through the closed tattoo shop. She was all too excited when she heard him, the lingering drawl of his gruff voice after a long day of interacting with clients drawing her to him. She dropped her school bag off by the front desk in a heap before she scuttled down the hall to his office.
"Hi, H," she bubbled, watching as he turned from his desk with a soft smile on his face and a light in his eyes when he saw her.
"Thought y'were gonna meet me at home," he prattled, opening his arms to welcome her on his lap. It made her heart warm whenever he referred to his place as her home, thoughts filtering around about one day possibly sharing a real home with him.
She bounded to him, situating herself astride his lap with her arms linked around his neck. He left his hair down for the day, the curling tendrils floating around his shoulders. His eyeliner was on its last legs for the day, having started his day early only to still be there after close. A silken black top was stretched over his chest, the top buttons left open to leave his tattoos on display, the bird's wings peeking out with the rose bush filler twining up his neck. The smile on his mouth cause the hoop pierced around his lip to bob, the metal shining in the low light.
"You said you were going to spend some more time here, so I thought I'd just meet you here instead. I hope that's okay, I know you need to get work done so I don't mean to distract you or anything," she rambled, fingers twirling the curls of his hair around her fingers as a way to channel the bubbling nerves that just made way in her head.
"I can't say y'won't distract me, but y'know I don't mind when y'come visit me. I was starting to miss you a little too much anyway, so 'm really happy you're here," he murmured, dipping his head and finally pressing a greeting kiss to her lips.
(Y/N) fought back a sigh as she melted into the contact. Her long day of classes had definitely gotten to her, along with the hours of homework she was pushing to finish before the weekend, and Harry was acting like the oasis for her fried brain. She slotted her lips against his, the full of her bottom lip fit between his two as her arms around his neck tightened. With his hands on her waist, he hugged her to his chest, keeping her flush against him as if his heart felt safer that way, so close to its home.
She was the first to pull back, aware of the fact he had a pile of paperwork left to go through on his desk. "How was your day? Did that one appointment go well? The back piece?" she rattled off, trying her best to recall what he had told her when she was half asleep the night before.
"Yeah, wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be," he nodded, "Only took me a couple of hours, so I was able to take a longer lunch. But, how about you, love bug? Classes go alright?"
"They were okay, just lots of information and I feel like I'm falling behind on some of my papers," she explained, deflating in his lap.
Leaving the post on her waist, he brought one of his hands up and brushed back a strand of hair that threatened to fall in her face. "I'm sure you're doing fine, love, you're jus' hard on yourself. And you know 'm more than happy to help if y'need anything."
"Thank you," she peeped, falling into his chest with her head snuggled against his shoulder. This was the best way he could help her, just by holding her and letting her talk out some of her anxieties.
"We need a vacation, don't we?" Harry murmured, planting a kiss to the crown of her head.
A smile bloomed across her features, head filling with thoughts about taking time away with just Harry without the pressure of school following or his head constantly in the office of the tattoo shop. "That sounds so nice."
A beat of silence passed, Harry running the flat of his hands over the planes of her back in soothing circles.
"You know," he started, "I've been meaning to visit home for a couple of months now. Mum's birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and I usually try to go home for a week to spend it with her."
"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, trying not to let disappointment shine through her tone at the idea of him going away without her, "That sounds fun. I know you've been missing her a lot, so I'm sure it'll be nice to see her." She'd be okay, she'd just stay and watch Evie while he was gone.
(Y/N) felt his throat bob as he swallowed, his hands on her back slowing to a halt. "I was actually wondering if y'wanted to come with me. Visit home and meet my mum and everything."
Now it was (Y/N)'s turn to gulp down her nerves and double check if her heart was still beating.
From the amount Harry has talked about his family and growing up in his hometown, she felt like she knew Anne already. She knew she was a loving and caring individual that made up the support system that encouraged Harry to be everything he wanted to be and loved him unconditionally as he grew up. But, even knowing that, she couldn't help but be a bit scared. She didn't have the best track record when it came to family relationships, something that was evident in her own strained link with her parents. There was a high chance Anne wouldn't care for her, if only because she was looking out for Harry and wanted to ensure he had the best (and she doesn't blame them for that one bit). She barely knew how to talk to her own parents, how was she supposed to navigate someone else's family?
"Really?" (Y/N) bleated, rolling her lips between her teeth as she struggled to keep from knitting her fingers—a surefire sign that would give away her nerves.
"Y'don't have to if y'don't want to," he offered, voice gentle, "I would really like for y'to meet my mum, but I know it can be a lot of pressure. I've told her a lot about you, and when she called last week she had asked me when she was going to get to meet you, and I told her soon. But, I don't want y'to feel like y'have to go if you're not ready."
Harry was always very good about keeping his nerves under wraps. Anything other than his love for (Y/N), he made a point to be rather reserved about, but she was just able to catch the edge to his voice and the tick that tightened his shoulders.
She peeled herself from his chest, pulling far enough away to catch the shielded look on his face, one that was prepared for any answer she would give him but a flicker of hope danced behind his irises.
"She wants to meet me?" she whispered, feeling a bit taken aback at the thought his mom might have looked forward to being introduced to her.
A lopsided smile tugged at the very corner of Harry's mouth, barely pulling up a single side. "Yeah," he nodded, "She really does. I've told her loads about you and she always asks how y'are and I've sent her pictures of us together. She already adores you, she's just waiting to make it official with finally meeting you."
(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. While his words made her heart swell enough to press against her lungs and filter through her veins with light, the pressure on her shoulders weighed heavier. She was scared to mar the perfect vision Mrs. Twist had in her head, one she knew she wasn't able to live up to. Harry must have told his mom only the best about her, leaving out her shortcomings and the fact she was more than a little bit broken. She knew Harry loved her with everything in him, but she couldn't expect his family to see her through the same rose-colored glasses.
Harry's face fell the longer it took her to respond, already resigning himself to the decline he was sure to hear. That broke (Y/N)'s heart more than anything.
He was trying to be neutral, keep his own feelings out of this as to not sway her into giving any answer. But, she could tell he wanted her to go; he wanted her to meet his family and go the extra step in their relationship. Meeting her parents had been a complete accident and an absolute disaster, but being introduced to his family would be the real next step, bringing her that much more into his life. She wanted that, too. She wanted to be a part of everything he was willing to allow her a space into.
(Y/N) could do this. She could do this for him.
Tamping down the anxiety in her head, she worked a smile on her face, the curl growing more genuine the more she thought about meeting the people that made Harry who he was.
"When did you want to leave?"
Deep dimples were thumbed into Harry's cheeks as a bright grin spread over his lips. His arms around her waist worked to hug her against his chest, his excitement manifesting in his rapidly beating heart and urge to wrap himself around her. "Y'want to come? Really?"
She gave a small nod of her head, her own tender smile on her lips, "I want to see where you come from. I might need help picking your mom out a birthday present, but I would love to meet her."
His smile only broadened at her words, dimples denting deep into his cheeks. He could tell there was a tint of hesitation, an ounce of pressure inching over her demeanor like a dark cloud, but he was more than proud of her for working her way through it in the small baby steps he had been encouraging her to try.
"Oh, angel," he crooned, pulling her tightly to his chest and tucking his head in the crook of her neck, "She's going to love you, I promise. I love you."
His nose skimmed over her skin, his smile felt on her shoulder. Nothing could wash away her anxiety like Harry; all he had to do was shoot her that dimpled smile, hold her to his tattooed chest, or say a simple string of three words and her entire demeanor could shift. Nothing meant more to her than his support, and she wanted to reciprocate it a hundred times over.
"I love you too, H, so much."
Harry only held her tighter.
—————
(Y/N) sat in a pile of her clothing, the flooring of her closet almost completely covered by different pastel fabrics. An open suitcase was laid out empty in front of her, only a single shirt of Harry's folded away in the corner that she planned on sleeping in while they were away.
Since she wouldn't allow her nerves to focus on the image she was so sure to taint, they had to manifest somewhere else. That somewhere else happened to be focussed on packing—deciding how she should present herself was the hardest part. Would Mrs. Twist expect her to be proper, the private school girl her parents had groomed her to be? Or would she expect someone that fit into Harry's world; all black with splashes of bold colors to compliment the confidence she would have to fake. (If she went that second route, she had less than twenty-four hours to buy a week's worth of clothing and reinvent herself in the meantime. It definitely wasn't her favorite option on the table). Or, she could bring the things she normally wore. She had more than enough pastel skirts and floral dresses to last the week with a couple of comfortable pairs of leggings and crop tops that made her feel confident in herself.
The latter was by far the easiest route, and the most comfortable, but before (Y/N) could allow herself to truly consider the possibility, she was reminded of the perfect image that was conveyed to Mrs. Twist by Harry. The fear of disappointment was too large for her to settle for herself as she was.
(Y/N) buried herself in the back of her closet, hoping to find some old clothes from when she lived with her parents, buried under other boxes she refused to unpack from her past. With her concentration packed somewhere else, she missed the sound of Harry's gentle knock on her door before he stepped into her room.
"Darling, Sarah said y'were busy packing, did y'still want to go out for dinner tonight?"
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pastel mess that was her closet, almost completely dumped onto the wood laminate that made up her flooring. She whipped her head to look over her shoulder, her expression guilty like he had caught her doing something she was banned from.
"What's all this? Did y'need help packing?" Harry questioned, cautiously stepping into the walk-in to ensure he didn't stomp on any of her clothing.
Deflating in her spot, hands falling limply in her lap, (Y/N) only murmured out an "I don't know."
Harry gave her a small smile, shuffling a few garments out of the way before sitting down beside her with his knees tucked underneath him. Hugging her around her waist, he tugged her to his side, "What's wrong, angel? Hm?"
She laid her head on his shoulder, a kiss pressed to the crown of her head. Her fingers were knotted together in her lap, a sign Harry caught onto immediately that urged him to pull her tighter to him. "I just don't know what to do."
"What do y'mean, baby?"
A pinch cinched her brows together, the beginning urges of an ache in her head making themselves known. "I don't know what to bring for next week."
Letting out a breathy laugh, Harry's hand on her waist traced over the curve of her form, "Why didn't y'jus' say that, love bug. I can help y'pick everything out, don't worry."
Despite his wish for her worries to dissipate, she couldn't kick the twist in her stomach. She swallowed around the bubble in her throat, "But what if it's not right?"
Harry pulled away, keeping his arm around her middle as he sought out her eyes. It was clear she was holding back her real uncertainties. She tried to school her features into a neutral expression she mastered with her parents, but it was hard being anything but an open book around Harry.
"What wouldn't be right?" Harry pressed, keeping his voice soft in the limited light of her closet.
She took in a deep, shaky breath, his hand on her body keeping a firm hold. His eyes were soft as he gazed at her, willing to listen to any vulnerability she was wanted to share with him. She was getting better and better at speaking about her anxieties with him—even if it was hard—, and she didn't want to stop now
"Me."
The tender smile on his lips dropped as she shared her short answer. His broad shoulders fell into a saddened slope, his eyes gauging her reactions carefully. "Oh, darling," he cooed, reaching his other arm around to scoop her to his lap.
Her thighs split to straddle his own, arms wrapped around his neck. Harry's own arms were looped around her middle to keep her flush against him, mimicking the hold he had on her when she struggled with the same fears when he proposed this trip a week ago. His fixed his gaze on her, scanning his eyes over her edged features—picking out each and every one of her anxious tells.
"Tell me what you're thinking, love."
(Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, frays of thin skin brushing against her tongue as she fought the urge to rip them with her teeth and leave a raw, swollen point on her lip. "I-I know you said she would love me," she murmured, voice quiet as she tried to pull in deep breaths, "But what if she doesn't? I don't know who to be to make everyone happy—I don't know if I need to be someone my parents would like, or someone she think you would like—like-like Chloe—, or I go like this and show her how much of a mess I am."
Harry's face soured at the sound of Chloe's name (he'd told her time and time again that anything that had to do w Chloe was so far in his past that he often forgot it even happened, and she knew well and good that nothing was ever serious with her, so he couldn't fathom why she would bring her up in comparison). The folds in his expression only deepened when she concluded with a notion about how much of a mess she was, her hands tightening behind his neck as she tried to conceal one of her most obvious anxious ticks. He kept his own hands firm on her back, safely tucking her to his chest and allowing her to feel the warmth of his body.
It broke his heart hearing how insecure she was in herself, that she was willing to bend and break to fit a mould he would never ask her to fit into.
"Baby," he started, a soft coo to his voice, "I meant it when I said she would love you, and that's not matter what. Y'don't have to change to be anything other than someone you like and are comfortable with being. I would never expect y'to do that, and I know my mum wouldn't either."
Unable to fight off the urge any longer, (Y/N) started twisting her hands at the nape of his neck. The click of her nails clashing with one another as she knotted her fingers sounded through the quiet closet. A sheen of tears wiped over her eyes, something that made Harry's heart race as he dreaded the sight. Before he could say anything about the lacquer over her eyes or plead with her and telling her she'd be okay, she dropped her gaze to their laps, the hem of Harry's top becoming much more interesting.
"It's just—I don't know, I feel like—" (Y/N) floundered, different avenues of where to start opening up before she promptly shut them down, "...It's hard because I know how my family would react when I wasn't perfect, and I know you've told your mom about me and all these 'great' things I do and—Harry, I don't think I can live up to it. I'm only going to disappoint her and make her think I shouldn't be with you."
Harry tried his best to stay neutral as she spoke, though she still caught twitches of his mouth fighting to curl into a frown or a tint in his eyes that told how upset he was over her words. But, he let her speak, let her get everything out that she needed to even if it was scary knowing that her thoughts were out in the world and no longer just swirling through her head. She'd hate it if Harry saw her like she did.
His hands were kept steady on her back, fingers flexing to tighten his presence around her. He ducked his head to ensure he was in her line of sight. "You are not going to disappoint anyone for being yourself, do you hear me? You're so lovely, and kind, and sweet, and perfect"—(Y/N) perked up at the word, ready to protest before Harry swiftly cut her off—"even when y'think you're not—and you're definitely not a mess. It's okay to be nervous and upset over this, you're not crazy." One of his hands that had been acting as a steadying weight on the flat of her back abandoned post to cradle the full of her cheek, thumb affectionately petting over the height of her cheekbone, "I didn't make up lies to tell my mum, trying to make y'sound like anyone but who y'are. I told her the truth, and she adores y'for all of those things. The only way she would be disappointed is if y'came acting like someone else."
(Y/N) leant into his hand, warming under his gaze. He was always very good at talking her through things, even if it took time for the words to sink in. She had to trust him—she did trust him, it was only hard to quell the anxiety in her tummy and banish the idea that everyone's parents were like her's. She knew that wasn't the truth, the way her parents were exceptionally hard on her and beyond restricting was not normal, it was just hard for her to figure out what normal exactly was. If normal was anything like how Harry described his family—open, loving, supportive, caring—she had nothing to worry about, despite the knee-jerk doubts surfacing in reaction. She feared she would be the one exception for their kindness.
"(Y/N)."
She blinked up at him, acknowledging the call of her name even though her dry mouth stopped her from saying anything.
"I love you," he murmured quietly, a tender smile taking his features and softening the stern edge that had carried his voice, "Everything is going to be fine, 'kay? Making yourself all worried over nothing."
"I know," she sighed, shuttering her eyes closed in a soft flutter of her lashes, "It's just hard sometimes."
"'M going to be there the whole time, though, remember? Can't be that hard if we're doing this together, right?"
A soft smile took (Y/N)'s features, feeling the brush of Harry's nose nudging against her's. That's right. They were doing this together, and nothing made her more comfortable or happier than being with Harry.
"Right," she mumbled, nodding her head in minute motions. She took the opportunity to tip her chin, surging her lips forward to catch Harry in a soft kiss.
His own lips smiled into the kiss. He indulged her in the contact for a few moment, the pressing of their lips innocent and sweet. "Is there anything else that's bothering you, angel?" Harry crooned when he pulled away, his hand still anchored on her cheek.
With (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open, she gazed up at him with moony eyes, the same look that Harry remembered she gave him all that time ago in the parking lot after Sarah's gig. She shook her head at him, answering his question.
"No," she started, taking a deep breath, "I just need to trust you, and it'll be okay."
"And yourself—y'need to trust yourself too, baby," Harry pointed out, raising a brow.
She nodded her head, quick to agree. "And myself," she repeated, looking to Harry for approval as if he would give her anything but.
He rewarded her with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, a gentle planting of his lips before pulling away. He broke his eyes from her face for the first time since he pulled her to his lap, surveying the room around them. His eyes lingered on the single article of clothing tucked into her suitcase, the rest of her wardrobe strewn about the floor in piles of pink and white.
A small smile curled his lips when he spotted a floral dress he had been hoping she'd pack, laid under a pair of high-rise jeans with a pair of cherubs painted over the back pocket. "Y'made quite the mess, didn't you?" he teased, dropping his gaze to find her already looking around the disaster of her closet.
"I know," she sighed, shoulders curling in from where she sat on his lap, "I don't even know where to start and we leave tomorrow."
Harry carefully maneuvered her off his lap, keeping an arm tight around her waist as she settled on the floor beside him. "How 'bout I help you, then we go get some dinner before heading to my place. That sound good?"
She perked up at his suggestion, beaming up at him. "Yes, please."
Everything was always easier when they were together, (Y/N) had to trust that.
—————
"How much longer?"
(Y/N) kept her hands tightly entwined around Harry's, his grip acting like something of a life raft as she attempted to slow her racing heart.
"Another twenty minutes, I think," Harry mused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, "Y'alright?"
"Yeah," she peeped, nodding her head although his eyes were on the road, "I'm just... you know."
Harry did know. This wasn't the first time she had unraveled and told him of her anxieties and fears around meeting his family, and she was halfway sure it wouldn't be the last. She had a whole week to simmer in her nerves and second guess every single one of her interactions, and some of it was going to bubble over, no matter how hard she would try to bottle it up.
"'S going to be okay," he soothed her, "Remember our talk yesterday? She's going to love you, and you've got nothing to be afraid of. We're doing this together."
He emphasized his words with a squeeze of her hand, the closest he could get to holding her as he drove the rental car. "I know, it's going to be okay," she repeated, the sentiment echoing the mantra that had been playing in her head since they left to catch their flight that morning.
A beat of silence passed with just the dull sound of the radio playing some song (Y/N) didn't recognize and the rumbling purr of the engine.
"You know," Harry started, the sun streaming through the windscreen sparkling off of the hoop in his nose, "Mum called me this morning before I woke y'up. She was asking all about our flight and when we would get in, she was so excited. And, she asked me how you were."
"Oh?" she sounded, turning to give him the full of her attention with wide eyes fixed on his face.
"Mhm," he hummed, his lip ring bobbing as he edged his tongue over the piercing, "Before I even said anything, she started asking me what y'would want for dinner and what all your favorite foods were. She told me she wanted to surprise you, since you're the guest."
"But this whole visit is for her birthday, I'm not supposed to pick for her." (Y/N) had an inkling of what Harry's intentions had been for this avenue of conversation, the goal most likely being to distract her more than anything. But she didn't care, because whether it was his intention or not, it was working.
"That's what I told her, love. That we're coming to celebrate her, but she wouldn't have it," he smiled, glancing at her as he came to a stop sign, "She kept going until I told her y'like pasta, and no, y'didn't care if we had dessert tonight. So, expect something Italian tonight." Harry ended with a laugh, keeping his eyes on her for as long as he could before pulling through the stop.
(Y/N) directed her attention to their joined hands, her nerves slowly flushing from her system until they existed as a dull simmer. "That's really nice of her," she murmured, a tiny smile tugging at her lips, "She didn't have to make anything special for me."
"That's jus' mum," he smiled, "She's always doing little things like that for me and Gem, 'm not surprised she's extending that for you."
She didn't want to draw comparisons between Harry's family and her own, but (Y/N) couldn't help but think about how her own mom wouldn't have gone through that kind of trouble for her. It made (Y/N) that much more grateful for the life Harry had growing up; he deserved to have such a loving and doting mother.
"Is Gemma going to be there this week, too?"
Harry shook his head, a slight from on his lips, "Gems can't make it until the Friday after we leave; she's got this deadline for work she wasn't able to move, but I figured it would be better like that. Less overwhelming. Jus' us and mum for the week."
A bit of relief traveled through (Y/N)'s system. He was right—it was going to be a bit easier to handle meeting his family if she didn't have to do it all at once.
(Harry would never tell her, not wanting to make her feel embarrassed or like he was worried about the introduction to his family, but he had coordinated with Gemma to ensure their trips wouldn't overlap. He knew (Y/N) was already on the road to being overwhelmed just at the thought of meeting his mum, so he figured this might ease the blow even thought his sister was bummed she would have to wait a little longer to be introduced).
The final fifteen minutes of their drive tapered off rather quickly, Harry keeping her as entertained as he could with what his mom had planned for the week. (Y/N) was happily distracted, no longer minding the time until the final turn was made into the neighborhood Harry grew up in.
The houses lining the streets were clearly family homes, some even having toys for young children laid out in front. (Y/N) rolled her teeth between her lips, keeping her hands tightly wrapped around Harry's as he slowed down. He came to a stop in front of a house painted a muted green where there wasn't already exposed brick on display, white trimming framing the doorway and the windows with a flowerbed out front. A pair of black and white cats were perched in the windows, looking all too similar to Evie who was being cared for by Mitch back home.
Harry parked in front of the house, giving (Y/N) a squeeze to her hand. "Ready?" he asked her, tone serious as he gazed at her with a raised brow, "We can wait a second if y'need."
The easiest part about the way her anxiety manifested itself, after a certain point her thoughts are racing too fast and are too jumbled to do anything but become white noise and a tensing in her muscles. While it put her on edge, at least she didn't have enough space to dwell on specific outcomes and fears. That's how (Y/N) was feeling now, making it a tiny bit easier to say: "No, I'm ready."
Leaning over the center console, Harry planted his lips against her's in a comforting kiss. The soft of his mouth sealing over her's gave a moment of reprieve from the sound of blood rushing past her ears, the contact serving as a tender distraction. That moment came and went as it was Harry who pulled away first, giving her one more peck on her nose before reaching for his door.
(Y/N) mimicked his actions with a clumsy thread holding her together. She followed him to the boot where he was pulling out their stacked suitcases, with her taking the responsibility of grabbing their shared carryon bag they tucked in the back. The nylon strap kept (Y/N)'s fingers busy as she quietly waited on Harry, much too nervous to even broach the thought of stepping towards the house without him.
"C'mon, love," Harry beckoned, grabbing her attention as he bumped her shoulder with his, "Jus' follow me, yeah?"
She silently nodded her head, more than happy to allow him to lead her up the step stones that created the walkway to the front door. The closer they came, the cats in the window could be seen chirping their attention and twisting around to keep their large eyes trained on them. Harry breathed a laugh when he caught sight of them, setting the suitcases upright before ringing the doorbell embedded in a slate of bricks.
With her heartbeat at a thundering volume, (Y/N) barely heard Mrs. Twist's squealed greeting as she opened the door. A bright smile covered the woman's face as she rushed over the threshold and wrapped Harry in a hug. She was just as (Y/N) remembered from pictures, except much more beautiful than a camera could catch. Her hair was dark, reaching just to her shoulders in natural waves. Bright green eyes took in the image of her son, her beaming smile looking familiar as she'd seen it on Harry's lips millions of times.
"Hi, mum," Harry murmured, reciprocating her hold as he wrapped her in a large enough hug to make up for the time spent a part, "I missed you."
"I missed you too, H," Mrs. Twist cooed, pulling back from her hug to look at her son, "Your hair is so much longer than last time! Have you cut it at all?"
Harry breathed a laugh at her observation, shaking his head, "Nothing more than a trim. I think I like it like this; looks cool."
"I'm telling you, I think you started something this," she said, grabbing at one of his curls, "I see more and more boys your age wearing their hair like this. You've started a trend."
A bubble of laughter was pulled from Harry, his dimples deep and eyes scrunched from the height of his smile. "Mum, no one even knows me, they don't care that I wear m'hair like this. I didn't start anything."
A soft lipped smile covered Mrs. Twists features as she shook her head, staying firm on her stance that her baby was a trendsetter. "Have you gotten anymore tattoos?"
"Not too many, jus' little ones here and there," Harry shrugged, reaching for the handles on the suitcases as his mom started edging them towards the house, "I really want to get this large piece on m'back though. 'M still waiting to find the time, though."
"What did you want to get?"
Harry launched into a description (Y/N) had heard many a-time before, his vision growing more and more detailed every time he spouted it off. She followed quietly as they were led into the quaint home Harry spent his life in before moving out at the age of twenty. Her eyes trailed over the photos hanging on the walls, different stages of Harry's life depicted in the stills but always with a bubbling smile on his face with family surrounding him. She was vaguely aware of the way he reached around her and locked the door behind her, giving her a small smile before continuing on what had to be the rest of his artistic vision for his tattoo.
The house was warm and cozy. A cat tree was tucked into the corner of the room, a third cat that she hadn't seen perched in the window lazing on the top rung while the other familiar pets were roaming about the floor with big eyes and sniffing noses. Dark wood accented the home, with the furnishings coming in autumnal colors with bright pops of oranges and creams. The pillows were mismatched on the couch, with a slightly out of place rocking chair holding cushions that looked to be white when they were new, but had faded to an eggshell color. Dents and chips could be found in the baseboards and walls, spots where the paint was visibly repairs and just a little too new looking to blend. The rug that tied the living room together had a square in the corner that (Y/N) could easily pick out as the cat's favorite place to flex their claws, threads pulled out of order with the design faded.
The house was far from perfect, but (Y/N) doesn't think she's ever found a more beautiful home.
It was more than clear that this was a place people gathered and wanted to stay. Everything was lived in and loved to the point of visible wear, a story going along with every chip in the flooring and scratch in the paint. (Y/N) doesn't think there was ever a time in her house growing up that she felt like this, always feeling tense in the common rooms as to ensure she didn't mar the perfect her parents had designed for the house. Her only point of sanctuary was her room, but even that space was subject to their jurisdiction and they could change anything they wanted should they not approve.
"Did you want me to take that for you, hun?"
The gentle voice brought (Y/N) from the comfortable hovel she crafted in her mind, keeping her from concentrating too hard on what was going on around her. She flicked her eyes to Mrs. Twist, who held a soft slipped smile on her face that was only rivaled by the tender look in her irises.
(Y/N) tightened her grip on the duffle bag still in her hands, feeling guilty that she had made his mom think she needed to take it when she was the visitor in her home. "No, thank you. I don't mind holding it, but thank you." She cringed inwardly as the second chirp of gratitude left her mouth.
The small smile on Mrs. Twist's lips never faltered, only softening some at the edges as (Y/N) spoke. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest, hovering over her heart, "(Y/N), right? I'm Anne, Harry's mum."
"That's me," (Y/N) let out with a shaky breath, feigning a relaxed smile, "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. Twist, Harry's told me so much about you. Thank you for having me."
She channeled every bit of etiquette her parents drilled into her from a young age. She hoped she was giving a proper first impression, even though she worried her heart was about to beat out of her chest and create an embarrassing mess on the floor.
"I doubt he's talked about me the way he's talked to me about you," Mrs. Twist laughed, flicking her gaze to where Harry shrugged off her comment (she was right, why should he try to hide it?), "And, please, call me Anne."
Harry drifted closer to (Y/N), settling a comforting hand on the small of her back. "I think 'm going to show her around the house, and get settled in," he said, his words directed to his mother.
Anne shot the pair of them an extra smile, ushering them off with a promise of starting dinner soon so they could have a chance to get comfortable. Harry looked to (Y/N), farther away from him than he would have liked, with a raised brow. She nodded to him with her quiet smile still stuck on her face; she liked the idea of having a breather, and getting a moment alone with Harry.
He pulled her along towards the staircase that bordered the room, intending on taking her to the upper level where they would be sleeping during their stay as he tried his best to tuck her underneath his arm. (Y/N) stopped him with a delicate hand on his arm, Harry slowing down and pinning his attention on her.
"I need to use the restroom," she whispered, trying to conceal her request from his mom in the other room as if she cared.
"Okay," Harry slowly nodded, nudging her towards the hallway that stretched adjacent to the kitchen, "'S the first door on the left. I'll be waiting in the kitchen right across, 'kay?"
He pulled the duffle bag she had been clinging to from her grasp, carefully untangling her cramped fingers. (Y/N) nodded and chirped out a quiet thank you before following his directions down the hall.
The tiled bathroom held the same air as the rest of the house: homey and safe. (Y/N) sat on the closed toilet lid, slumping into herself as her shoulders deflated. She hadn't needed the amenities as much as she needed the privacy of the washroom, grateful for the silence that filled the room. Granted, it wasn't much like the rest of the house was teeming with thunders of noise and loud conversations; the noise was all in her head. Nonetheless, the cleanly stillness of the bathroom provided a solace from her tangled thoughts.
She had made it through the hardest part, she tried to tell herself. That first moment was going to be the hardest of the entire visit, with tonight's dinner coming in a close second. Still, she had survived it and the rest of the trip would only get easier now that the first impressions were established.
Giving herself a few more moments, (Y/N) fussed over he appearance in the mirror. She attempted the tame the wild strands of hair that stuck out from their designated spots from the amount of times she ran her hand through the strands. It was only after she fixed her part and righted a rebellious piece of hair that she heard the echoing sounds of Harry's voice. And he was saying her name.
(Y/N) knew eavesdropping was less than virtuous and a surefire way to get her feelings hurt, but she couldn't find it in herself to stop from pressing her ear delicately to the door in hopes of getting a clearer translation of his words. Instead, the muddled noises were just a hair louder, the audio only clearing up when she had dared crack the door open less than an inch. The motion was silent, allowing (Y/N) to go unnoticed as she listened in to her boyfriend across the hall.
"She's a little shy," Harry said, voice low as if in anticipation of her listening in, "Jus' give her a little bit and she'll open up. She's been really nervous about meeting you."
His mother made a small cooing sound, the kind one would make when seeing a pitiful puppy. "I hope she knows she's got nothing to be worried about. I already think she's lovely," Anne interjected, sounding a lot like the pep talks her son has been spewing the last week.
"I know, I've told her that," he sighed, the sound of feet shuffling over tile following after. Harry hesitated for a moment over his next sentiment, (Y/N) able to imagine the familiar way he would have crossed his arms over his chest and played with his lip ring as he found his words. "I don't want to say too much, because 's not m'story to tell. Her mum and dad,"—(Y/N) couldn't help but tense up at the mention of her parents, worried Harry was going to spill every gritty detail he could—"they weren't like you, mum. So, she worries a lot about these things. Jus' be patient with her, I promise she'll open up. (Y/N) jus' really wants you to like her."
(Y/N) shuffled herself back into the bathroom, silently closing the cracked door. She moved on autopilot, flushing the unused toilet to keep up the facade of her bathroom visit before starting the faucet with cold water streaming through. She felt grateful that Harry hadn't gone into specifics regarding her family, and had even done the hardest part of starting the conversation so she wouldn't have to. Still, she couldn't help but feel a tint of embarrassment knowing that Mrs. Twist—Anne, she corrected, that was going to be a hard habit to kick—now had an inkling of an ideas as to why (Y/N) acted as she did, no matter how limited the information.
If not for the fear of smudging her makeup and making herself look crazy, (Y/N) would have splashed the cool water over her face. Instead, she settled for running her hands underneath the stream, letting the water wade over her wrists with her thrumming pulse echoing under the thin skin. She took a deep breath before exiting the washroom, bundling her fingers together in an effort to hide the tremor that rocked the appendages. Schooling her features into a smile, she was overtly aware of the way their conversation had obviously shifted to something else, leaving behind the subject of herself.
Harry excused himself as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, Anne sending them off with a promise to let them know when dinner would be ready.
He guided (Y/N) up the stairs with a hand on the small of her back, rings fingers pressing into her spine in a reassuring weight. "Well, that's the downstairs bathroom and the kitchen," Harry laughed, taking on his tour guide role, "I don't know if mum set up the extra room for us upstairs or if we're sharing m'bedroom, but either way we'll be staying up here. Gemma's room is here"—he gestured to one of the three rooms branching off from the cozy loft that greeted them at the top of the stairs—"And this one is mine."
With the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Harry reached around (Y/N) and twisted the doorknob to his childhood bedroom, ushering (Y/N) inside ahead of him. Flicking the lights on, she was greeted with the exact replica of what she would have imagined a teenage Harry spending all of his time in. His bedroom at his house now was nothing more than a grown up version of what this one was; the double bed wrapped in the same dark bedding as the set back home, only this one was made nicely and lacked the satin-sheen that made up his pillowcases. His walls were painted a muted, dove grey with posters of different bands and artists pasted to the surface. Sketchbooks were piled high beside his bed, pages sticking out at odd angles with the covers sporting his name stretched over the top.
"Mum always tells me she's going to clean this up and at least get me a bigger bed for when I stay here," Harry smiled, dropping their shared duffle bag beside the door he was slowly closing, "But every time I come back, 's all the same. Same with Gem's room—I don't think she can do it."
Affection edged his words as he came to stand behind (Y/N), wrapping his arms around her waist. "I think that's sweet," (Y/N) settled, recalling the way she had to plead with her own parents to not mess with anything in her room after she moved out, "She wants you two to know that you always have a place here."
Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tightening his hold around her middle. "'S very sweet," he agreed, voice quiet despite it was only the two of them in the room, "What do y'think so far?"
(Y/N) scanned over his bedroom, eyes lingering over the Spice Girls themed notebook that was supposed to be hidden under another duo of notebooks in the stack. "I didn't know you liked the Spice Girls."
His hold on her released as she drifted towards the pile of sketchbooks, letting out a laugh. "Gemma got me that as a joke, wanted to see if I'd really use it."
She eased into the edge of his mattress, her earlier nerves and anxieties melting from her system now that Harry was there to give her full attention to. She reached for the flimsy book, the cover tattered and dusted with pencil marks and graphite shading "Who was your favorite Spice Girl? I know you had one" she asked, peeking at him through the frame of her lashes.
Harry made slow work of joining her on his bed, getting a good look at her in his childhood bedroom. It was moments like this that he wished they had met sooner; under the perfect circumstances, he could picture him having brought her home to "work on a school project" in his room, although his mum would insist that they leave the door open. He could see her spending late nights here until their curfews were in effect, and even then—if she had let him of course—he would have figured a way to sneak her in so they could kiss on his bed for hours before taking her home in the middle of the night.
He hummed, feigning deep thought over the question though he was sure the lopsided curl of his lips was enough to give him away, "I liked the one that wore those pastels, and little dresses. Her hair was always up really cute." Harry lowered himself to sit beside her on his bed, denting the mattress and tucking her under his arm.
(Y/N) perked up at his answer, pointing at the smiling blonde that was dusted in a shade of grey graphite. "Really?! You mean Baby Spice?" she bubbled, "Sarah showed me them after we moved in together, and she's been my favorite since, too! I like how she dresses, it's cute."
Her answer didn't surprise Harry at all, he figured the pastel pinks and mini dresses would be her top pick. Her fingertips lingering over the flimsy cover caught his eye, the pages flicking over her skin as she toyed with the edge. "Going to look through it?"
"Only if its okay with you," (Y/N) rushed, pulling her hands away from the battered cover she was about to flip open.
"Of course, y'can, love," Harry smiled, squeezed his arm around her shoulders, "Jus' be warned that I wasn't very good until after I got certified for tattooing."
(Y/N) puttered off protests, telling him she was more than sure that he had always been good, that he was talented through and through. She was familiar with flicking through his sketchbooks, Harry always letting her go through them to get her opinion on specific pieces or just to give her something to look at when her phone was too boring to distract her and he had things to finish at the shop. Majority of the pages were his attempts at hyper-realistic drawings, a style he now strayed from in favor of working with his simple line work and fine details.
Glancing at the date at the bottom, (Y/N) flicked her gaze to where Harry was peering over her shoulder with a sour expression. "Did you know you were going to be a tattoo artist by this point?" She tapped her finger over the date in the corner.
Harry shrugged, the motion felt behind her, "I guess. I think I was already looking into schools around then, but I think took me a couple more months to really see it and start getting serious."
The style of his art evolved with every page (Y/N) flipped through, a visible shift occurring halfway through as the pieces looked a lot more like the ones Harry focussed his time on now. Though it was clear the sketches were still amateur, especially compared to what he was capable of now, (Y/N) still stood by her belief that he had always been talented, he only got better and better the more he worked.
"That looks like what you did for my tattoo," (Y/N) smiled, pointing out a small floret that was shoved to the side next to a large vision of a simplistic beach scene.
Harry hummed a noise, his head tilting as he looked over the drawing. A smile bloomed over his features as he picked out the petals of something that looked almost like a lavender sprig before he got bored with the idea and left it unfinished.
"Yeah, it is," Harry sighed, "'S like I was practicing for you before I even knew." With her distracted by the flip book of his art, Harry dropped a kiss to her shoulder with his arm falling to loop around her waist. "How are y'feeling so far, love? About everything."
(Y/N) flicking fingers slowed, the tips lingering on each page just a hair longer than before. "I'm okay," she shrugged, willing herself to the believe those same words, "The hardest part is over, and now I just need to relax. Right?"
While she was working on trusting herself and the plans she formulated, she still sought out Harry's approval. She needed that extra reassurance that she was on the right track.
"Right, love bug," Harry agreed, dipping his head and pressing an indulgent kiss to her lips, "Mum already thinks the world of you, by the way. She told me she thinks y'look very cute, and even prettier than the pictures."
(Y/N) smiled at his words, not feeling so bad now that she knew just the bare bones of why she was so shy. If she still thought she was nice and approved of the outfit she had traveled in, the new information hadn't swayed her any. Another glacier of her anxiety sunk away at the thought.
Still, she had one lingering question she was worried about the answer to.
"You said we'd be sleeping up here, right?" she asked after a beat, marking her page in his sketchbook so she could return later.
"Yeah, why?" A crease pinched at Harry's brow at her line of questioning.
She plucked at her bottom lip with her teeth, hoping this didn't come off wrong. "Are we allowed to sleep in the same room?"
She had previously assumed they would be separated for their stay, (Y/N) having had to calm herself at the thought of being in an unfamiliar place where she was already on edge, without Harry there to end the night with. She more than understood that this was his mother's home and if she wanted them to be separated, (Y/N) wouldn't complain, even if she didn't see herself getting a good night's rest without him.
Harry only shrugged, taking the book from her and tossing it to the stack it had come from. "I think so," he mused, giving her a look with raised brows, "Is that okay?"
"Well, is it okay with your mom? I don't want to disrespect her or anything."
A lopsided smile took Harry's features, dipping a dimple deep in his cheek as he gazed at her. She was too precious to be real.
"Mum's fine with it, love. We're adults, she understands that," he reassured, dropping a kiss to her cheek, "'S not like she doesn't know what we get up to."
Horror struck (Y/N)'s features, dropping her jaw and pinching at her brows, "You've told her the stuff we do?!" Her words came in the form of a whispered shout, carried on a wave of embarrassment.
He let out a loud laugh at her assumption, unable to do anything more than to shake his head as he let it all out. "No, of course I haven't," he said around a peal of laughter, "We've just been together for almost a year and have had more than enough time to have spent the night with one another. She understands that, and doesn't mind if we share a room."
(Y/N) felt her blood pumping behind her cheeks, still hating the idea that Anne could assume as to what she and her son had done. At the very least, she would make sure that they kept their PDA at an all time low, ensuring they didn't make her feel even an ounce uncomfortable.
"Relax, darling," Harry smiled, the curl of his lips audible, "'S not a big deal, 'kay?"—he waited for a nod of her head before he continued, swiping back a piece of hair that had fallen in her face—"Good. Now, dinner's not supposed to be ready for another hour or so, did y'want to take a nap before?"
She rolled her lips between her teeth, peeking up at Harry through the frame of her lashes, "Are you going to stay and nap with me?"
His fingertips traced over her jawline before settling with his palm cradling the side of her neck. The lilypad of his irises shone with affection tinting the gaze. "Do y'want me to?"
If he kept looking at her like that, (Y/N) decided that this visit was going to only get easier and easier.
"Yes, please."
—————
Working the sleep from her muscles, (Y/N) followed Harry down the stairs with her socked feet padding over the flooring. He had woken her up only ten minutes beforehand, letting her know his mom had peeked in and told him that dinner was ready. She was much too tired to feel any bit of sheepishness over the fact Mrs. Twist had peeked in and saw her snuggled so closely to Harry; at least she knew for sure she didn't mind them sharing the bed tonight.
Once they reached the landing together, Harry reached for (Y/N)'s hand and entwined their fingers. She blanched at the contact, hyperaware of his mom in the other room and her own vow to keep their displays of affection to a minimum while in her house.
"Harry," she whispered, a scolding tone to her voice as she attempted to wriggle her hand out of his hold, "Not in front of your mom. It's not polite."
Breathing a soft laugh, Harry had to try his best not to pull his darling in for a kiss. "Love, I promise she doesn't mind. Don't forget, she already saw us upstairs, I don't think some handholding is really going to bother her."
"Still," (Y/N) pouted.
"I promise," Harry repeated, bumping her hip with his, "She thinks it's cute. And, I think it'd make her happy seeing me happy."
(Y/N) knew she was supposed to be fighting off his insistence, keeping true to her self-appointed ruling, but how was she supposed to do that when he said things like that? How was she supposed to think clearly when he confessed that simply touching her made him happy?
A lopsided smile tugged at the corner of Harry's lips when (Y/N) lagged in response; he knew he won. Tightening his hold on her hand, he dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he murmured against the skin, hoping the words erupted the same kind of butterflies in her tummy that he had.
She followed after him in a daze, letting Harry guide her by the hand into the dining room. A long table, scratched evident in the legs and dents in the chairs that matched the rest of the lived-in feel of the house was laden with food; the whole nine yards Harry had told her about. In the center was a serving bowl of pasta, the ceramic a pastel yellow hue that was brightened by the white sauce coating the noodles. Three place settings were fixed around the table, a duo sitting together on one side while the other held one across from them.
Anne scuttled into the dining room with an additional pan that held a pile of cheesey breadsticks, the shapes uneven enough to show that she had made them herself. She beamed at (Y/N) who lingered at the end of the table farthest from her with her son, "Harry told me you liked pasta, so I tried my best with this new recipe I found! I also made some breadsticks just in case, and I know they look kind of funny, but I promise they're good."
"Looks good, mum," Harry smiled, nudging (Y/N) towards the side with two place settings laid out, "Thank you."
(Y/N) nodded her head to show her agreeance with Harry, a smile brightening her features. Anne bolted off into the kitchen one more time, citing a need to grab everyone something to drink before she disappeared through the threshold.
"What did I tell you?" Harry whispered, amusement tinting his voice as he settled in beside her, "She's planning on making this entire week about you, 'm sure."
Mrs. Twist was back in the room before (Y/N) could respond though she detested the thought of his mom making her birthday week about anything other than herself. She carried a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade, not even hesitating before she started making the rounds to fill each of the glasses set up on the table.
"Let me know if you need anything, okay, (Y/N)?" she offered, settling a gentle hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder before rounding the table to her own spot.
A look of mock offense struck Harry's features, rising from his chair in an effort to reach for the display of breadsticks, "And what about me? What if I need anything?"
"You know where to find it," Anne pointed out, raising a brow in his direction, "(Y/N) is a guest, Harry."
Harry gave a playful roll of his eyes as he piled a duo of the sticks onto (Y/N)'s plate before serving himself. Anne's face didn't twitch from the amused affection that tinted her features, barely paying the playing act of rebellion any mind as she twisted lengths of pasta onto her own china. (Y/N) couldn't even begin to list out the differences over what would have occurred if she had done that at her parent's table.
Quiet chatter over the agenda for the week rose up between Harry and his mom, (Y/N) distracted by the way Harry seamlessly went about filling her plate first before moving onto his own.
"I wanted to show (Y/N) around at some point this week, if that's okay," Harry interjected, settling down in his seat once (Y/N) had a little bit of everything on her plate.
Anne perked up at the idea, brows raised with a bright smile on her face. "Oh, are you going to show her where you got your first tattoo?" she questioned, a teasing light to her eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes with mirth, twirling a fork through the pasta. "I don't even think that garage is still there," he shook his head.
(Y/N) vaguely recalled the story he had told her, where a friend's older brother who worked as a mechanic invited a teenage Harry and his friends over after the shop closed. He had breezed through the story, telling her it was a bad amateur tattoo but after the first experience, he couldn't get enough.
"It is," Anne quipped, shooting her gaze towards (Y/N), "Do you know that story?"
Swallowing the small bite of pasta in her mouth, (Y/N) nodded her head. "I do, yeah. Harry told me it was done by a friend's brother in the back of a mechanic's, right?"
She nodded her head, sipping on her glass of lemonade before flicking her mischievous gaze towards Harry. "Did he tell you how infected it got a week later? That his friend had only used water to disinfect the area?"
(Y/N)'s jaw dropped, having heard time and time again how important aftercare was for new tattoos from Harry himself. He knew well and good how dangerous amateur tattoos could be, uncertified artists with their knowledge barely going far enough to know the difference between tattoo ink and pen ink. He barely let her dress herself after he did her tattoo, worried that her clothing would irritate the space, and he had allowed his first tattoo to go sour after only a week?
"Are you serious? Harry, that's so dangerous!"
"I know, I know," Harry drawled, "I was fifteen, I had no idea what I was doing. I jus' wanted a star on m'arm, that's all, I didn't think that was going to happen."
Turning her incredulous look to his mom, (Y/N) looked for some kind of backup or reassurance that she wasn't overreacting. Mrs. Twist shrugged her shoulders, "I told him the same thing, and he's always said that exact thing back. He's just lucky it got cleared up before I took him to a doctor."
"And you didn't do anything like that again, right, H?"
A beat of silence passed.
"Right, Harry?"
When she looked across to where Anne was drinking some of her lemonade around a sly smile, (Y/N) had her answer.
"He did it again?" she pressed, her words directed towards his mom.
She held up her hand, palm out with all five fingers spread apart. "Five more times, actually," she mused, tossing a look of gentle disappointment to Harry, "And I have a story for each one."
(Y/N) intently listened as Anne dropped into her next story, starting with Harry's second tattoo that was an even bigger surprise than the first. She jumped when she felt the span of Harry's palm drop onto her thigh, his fingers wrapping around the thick of it as (Y/N) settled into his hold. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the small smile that spread over his lips, contentment swimming through his irises as he watched his family interact.
She liked that thought, (Y/N) decided. That she was a part of his family.
—————
"Go 'head and get ready for bed, love. I'll be right behind you, 'm gonna help clean up a little first."
Harry beamed at her, his smile bright and dimples deep before dipping his head and dotting his lips against her cheek. (Y/N) couldn't help the blood that warmed behind her cheeks at the affection, aware of the eyes on them from across the table. No matter how many times Harry assured her his mom didn't mind, it was going to take time to get used to such open affection in front of family.
"Are you sure you don't want me to help?" she offered, extending her gaze to Anne on the other side of the table. She would have felt guilty if she jumped at the chance to leave while they kept working, especially since the dinner was brought together for her sake.
"We'll be fine, hun, don't worry," Anne reassured, the soft smile she had become familiar with throughout the meal fixed on her lips.
(Y/N) gave a polite nod of her head, mouth curled into a small grin. "Thank you again for this, Anne. Dinner was lovely."
Mrs. Twist waved off her gratitude, telling her not to worry about it and that she was more than happy to do this for her. "Thank you for coming; I can't wait to spend more time with you this week."
With a bloated heart in her chest, (Y/N) couldn't flounder together what to say in response. It seemed his mom was trying to do everything in her power to make sure she was welcome here, and into their lives, which made (Y/N) a little too emotional. Instead, she offered a nod of her head and a quiet me too before rising from her seat.
"Y'remember where the upstairs bathroom is?" Harry asked as she pushed her chair in, his gaze lingering on her form as he collected the dishes.
"Next to your bedroom, right?"
"That's it," he affirmed with a smile on his lips, nodding his head toward the staircase behind her, "I grabbed some of your things while y'were sleeping, but if y'need anything, your suitcases are still by the door."
After peeping out a thank you to him, Harry disappeared with his hands full into the kitchen, his mom following right after. She heard the sound of water filling the sink before she started up the stairs. Though she was alone in the space, (Y/N) didn't feel alone; the reach of Anne's acceptance and kindness filling the room and making (Y/N) feel not so out of place in the midst of all the newness she was taking in.
Rifling through the clothes Harry had pulled from their luggage for her, the smile fixed on her face couldn't be stifled. The curl had been there since his mom started listing off the handful of times he came home with surprise tattoos and the few coverups he's had to get in the years since. It was only when Harry pleaded with her not to bring out the baby pictures and photos from his teen years that she stopped (to which she promised (Y/N) she would answer any questions when Harry wasn't in the room, Gemma more than happy to enlist her help once she knew the plan).
(Y/N) almost didn't notice the lack of toiletries as she stepped into the bathroom, Harry having forgotten to pull the small bag from their suitcases when he had grabbed her pajamas. After settling the few things she did have on the counter, she retraced her steps down the stairs, the socks on her feet muffling the descent.
Though (Y/N) promised herself she wouldn't eavesdrop again after the slip from this morning, she couldn't help herself when another uttering of her name came from the kitchen. She stopped in front of the duo of cases that awaited her in the foyer, hidden from the kitchen but close enough she could hear them.
"She's very sweet, H, I really like her," Anne praised, voice soft and motherly, "I feel like she's getting comfortable with me." The smile on her face was audible in her tone, (Y/N) feeling proud that she was the one that could draw that from her.
"Me too," Harry murmured, just barely heard over the sound of the running sink, "She's really special."
"Just special?" his mom pressed, the kind of knowing undercurrent to her words that only a mother could possess.
"I—She's... We're—," Harry floundered for words, a sheepish tint cradling the ones he managed to get out. (Y/N) could only imagine the shy smile that curled his lips, one he rarely held since he was so confident in himself. "She's jus' really special, and I've never been as happy as I am with her," he decided on, his words acting as rose-hued clouds that floated out towards (Y/N) and urged to swathe her in their feather soft hold, "I think—'M sure that this is it for me. She's it for me."
Before (Y/N) could even properly process his confession, Anne perked up with her own gasp before squealing out Harry's name. "Oh, Harry, I'm so happy for you! She's perfect for you, I can tell how much you love each other."
A breathy laugh fell from Harry's lips before he swallowed, a lump in his throat forming that could be heard in his voice, "I haven't told her yet, but I've been looking at places for us."—a cooing gasp sounding from his mom—"And, after we get settled in wherever we pick, I want to get ready to propose. We haven't been together for too long yet, so I want to give her some time, but I don't want to wait. I jus' want to be with her."
"Harry," his mom cooed, her voice clogged with the sound of tears. A moment of silence passed and (Y/N) only hoped that she was hugging Harry tight enough for the both of them.
The rest of the conversation was shared in whispered sentiments that were too quiet to be heard over the running water and the pounding of (Y/N)'s heart. But, she knew she didn't need to hear anything more, the bit she already collected being enough to fill her lungs with a garden and head with clouds entirely too soft to hold anything but love. As if on autopilot, she made quick work of grabbing her bag from their luggage before padding back up the stairs. The sheen in her eyes only dared to spill over when she was finally alone behind the protection of the bathroom door.
Happy tears leaked from her eyes and strayed down her cheeks in sparkling runs. His words echoed in her head over and over; she was it for him and he wanted to live with her and propose. (Y/N) ran through the conversation as many times as she could, hoping to commit the timbre of his voice to memory, the specific words he used tucked away in her heart, and every detail cradled in the back of her mind for the rest of her life.
(Y/N) wasn't sure how long she sat with her head in her hands and a large grin stretched over her lips, time barely passing as far as she was concerned until a knock sounded on the door.
"Y'alright, love? Need any help with the shower or anything?"
It was Harry. Just the sound of his voice was enough to refresh the memory playing like a movie on loop in her head. The voice of the love of her life; the man who wanted to marry her.
"I'm perfect, Harry. Thank you."
—————
(Y/N) all but flung herself into Harry's childhood bed, where he laid with his chest bare and phone in his hand as he waited on her.
The green of his eyes were wiped clean of his signature eyeliner, leaving the only the forest-colored flecks to draw her in. The length of his hair was pulled back into a bun, though the same pesky strands he always wrestled with did their job of escaping the bundle and framing his face. He let out a soft ooph as she thudded against his chest, only a second passing before she had her limbs wrapped around him and face tucked into his neck.
"Well hello to you too, lovebug," Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Hi, Harry," she sighed, having to make a real effort to keep her emotions from making themselves known.
"What's all this about, hm? Thought y'wouldn't be so tired since y'had your nap," he crooned, voice as soft as the fingers that traveled through her damp hair.
She shook her head against his tattooed collarbones, pressing a kiss to a rose inked on the skin. "I just love you, that's all."
"I love you more, darling. I mean it."
(Y/N) didn't have it in her to argue. Besides, she would have the rest of her life to prove him wrong.
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!!!!!!!!! I really hope you enjoyed reading that thank you for taking the time!!! this has been a long time coming and while its not exactly what I pictured I still really love it and feel like its very aster so I hope u feel the same!!!! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or requests of anything yourself please send them in !!!!
#I need to do another where she meets more family but I really wanted there to be moments w just Anne !#writing#anon#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry au#harry prompt#harry writing#harry fanfiction#harry fluff#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles au#harry styles prompt#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fluff#one direction#pleasing#love on tour#fine line#golden#watermelon sugar#adore you#lights up#falling
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Angel, angel...what've i done
ive faced the quakes - the winds - the fire//but why cant i cross this river?
1/??
short drabble done in 2nd perspective - angels/demons au
alice(POV)/claire
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It's still surprising, all these years later, just how much the temperature in the desert could drop. You suck at your teeth and click your tongue. You can feel the pins and needles of the wind bite at your skin, but it never pierces past. You've begged it too. Countless times. Anything to feel human again, you've prayed to the open blue sky.
You shake your head, hair fluttering against your cheeks. Enough of these thoughts. Now isn't the time. Take a look around.
You do as you're told.
In a circle, around a curiously dancing fire, several members of the convoy sat. Your eyes scan each of them, taking in their sunken eyes and heat kissed lips. Carlos sits to your right, talking rather animatedly about times previous to the outbreak. Sometimes you need to remember, to reflect on the past, to learn and to live.
His mouth was turned upward in a smile when he passed you; whispering as he brushed against your shoulder.
You want to remember the good times. You think there were. You can't quite remember.
You certainly remember dying though.
You scoff but quickly try to hide it under a cough. Stop bringing attention to yourself. You shift and resettle in the sand. Try and listen to what Carlos is saying, that's the least you could do.
He pats his chest and huffs slightly out of frustration. We would always see them on tv, but not one of us have ever seen one in person! Oh. It's this again.
Angels and demons. Or at least that's what they were called in the media. Chosen few of the very many were given the honor of flight. You roll your eyes. Fairy tale nonsense.
No one ever willingly came out as a demon. No one wanted that title attached to them. Wings of ash and burning flesh. It was not an honor to be had.
You've never believed they've existed, with what little memory you did have prior to this mess and with what you saw after waking up in that hospital. Carlos had mentioned briefly that the demons had a scent and it was a smell that would stay with you for life. It's that recognizable. Sometimes, you are curious.
When those blast doors initially opened those years ago, giving Alpha team access to the HIVE; you could've sworn you smelled sulfur. It's been so long. Just a damn fairy tale.
The angels, Carlos exclaims, they're a sight to see. He prattles and boasts about their speed. About their wings made up of pure light. He brings up a name, you don't file it away; knowing they're long dead and unimportant in this day and time. His eyes glisten. He's deep in memory now. Watching him on the tv, watching him fly at those speeds, what I would've given to had seen that in person! You smile slightly at his words. It's a good memory for him.
The light starts to leave his hazel eyes. He bows his head slightly. He brings up rumors and speculation. They said there was a way to find out if someone had the gift, he pauses. Scars along shoulder blades. A light in their eye. The gait in their walk. He sighs. Who cares now though. It's been years, and none of us have ever seen one in person.
You open your mouth to relax him, give him words of kindness, when movement catches in the corner of your eye. You move slowly, turning just slightly to your left. K-Mart, shifting anxiously in the sand, seems to have reacted to what Carlos was saying. But it wasn't her reaction that kept your attention.
Claire Redfield.
Sitting cross-legged, her head tilted towards the fire in the center, had a scowl carved into her face directed right at the teenager. Sea-foam green eyes reflected the light of burning wood and papers before you. She holds that look for several passing moments before turning back inward of the circle.
Neither of them seemed to have noticed you staring.
That's when something seems to have caught your attention. You squint. You're supposed to be observant, especially all these years later. Spit catches in your throat. Sure it's cold but...
You don't think Claire has once taken off her jacket once these past few days. Heat and cold. Wind and stale air. It's been on.
No one's ever seen an angel in person before...
#aberfield#clairice aberfield#drabble#some were talking about an angels/demons au in the discord and i noticed i had a wildly different take than they did#so i wanted to get this out#i dont quite know how much ill do but i do want to tell a complete story#oh the song used for the title is humbling river by puscifer
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"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this
Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann
and coincidentally, this older one
Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!
Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves
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Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate.
So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.
On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.
The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections.
They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”
"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.
Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!
The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.
“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.
It drove Newt fucking batty.
It also made him, like, super turned on.
The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.
So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.
The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.
On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.
He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.
Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.
The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.
Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.
“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.
“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”
The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”
Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”
“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.
Why did Newt invite him here, again?
Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”
Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”
Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”
This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.
“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--
“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”
“Oh,” Newt says.
He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”
“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”
“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”
Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”
“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”
“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”
He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.
“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”
“It’s the radius squared--”
“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”
And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard.
They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.
Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.
Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...
It’s not likely.
It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”
A familiar clearing of a throat.
Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”
Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”
“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”
“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”
He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”
Neither of them talk much, after that.
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this is kinda long but can i ask for a comedy where maul is a total drama queen about how sick he is? that is, until he sees who the doctor is (rival!s/o, jedi, idc) BUT ITS TOO LATE to insist he's healthy
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A/N: Lol here you go anon! This was fun to write I laughed a lot. Thank you so much for requesting something from me. The end is a bit of a cuckoos nest reference, not sure if anyone will get it, but still funny to me.
Summary: Maul has food poisoning and is ‘dying’. Savage calls the doctor and lo and behold who does the doctor turn out to be?
Warnings: bodily function humor (farts, food poisoning discomfort, see gif for reference lol), swearing, death of a certain character (not maul or savage), dumbassery on my part lmao, is this what the kids deem crack fic?
word count: 2.3k
“Brother, I do not think you should eat that,” Savage tried to reason with the smaller and angrier Zabrak who was about to shovel a leftover curry into his mouth.
“Quiet Savage. Nothing can harm me, I am far too powerful,” Maul protested, gulping down the yellow curry that had been sitting in the brothers’ fridge for maker knows how long. Savage turned his nose up at his brother’s poor dinner choices, tied his pink frilly apron across his waist, and began cooking his own dinner.
A delicious beef stew, sat simmering on the stove with an attentive Savage breathing in the steam and taste testing the broth every now and then adding spices and sauces as he went, a determined half-smile slapped across his face. Maul sat in his office just off the kitchen on his datapad doing the night’s work, his usual scowl overtaking his stunning features.
“Brother, if you would have waited, you could have enjoyed my delicious stew,” Savage beamed from the kitchen. Maul grumbled something incoherent from his office, but Savage continued stirring his stew and humming a happy little tune.
The next day started like any other. Maul held meetings with the Mandalorians about their next moves. Savage joined in, but he usually spaced out thinking about food and what he was going to cook for dinner later in the night. Savage was startled back to reality upon hearing a very deep rumble emanating from his brother’s throne. The room quieted down in shock at the noise not sure what to make of it.
“Lord Maul, are..you alright?” one of the Mandalorians asked in confused concern.
“I’m fine. It’s the chair. The chair. Something is wrong with this chair.” Maul clearly exasperated and sweating profusely, his usual deep crimson color now tarnished and a faded rust-colored instead.
“The..throne? What is wrong with the throne?” the Mandalorian questioned and stepped forward to investigate.
“No. Not the throne, I mean it’s fine, but it is broken… BACK away. I will have Savage assess the damage later. Let’s just wrap this meeting up for now.
“Brother, are you ok?” Savage leaned down to quietly whisper into Maul’s ear, “you aren’t looking so good.” Another deep rumble emanating from somewhere on Maul, inadvertently responded to Savage’s question. Savage, decided to take matters into his own hands, sensing his brother’s extreme discomfort and also being bored as hell by this meeting.
“Meeting adjourned.” Savage abruptly interrupted, all eyes now staring at the golden Zabrak. He felt his face grow hot with all the sudden attention on him and panicked scooping his brother up into his arms and running out of the throne room. Maul throwing a complete tantrum as he did this yelling, thrashing, beating his brother with his fists. The Mandalorians just stood and stared in confused horror at the spectacle happening before their eyes.
Savage ran down the halls of the Sundari Palace with Maul in his arms, not clear on what he was hoping to achieve or where to go with his now very angry brother.
“Savage, you need to put me down immediately,” Maul hissed through his teeth. Savage, not knowing any better than to follow directions, unhesitatingly dropped his brother on the stone hallway of the palace. Maul tumbled out of his arms like a rag doll making a pitiful sound as he hit the floor.
“Brother!! I am so sorry. Are you ok?” Savage hurriedly knelt down before Maul, now curled into the fetal position, the ashen rust color deep setting into his complexion now.
prrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaappppppppppttttttttt
It was a common sound for Savage having grown up with the nightbrothers and the endless fart jokes the brothers would play on each other, but in his short time of knowing Maul, his brother had never once farted in front of him. He always suspected it was because of the mechanical lower half of him, but never dared ask. The air soon filled with the foulest smell, almost worse than when Savage first rescued Maul.
“Brother, I wonder if you are sick?” Savage pensively asked the ashen curled up Zabrak at his feet as he picked him up on his feet to stand at his side.
“Of course, I’m sick you idiot. Take me to the doctor. I mean.. take me to the ‘fresh..” he heaved into his hand before finishing what he wanted to say.
“Oh man, brother, I gotta say, you absolutely cannot spew right now. I just got this armor and well, actually you gave it to me, but I mean, just no like..’blegh’ onto the new threads.”
Maul glared at his brother, shooting daggers at him with his fiery amber eyes.
“I’m not going to ..spew..” the word itself gagged him and Savage now hurriedly walked him to the refresher. Thankfully, there was one just down the hall and Savage opened the door and threw his brother in and stood guard outside the door. The noises emanating from the small ‘fresher were of the most offensive kind and Savage stood nervously trying to think of what to do or say as he stared down at his nails. A couple of Mandalorians walked by looking at Savage questioningly. He put his arm up against the wall in a flirtatious pose,
“Hey, how’s it goin?” he smirked to the Mandalorians and they skittered away confused by the beefy yellow Zabrak’s placement and actions.
“Brother, can I get you anything?” Savage asked through the door. Maul let out a low and long groan before answering,
“Get me a doctor, Savage. I...I’m...I’m dying.” Savage gasped at his brother’s revelation.
“Brother, you cannot die. I will NOT let it happen. I’ll find the best doctor in the galaxy for you. I swear it.”
Maul responded with yet another low groan. Savage ran off to call a doctor for his dear and very sick brother.
After Savage called for a doctor, he managed to get Maul to his bed to rest until the doctor would arrive. Maul writhed around the bed groaning in pain and discomfort. He tried to drink water and eat some of Savage’s infamous stew, but he couldn’t keep anything down and was left weak and miserable. Savage never left his bedside and was a nervous wreck for his brother’s well being. He hadn’t seen his brother like this since he picked him up on Lotho Minor. Maul reached his clammy hand out towards Savage and the golden Zabrak grabbed it at once.
“Savage, my brother, my apprentice...I...I do not know how much longer I have…” the crimson Zabrak trailed off, seemingly too weak to continue.
“Brother, do not talk like that. Your doctor will be here any moment and then you will be better than ever.” Savage attempted to reassure his brother, but it was no use. Maul was determined this would be the death of him and prattled on nonsensically about it until finally Savage just nodded and hummed as his sickly brother went on. Finally, they heard footsteps down the hall approaching the room.
“Oh at last, brother. This must be your doctor.” he rose from his bedside chair to meet the doctor at the door. There was a light knocking at the door and Savage opened it at once. A human man with brown hair and beard wearing a white lab coat stood before Savage.
“Oh thank you for coming doctor, right this way, it’s my brother. He is dying.” Savage motioned towards Maul, who had turned away from the door in his bed. The doctor stepped into the room, clutching his black leather medicine bag.
“Hello there,” he said as he approached Maul. Maul shot up instantly out of bed, recognizing his nemesis’ voice.
“Kenobi!” Maul screeched out with his last remaining amount of energy and then immediately collapsed on the floor.
“No, No no no, Savage! Don’t let this man touch me. He is playing a Jedi mind trick on you. He is no doctor!” Maul sputtered out trying to climb back into bed.
“I am so sorry Doctor. He has been spewing nonsense for the past 5 hours. I do not think he even knows where he is right now.” Savage patiently explained to the Doctor.
“It’s quite alright. He’s not wrong, I am Doctor Kenobi.” he smiled and outstretched his hand to Savage, and the Nightbrother hesitated but inevitably shook it.
“I’m not sure I’ve made your acquaintance, though,” Dr. Kenobi shared with the sickly Zabrak curled up in the fetal position on the bed. This admission enraged Maul and he attempted to get out of bed again fuming at the Doctor.
“I am surprised you could have forgotten me so easily, after I killed your master and you left me for dead on Naboo,” Maul piped out to the Doctor as he slowly walked towards him. Dr. Kenobi shuffled around in his medicine bag for something as Maul continued his advance on the Doctor.
“You may have forgotten me, but I will never for….OW, what the…” Maul crumpled down onto the floor as he trailed off on his diatribe. Savage looked on in horror as Doctor Kenobi removed a hypodermic needle from Maul’s flesh with a smug satisfaction.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Savage roared at the doctor igniting one end of his red lightsaber.
“Relax, it’s just a light sedative. We need to get him hooked up to an IV to replenish his fluids and electrolytes. Can you help me get him onto the gurney in the hallway?”
Savage grumbled, but turned his lightsaber off and helped the doctor move his brother into the gurney. They transported him to the nearby hospital and Doctor Kenobi hooked him up to the IV’s while Savage looked on with worry and hope in his heart.
“He’s going to be fine, Savage,” Doctor Kenobi reassured the anxious Zabrak.
“He said he was dying,” Savage blurted out, tears in his eyes.
“Food poisoning can feel like death, that is for certain, but once he gets his fluids and electrolytes back he’ll be back in full swing in no time. Right now, we must let him rest.” Doctor Kenobi put his hand on Savage’s back and led him out of the hospital room. Savage wandered around the hospital to kill time and soon found happiness at the sight of an ice cream cart outside the hospital. He strode outside forgetting his worries for a moment as the cart drew him in with a happy tune and bright colors.
Maul woke up in a dark strange room, slowly looking around for something to spark his memory of how he got here. He ripped the IV out of his arm and walked around the room, remembering the horrible sickness he had been battling and the loathsome Doctor Kenobi.
“I must escape this infernal place,” the Sith Lord exclaimed to no one. He looked down and realized he was only wearing a blue hospital gown. He searched the room desperately for his tunic and pants to no avail. He rushed out of the room, the hospital gown flowing with the wind of his swift movements, his robot ass in full view to any fortunate onlooker.
The hallway was bright in contrast with his dimmed room and nurses and doctors rushed around, paying very little mind to the crimson Zabrak sneaking around the hospital. Voices carried, machines beeped, papers shuffled, all the normal ambient noise of a hospital, as Maul made his way down the halls, looking for the nearest exit. He doubled back on one room, recognizing a force signature from his past.
“Could it be?” he whispered under his breath as he entered the dark room. A pale shriveled old man laid in the bed passed out. The smell of sanitizer and death ran thick in the air. The man was dying and laid there like a vegetable.
“Master…” Maul announced to the sleeping man as he grabbed a pillow from his bed and gently, but firmly placed it over his old Master’s face. The slight effort caused a small toot to escape the Zabrak, the remnants of his sickness still leaving his body.
“I would say ‘excuse me’ but…” Maul shoved the pillow down harder, his crimson forearms bulging with effort, “it appears you will no longer need excuses.”
The old man’s body flailed around in an involuntary attempt at fighting for his life, but Maul stood firm in his position, waiting for the movements to stop, killing his Master once and for all. Maul looked around the room for a way out. As anyone who just killed the man who was an abusive father-figure, teacher, and captor to them, Maul decided to rip the sink out of the foundation of the room in a feat of strength and force wielding. He lifted the busted sink over his head and threw it out the window, quickly jumping out of the hole it created.
It was quite the fall, but he used the force to slow himself down for the impact, the hospital gown blowing up around him exposing all his robot bits and pieces to anyone watching the crimson Zabrak flail out of the stone hospital building. Savage, just so happened to be taking a walk around the building eating an ice cream cone, when he saw the spectacle of his brother tumble out of the hospital. He ran towards where his brother landed with glee and confusion.
“Brother! You are alright? Why did you jump out of that window? Look, they have ice cream here!” Savage was so excited he couldn’t find what to focus on and stammered out a stream of consciousness on his brother.
“Yes. Savage, I am alright. Let’s go home.”
The two Zabraks walked off into the sunset, Maul’s bare robot ass cheeks clapping in the gentle breeze.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.
I just love these brothers what can I say! They deserve to walk off happily into the sunset. Thank you as always so much for reading. xo
taglist:
@brilliantbutbatty
@maulieber
@botherbother-blog
@emissarydecksetter
@wolfpack-arts-industries99
@a-dorin
#crackfic#maul#darth maul#savage#fanfic#fanfic request#ask answered#comedy#bodily function humor#fart jokes#food poisoning#doctor kenobi#cuckoos nest reference#mandalore#sundari#absoultely mad lads#butt cheeks clapping#hahaha#robot butts#i love butts#hospital#sink throw
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Approaching Sun (27)
Author’s Note: I am SO sorry about how long this chapter took to update. Taking on master’s classes on top of work has been a rough transition. The majority of this chapter had been planned and typed a long time ago, but it just took me ages to organize it, detail it, clean it up, and fluff it with a fork. For those of you who have contacted recently, (and I probably have yet to respond) this chapter is for you. Without your encouragement, who knows how much longer this chapter would have taken.
Forgive me. Hope you enjoy.
Pairing: SasuSaku
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26
Chapter 27: Confirmation
Sakura had fully intended on eavesdropping on Sasuke’s conversation with Satou; in fact, it was the only reason that Sakura had allowed the interaction to transpire between her patient and her teammate. After Sasuke had closed the door firmly behind her, Sakura had walked heavily down the hallway so her footsteps could be heard. Her next step was to take the stairs, walk silently up two floors, and listen in by opening the window directly above Satou’s. Sakura had noted that Satou’s patient room window had been cracked open. Surely her ninja skills would be well-adapted to a simple eavesdropping.
But that’s not what happened. Instead, as Sakura walked down the hall, she noted that her breathing was becoming short. Her chest was tightening considerably, a feeling that she dismissed at first to anxiety at the current situation. When she paused to consider it, Sakura tried to swallow past her itchy throat. A terrifying realization came over Sakura has she glanced down at her hands that held the freshly pulverized Ashuwa.
Shit.
Sakura covered the mortar, sprinted down the remainder of the hallway, and took a right. She held tightly to the Ashuwa despite the situation; she couldn’t afford to sacrifice what they had acquired in her state of panic. Sakura tried her best to remember the hospital’s layout; there was a drug storage room on every level, so thankfully Sakura wouldn’t have to take stairs in her compromised situation. Turning another corner, Sakura was relieved to finally stumble up to the door marked “薬” for medication. Placing the mortar of Ashuwa on the ground, Sakura managed to focus through her shortness of breath and perform the sign of the ram to channel her chakra to her palm. Placing it on the center of the door, Sakura nearly stumbled as the door received her chakra signature and swung open to grant her access to the room.
Sakura’s vision began to blur as she shuffled through the drawers and cabinets. She could barely read the itemized labels of the stored items. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. She felt lethargic and her throat was swelling quickly. She should have taken Mako’s warning more seriously. He had told her of the drug’s disuse in the medical environment due to many allergic reactions to it. This was what she had been testing earlier when she picked a generous pinch of Ashu from the ground and placing it in her mouth; however, her and Mako both had gotten distracted by the issue of Satou.
Sakura cursed at herself for being careless but felt confident in her approach. If only she could find the medicine. She narrowed her focus to the vials on the top shelf and coughed violently as she reached for one. Stumbling into the shelf resulted in several of them busting onto the ground. After locating the blue tagged bottle labeled “adrenaline,” Sakura threw open cabinet after cabinet until she found the drawer of packaged syringes. She was choking now, a fish out of water and she aimed the needle into the top of the bottle; her hands shook as she waisted even more time trying to draw the medicine into the plunger.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sasuke was trying to outwalk Mako, who was smiling kindly and attempting to make small talk as they quickly made their way down the hall from Satou’s room. Sasuke thought if he could just stride quickly enough, Mako might take the hint and part ways with him.
Sasuke frowned at Mako’s prattling of, “I have to admit. I was concerned with the whole genjutsu approach, but I think that it might be pretty effective. That was brilliant!”
Sasuke stopped his break-neck pace and narrowed his eyes at the medic, scrutinizing him carefully. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean?” asked Mako innocently, crossing his arms behind him.
Sasuke debated Mako for a second. Here was a skilled shinobi of medicine, an assistant to his friend, and Sakura addressed him casually. This trip was the first occasion that Sasuke had ever met him, yet Mako recognized Sasuke’s attempt at genjutsu before he had even performed it. Perhaps he was knowledgeable of the sharingan; many people were. It was Sasuke’s past of constantly being targeted that had the Uchiha wary. Was this the reason Sasuke was inclined to distrust him, or was it the fact that Sakura was involved?
Sasuke clarified. “I want to know who you are and what you want.”
Mako laughed and smiled nicely. “Well, I am a medic ninja here at the Suna hospital. I have been appointed to assist Sakura-san during her stay with us. Kankuro was pretty adamant about it.”
“Hn.” Sasuke responded before walking forward again. Mako sped to catch up.
“Honestly,” he continued, “Sunagakure owes a lot to Sakura-san. You have probably heard this before, but we have advanced due to her and the Leaf’s medical supervision and instruction. We are something in her debt.”
Sasuke didn’t respond. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Sasuke supposed it made sense that Gaara and Kankuro would assign the most ambitious learner and fellow medicinal expert as Sakura’s assistant. Sunagakure wanted to take advantage of every lesson and tip available. Sakura’s discipline and dedication to the medical practice made her share a common interest with the professionals here. Not everyone always had some double meaning to their actions like most ninja in the shinobi world.
As Sasuke and Mako rounded the corner to the left, they paused as several people ran past them in the opposite direction, back toward the center of the third floor. One man who bumped into Mako’s shoulder turned to look at him in recognition, jogging backwards. “Code 10. Haruno-san.”
“Shit!” Mako cursed, chasing after the man who spoke. Sasuke didn’t know what “Code 10” meant, but to see a panicked response in connection to the name “Haruno” had Sasuke quickly following.
“What is it?” he demanded, matching Mako’s stride this time.
“Anaphylaxis” Mako said breathlessly as they rounded the final corner and nearly collided with several attendants outside a small room in the hallway. Someone was kneeling just outside the door and Sasuke couldn’t make out the questions they were asking before until he began to make his way through with Mako right on his heels.
When he came in line with the entrance, Sasuke froze. Sakura was on her back, broken glass surrounding her on a messy floor. A medic was kneeling down beside her and removing a syringe from her hand. “We need to get her into one of the rooms. Now.” Sasuke’s heart was racing as someone wheeled a gurney past him. Mako began pulling him away from the entrance to which Sasuke almost shrugged off.
Sakura’s pink head was closest to the door so Sasuke couldn’t get a good look at her face until they began lifting her onto the gurney and wheeled her past him. To Sasuke’s great relief, his medic friend was fully alert despite the hives across her face and swelling lips. When making eye contact with him, she raised her hand and waved awkwardly.
“Hey.” She said past swollen lips.
“Hey?!” Sasuke responded, irritation quickly replacing his concern. Was she serious?! Mako let out a surprised laugh at her casual greeting. Sasuke ignored him completely and began tailing the gurney as it rolled away with her.
“What the hell happened?” he asked her with pointed annoyance. After failing to mumble past her tomato mouth, Sasuke shook his head. “Nevermind.”
“I’ll explain,” Mako said from the other side of the swiveling table. Sasuke spent the next several minutes listening to Mako explain a basic understanding of anaphylaxis and staring disbelievingly at Sakura as they unloaded her onto a bed. They began to hook her up to an IV and other machinery that would monitor her pulse and blood pressure.
Mako continued his explanation, “Antihistamines are what comes next. Luckily, she responded to the epinephrine and doesn’t need intubation. We’ll have to monitor her for a few hours just to make sure she doesn’t have another episode.”
Sakura was nodding her blistered head in agreement at everything he said. Sasuke just glared at her.
“Why did you eat a plant you knew was toxic?” he asked crossly. She shrugged her shoulders, the only response she could really make at the moment.
“I should have stopped you, Haruno-san.” Mako bowed. “It is all my fault.”
Sakura began shaking her head to dismiss Mako’s apology. Then she began to gesture for Sasuke to come over to her bedside. When he was close enough, Sakura pointed toward his hand.
“What?” he asked, looking down at it. My hand? What about it? He sure wasn’t going to hold her hand if that was what she was implying. Especially not in front of anyone.
A word made it past her lips but Sasuke didn’t understand it. “Hn?”
“Rath,” she repeated, still pointing. “Da ya hath a rath?”
“Oh,” Mako exclaimed. “You were handling the Ashuwa earlier, Sasuke. Do you have a rash on your hand?”
Ah. Sasuke’s hand was partially gloved except for his fingertips, which were unmarred. It had been approximately 30-45 minutes since Sasuke had even touched the plant. Sakura had sampled the herb 10 minutes before that, so it was too early to tell if Sasuke would have a similar reaction. He didn’t have a rash on his fingertips though.
Another physician handed Mako a familiar mortar and removed his disposable gloves after touching it. Mako immediately pinched a piece out of it and offered it to the Uchiha.
Sasuke responded with a glare as Mako continued to hold it out. “You’re not suggesting I eat that?”
“We need to make sure that you don’t develop a similar reaction, especially if you plan on using the chakra pills that Sakura is making.”
Sakura was mutely nodding in agreement and Sasuke annoyingly spat out toward her, “Why? You want me to end up looking like you?” Her nodding turned to shaking.
She followed with, “He’th ight. Eat wow you ah here.” Sasuke scoffed and blinked in disbelief at her communication efforts. How was she even talking?!
This was an absolute lunatic idea. She wanted the BOTH of them in hospital beds in this village while Gaara was away handling potential psychos that were after them? It was already a concern that she was incapacitated; Sasuke sure as hell wasn’t going into anaphylaxis too by choice.
“I’ll wait until you’re better,” he answered, shooing Mako’s hand away from his face. As he did so, Sasuke pointed at the door, ordering Mako to just go and check on Satou’s kid. Mako blinked at him in confusion before taking the hint and exiting with that same excuse.
When the silence grew thick between them, Sasuke took a casual stance against the wall next to Sakura’s bedside.
“Ya are wathing time,” Sakura began, looking guilty despite her swollen mouth as she tucked her hands beneath the covers and looked around at nonexistent people in the room; anywhere but at him. She was right. He was wasting time, and Sasuke mentally shook himself as he realized his indifference to that. He was trying to remind himself of his goal but in that moment, Sasuke’s feelings were outweighing that purpose.
He turned his back and peered out the small window at the darkening sky. He glanced back at her briefly before turning back to the window. “Are you okay?”
There wasn’t a reply which had the Uchiha worried and he turned to see her wide-eyed expression at his question. The face Sakura was making looked as if Sasuke had grown two heads. “I mean,” he added quickly, “with a mouth like that, it looks difficult to breath.”
She immediately covered her mouth and frowned at him, obviously embarrassed at his words. “I ah fine!” she shouted in embarrassment into her fingers and turned her head. Sasuke resisted the urge to smirk.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
After the administration of the antihistamine, Sakura didn’t wait long before she began removing her own IV. She felt bad for the time that had been wasted today when she was supposed to be making the food pills. Sakura was just relieved that the Ashu had been tested before she gave Sasuke a drug that could potentially kill him.
“What are you doing?” Sasuke asked as she removed the monitor and turned off the flatlining machine before anyone came in at the sound. “They said it would be best to stay the night.”
“I’m ah do-ter” she told him. Yes, Sakura would have advised the same thing to her patients, but she was out of danger now and she felt anxious despite her drowsiness. She was troubling Sasuke enough by accompanying him on his mission. She didn’t want to get in his way; she was supposed to be making things easier.
Sasuke scoffed at her dismissive, mumbled declaration as she stood from the bed. She blinked heavily and managed to stand upright. It would still take a little bit of time for her to completely pass out from the side effects, so Sakura figured the time she had left awake could be spent productively.
The medic immediately went over to the cabinets and pulled out disposable gloves and a mask from the drawer. The mask would serve two purposes: 1) protect her from inhaling the Ashuwa as she worked and 2) hide her ridiculous “tomato” mouth as Sasuke referred to it. Ugh. Sakura could die from embarrassment.
“What are you doing now?” Sasuke grumbled irritably, following her as she moved. She immediately headed over to the mortar on the cabinet and pinched some of the yellow herb, skin protected from the substance thanks to the gloves.
“Eat.” She stated plainly. They couldn’t proceed further if Sasuke was likely to have a similar allergic reaction. Sakura would have to scrap their entire progress by disposing of the food pill batch. She would be back to square one and they would have to start all over by finding a new foundational herb with the correct properties to achieve the correct results.
“Forget it,” the Uchiha deadpanned before making to head for the door. Sakura caught hold of his hand, stumbling in the process and taking a hard fall on her knee. She winced visibly. That would bruise later. Sasuke immediately turned and helped her up and Sakura thanked her mask for hiding her blushing cheeks as well.
With the same hand Sasuke had offered, Sakura turned his palm up and placed the Ashuwa in his cupped fingers. “No time.”
Sasuke glared at her for what seemed like several minutes before reluctantly dumping it down his throat. They both knew he had to for his own sake.
Sakura nodded before trashing her gloves and retrieving a new pair. She couldn’t risk leaving traces around the hospital and anyone else coming into contact with the pollen if it was responsible for anaphylaxis. Mako had said that it was such a common reaction that they had stopped using it altogether.
Sakura halted in her steps, considered her plan, and decided to grab the entire box of disposable gloves. She handed Sasuke the mortar.
Sasuke gave her an expression that radiated annoyance but somehow was miraculously completely blank. If she could speak clearly in this moment, Sakura would have asked him how he managed that.
“Fowwo” she murmured through her mask-covered lips, pairing the word with a beckoning wave. “We’ll tesh your weaction why we wait.” She was shuffling out the door before Sasuke had the chance to say anything more.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sasuke trailed his teammate from the room, carrying the mortar of Ashuwa he had ground up earlier that day. This was one of the few times in his life that Sasuke somewhat regretted his decision to refuse the artificial limb that Tsunade had made for he and Naruto. Sakura was walking with one arm against the wall for support and Sasuke’s one and only hand was currently occupied.
It was well after dark now and many of the staff members were busy attending overnight patients, so they weren’t stopped by anyone as Sakura found her way back to the medicine room, which was now cleaned of broken glass and everything back in its space. She reached up and grabbed several bottles of adrenaline and then dug through the drawer for syringes.
“Sakura,” Sasuke began as she dropped some of the things she was holding onto the floor. “You need rest. We can finish this later.”
“We hafe to wait for weaction anyway. Might as well make the pills.”
“I feel fine.” Sasuke reassured her. It was true. Time had passed enough for his fingertips to develop a rash if there was going to be a topical reaction. He had yet to show signs from consumption.
Sakura strode past him again, this time walking backwards to face him. He could make out a smile beneath her mask which somewhat irked the Uchiha. She seemed awfully cheery despite nearly dying from anaphylaxis. Sasuke concluded that it had to be the medicine making her drowsy.
“Turn around before you fall,” he grumbled. She laughed as she began to walk slowly up the stairs. He hurried up behind her and offered her his elbow which she took thankfully despite his huffed “So annoying.” Her laugh was her only response.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sakura was practically nodding off as she watched Sasuke mix and prepare the batch of ingredients for the food pills. She felt relieved at finally seeing headway as Sasuke rolled the batter into 1-inch circular doses according to her instructions and placed them in the hospital’s oven. Sakura had tried to do so herself, but Sasuke had insisted she sit down to avoid screwing them up and risking their progress. Sakura allowed him to take the reins, praying desperately that the food pills would turn out and serve their purpose after such a hassle.
“Sasuke,” she whispered, immediately touching her lips behind the mask as she noticed the decrease in swelling. The ice Sakura had retrieved from icebox was doing its job.
“Hm?” he answered, trashing the latex glove he used to protect his skin and replacing his own. He turned to her then in the dim light, but Sakura couldn’t make out his expression because the only light in the room was a lamp over the counter workspace behind him. There was a shadow concealing his features and Sakura was too tired to try to make them out.
A lot easier now that her lips were shrinking, Sakura asked, “How are you? Any shortness of breath?”
“I’m fine,” he stated simply.
“Good,” she replied, thanking that ridiculous Uchiha blood of his for not reacting to the Ashuwa like her’s had. How ironic, Sakura thought, that even Sasuke’s genetics seemed to be working for him even in this circumstance. How superior he must feel.
Reclined across the small seating bench in the corner, Sakura placed her chin on her chest and inhaled the gentle night breeze that was coming from the opened window. It seemed to be the first night that the sand wasn’t trying to shatter the glass; to be honest, Sakura was surprised that the hospital windows even opened. Perhaps they were high enough on the fourth story to avoid the sand barrage.
Sasuke came to stand before her and Sakura blinked sleepily up at him in an antihistamine induced haze.
“Sleep,” the Uchiha before her ordered. “I’ll wake you when they’re done.”
Sakura wanted to argue that she could manage to stay awake for another 20 minutes while the chakra pills roasted, but she wasn’t that confident in her ability to do so. At most, she could manage maybe 5 more minutes if she concentrated hard enough. She wanted to ask Sasuke about the conversation he had with Satou.
“Sit with me,” she said, but it sounded more like a question. There was a minute of silence as Sasuke observed her. The bench wasn’t roomy, but Sakura was too drowsy to be apprehensive about their proximity. Sasuke must have not been either, because he sat and exhaled when he did so. Perhaps he was tired too.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Sasuke tried not to lean away from her as she settled into his side. He cursed her medicated self for such confidence in a small, darkened space. He counted down the time in his head; he would only have to stay seated here for 17 more minutes. For some reason, that time seemed both entirely too long and entirely too short.
“Satou,” Sakura began, reaching up to take off the medical mask on her face. Sasuke tried not to smirk at the lips that were still puckered despite having minimized in size. He blinked past the image to focus on her words.
“Hn,” he responded sourly, thinking of the man whose name had just been dropped between them like a heavy, unwanted stone. Sasuke didn’t particularly feel like talking about that man. He had, had enough of Satou for one day.
“How did it go?” his teammate probed politely despite being nosey.
“Fine,” he replied shortly, not wanting Sakura to find out about too many details. How would she react if she knew he had used his Sharingan on him? Probably not well. Sakura would continue to dig for more specifics if Sasuke didn’t bring an end to the topic promptly. “His son needs to be sent to Konoha.”
Sakura nodded, not seeming too surprised at Sasuke assessment. Perhaps she had been thinking similarly. “Thank you for talking to him.”
It wasn’t much of a talk, but Sasuke wasn’t going to tell her that, so he just responded again with a finalizing “Hn.”
Sasuke couldn’t help but jump when Sakura’s fingers touched his right hand. “Sasuke,” she began, almost in sleepy inquiry as she brushed his palm with her thumb and index. There was hopefulness in her voice and Sasuke cursed her medication again for her damn self-assurance.
“I..” she began, but Sasuke cut her off before she continued. Sasuke was almost absolutely certain that he knew which words would come next.
“Shh,” he replied, leaning comfortably into her side as his answer to her unspoken confession. “Just sleep.”
After a few breaths, and when Sakura’s head nodded onto his shoulder, Sasuke scooped up her hand into his, finding the courage to splay her fingers with his own and fasten them into place. Even when he would let her go in 15 minutes, Sasuke would lock the moment into his heart to last him the rest of his life.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
When he counted down to the last second in his mind, Sasuke counted a few extra seconds. And then a few more. He thought about letting the doses of chakra pills burn to a crisp in the oven, but he decided against it, reluctantly releasing Sakura’s hand and pulling away from her heavy head.
Making sure that Sakura wouldn’t wake, Sasuke silently rose, turned off the oven and retrieved the pills from inside. He placed them on the counter quietly and turned to lean against the counter. He watched Sakura’s sleeping form for a few minutes, considering if he should wake her as he promised or let her sleep longer. What was the possibility of sitting beside her and stealing a few moments more?
Sasuke knew he was playing a dangerous game. Tomorrow, the Uchiha would test the chakra pill nearby and he and Sakura both were aware of what would happen after that. With the issue of his chakra reserves addressed, he would return to the desert to attempt cross-connecting dimensions again. They both realized Sasuke couldn’t waste any more time.
And with that thought, Sasuke’s stern resolve slipped. He would distance himself later, he thought. He would put the space back between them tomorrow. Tonight, Sasuke wanted to be next to Sakura.
He sat back down beside her and softly took up her hand again. Just for a little while longer.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Sakura woke in the middle of the night from the pain in her arched neck. She blinked past sleep and realized that she was folded into Sasuke’s side with her knees tucked and Sasuke’s head leaning against hers. Not only that, but Sakura froze as she realized her hand was entwined with Sasuke’s between them. The moment was fragile, and Sakura almost cried of joy and then heartbreak as it shattered when Sasuke responded to her shifting.
The weight of his head on hers lifted and Sakura tried not to grab desperately at him to keep him from moving. Instead, Sakura pivoted her eyes to his as his sleep faded and realization appeared on his face.
Sasuke released her hand and stood hurriedly, saying nothing despite how Sakura’s heart wanted answers. She wanted to know if this moment was genuine or if she had been the one to hold onto him in her sleep. Sakura wanted to believe desperately that Sasuke had allowed himself to be transparent for just a moment and had secretly revealed his true feelings for her by holding her as she slept. Had that been the case? Was she being too optimistic? This wouldn’t be the first time their hands had touched. Had he been supporting her as a friend, or did he feel something more? She had to know.
“Sasuke,” she began, but he cut her off for the second time that night.
“Good. You’re awake. Let’s go.” He declared, hastily placing the finished chakra pills in an open travel container on the counter.
Sakura stood then, heart racing and adrenaline pumping as she worked up the courage to come up behind him as he worked. She wasn’t going to confess this time. She was going to ask Sasuke if he had been confessing to her while she slept?
“Do you… love me?”
Sakura was almost certain that he stopped breathing altogether as he paused his task. The Uchiha took a minute to compose himself before exhaling. “When are you going to stop that?”
The statement was meant to be cold, but the fact that it came out so desperately low gave Sakura a rare feeling of hope despite the words. “When are you?” she responded calmly in a whisper.
“What?” he asked incredulously, finally turning to her.
She gradually took the last few steps between them and stood carefully in front of him. “When are you going to stop pretending that you have no feelings for me?”
Sakura expected a scoff, a ridicule, but what she got in return was painful fear in Sasuke’s usually expression-less eyes.
It was true, she realized. Sasuke did have feelings for her. There had been so many signs, but Sakura had been unsure about all of them until this very moment. But what had just passed between them was confirmation. Sakura almost lost her breath at the realization.
“You’re mistaken,” finally came the blunt retort, but it was too late.
Sakura was already closing the inches between them. Her fingers were already brushing his cheeks as she brought his face to hers. She hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to pull away from her. But Sasuke barely took a breath before Sakura touched her lips to his.
#approaching sun#sasusaku#sasuke and sakura#sasukeshinden#sakura hiden#Sasuke Uchiha#Sakura Haruno#ssfanfiction#sasusakufanfiction#blank period#naruto#naruto fanfiction
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Thoughts on Shusumi as a ship?
i think ive stared at this ask long enough to type out something half decent
short answer: no, sorry not for me, but its not her fault.
the rest is under the cut because i love to prattle
long answer: ive talked about this before and ill keep talking about it, which is the tragedy of yoshizawa sumire’s character. basically atlus decided that they wanted to make sumire the perfect girl in the entire game. she has to hit every single box on the waifu checklist without fail.
they introduce her as the mysterious character--she saves joker right at the beginning of the game and its supposed to be a shocking moment for returning players because ‘why does joker need help from some girl oh my she must be so cool!’ and immedietely youre supposed to be intrigued by her and her mystery. but then right after they do that, they re introduce her by doing the most stereotypical archetype of the male love interest saving the cute small girl from a creepy man to show how good of a guy he is and in that moment Atlus had locked themselves into an uneven power dynamic between shusumi--she feels indebted to him because he saved her! so she has to work hard to make it up to him! classic anime trope because dudebros love that whole ‘girl throws herself at me because of how amazing i am’ thing. and its supposed to be a fun play because ‘how fun, they saved each other’ but honestly sumire literally did not need to save joker in sae’s palace because???? what??? it just doesnt make sense?????? even the game couldnt explain that part properly afterwards.
and to add insult to injury, they make her call him senpai. theres this trope in anime called the imoto trope which translates to “little sister.” this could be non-sexual/romantic but many times it just means that a girl looks for guidance to a male figure in her life so he can “protect” her so she feels indebted/reliant to him, etc. the fact that shes the only one calling him senpai makes her perfectly slot into the imoto trope. it’s tripe. its annoying. its demeaning. it’s especially infuriating because futaba is already the imoto figure in this stupid game and she works perfectly without a romantic subplot. they just want to give akira another leg-up over sumire for the dudebros because dudebros eat that kind of shit up
and thats the most annoying thing!!
look, i love yoshizawa sumire with my entire heart. shes a great character with an incredible backstory. ive written a lot of fic about her. i love her. shes great. Atlus knows shes great--they made her great because in order to make a perfect waifu you need to make her three dimensional because the dudebros would never accept a half-assed waifu because jeez who do you think we are
but. atlus did this horrifically infuriating thing where they know sumire is great BUT they did it in a way where she will never ever be better than, or threaten the power and competence, of the player.
its like they’re (atlus) playing the most infuriating game of im not touching you when they were trying to make sumires character. they make this character and she’s super cool (but not rude! because if shes rude then shes a bitch and she wont be waifu material!) and she’s a badass (but she isnt as good as joker! because he still has to be the most skillful character for some reason!) she has to be pretty (but she can’t be interested in shopping or makeup because shes supposed to be smart and not like other girls!)
because atlus miscalculated while they were developping sumire--because they were so desperate in making her a three dimmensional character (because remember, she can’t be one of those normal girls, she has to be different), they erased who she was to the point that she isn’t a character anymore. she’s a girl that’s ten tropes rolled into one--she’s the badass good girl, she’s a girl with a tragic backstory so akira can ‘fix’ her (her flaws are all accounted for and fixed and that is not a good thing in writing but i wont get into it now). its like they wrote this great backstory for a character and then panicked that you might not like her, so they shoved in twelve other tactics to make her likeable.
she’s pretty, she’s deep, she’s perfect. she’s hollow. Yoshizawa Sumire only exists to be a love interest in persona 5 royal.
she can’t stand on her own legs as a character because she isn’t a character--she’s only there to be akira’s perfect other half; from her metaverse outfit, to the weirdly frequent and often one-on-one hangouts the two of them have, to their boss battle??? (oh yes a boss battle is necessary so that these two characters can move past whatever feud they have so their relationship can strengthen and they’re even more perfect together, etc, its another way atlus is forcing us to see how great sumire and akira are together)
and that’s why i dont like shusumi as a ship. because why in hell is atlus trying to shove this “perfect waifu” down our throats when its supposed to be the player’s choice? we as the players have no choice but to see sumire constantly. its like atlus doesnt trust us to see how great their new character is on our own--which is a shame, because ironically if they had given us less sumire screentime i probably would have like how she was used way more.
atlus tried too hard, and that was the cause of sumire’s downfall, and by extension, the downfall of shusumi.
short explanation part two: anyway shusumi isnt for me because it never stood a chance against akiryu
if you like shusumi, great! good for you. but if i was, say, a shuann shipper, i would be so so so annoyed because its like atlus just shafted all of their other characters to make room for their shiny new one.
I don't like shusumi because the result was not enough given the sheer amount of screentime that that had together. It did not justify how much time and development it took away from the other characters. Atlus weakened it's own game by devoting so much of it to shusumi.
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Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 19) - Original Fiction
AN: I was planning of having the entire series through Eishirou’s POV, so readers learn along with him. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have small segments from Zayne’s POV just to have him fawn over Eishirou :3c
Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress
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Chapter 19:
Zayne had no idea what time it was. He truly didn’t care. After the hectic and completely disorganised evacuation of Flutterlight Forest, time seemed meaningless. It moved quickly in moments of chaos. Moved slowly in the quiet aftermath.
And it seemed to drag on even more as he sat by Eishirou’s hospital bed in the medical wing.
The bed was standard for its purpose. And yet it seemed to dwarf the slender Passive that rested upon it.
Eyelids gently closed, hiding his golden eyes. Soft, light pinks parted ever so slightly to offer the softest of breaths into the oxygen mask. Soft brown hair against stark white pillows. Skin a washed-out, unhealthy pale. Yet, colours were starting to return to his cheeks.
White sheets. A silently beeping heart monitor. The methodical drip of saline IV fluid.
All Zayne could think was that Eishirou didn’t deserve to be in such a state. In such a place.
But he was.
Zayne sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair. He wanted to get up and pace. Get up and do something. But he didn’t want to leave his seat, leave Eishirou’s bedside.
So he sat. And as he sat there, he started to think. He honestly couldn’t remember much of what happened at that tower. Fleeting images. Possibly like the ones that Eishirou saw in Recordings. There was a blinding white light. There was Eishirou on the ground, clearly in agony. And after that, as ShadowDwellers continued to gather around, he saw red.
Those ShadowDweller bastards did something to Eishirou. They had to be responsible.
Zayne had felt an absolute fury. One he had never felt before. Elites were trained to be cool and calculating in battle. Show intelligence and skill in all attacks.
But Zayne pretty much lost his shit.
He’d admit it. He lost it. Who wouldn’t in his position?
Other Elites. Of course.
…Who gave a shit what they thought? Surrounded by ShadowDwellers. Their healer in unknown agony. Trapped in an ancient tower. An injured member of another team unconscious and in the crossfire. Let those other Elites claim they could have done better.
They couldn’t have. Had it been another team, they’d be dead. He was certain of it.
Zayne huffed an irritated sigh and leaned back into the hospital chair. He tilted his head back to stare up vacantly at the ceiling for a moment. He soon tilted his head back down and raised his left arm.
And he stared down at his forearm.
There were no marks. Not a wound. Not a scar. There wasn’t even any swelling. Absolutely no sign that he had received any injury.
Yet, that was the arm that was penetrated by three or four steel-like bards. An attack by a ShadowDweller. One that tried to attack Eishirou.
He had moved instinctively.
His whole life, he had been trained to focus on defeating ShadowDweller first and foremost. Anything, everything else came second. But back then, in that tower, Zayne’s first priority was Eishirou’s safety.
And he was going to use any means necessary to ensure it.
Eishirou needed it. He deserved it.
Eishirou…
He was unlike anyone he had met before.
Zayne remembered their first meeting. How Eishirou cheerfully greeted him. How Zayne was slightly taken aback by how…cute the guy was. Despite having just met the guy, he was somewhat startled by how immediate his protective instincts were.
And he remembered how Eishirou had subtly winced, unconsciously backing away from him ever so slightly when his golden eyes landed on Zayne’s Elite badge. He managed to maintain his smile, yet it had lost some of its warmth. Replaced with trepidation and resignation.
It was then that Zayne knew the guy was a Passive.
There was a moment where Zayne thought the guy would turn and flee. Like other Passives in the past. Yet, he stayed. Smiled apologetically when he revealed Zayne’s team was escorting them on a mission. Continued to engage with him, even after knowing he was an Elite.
It might have been because of Zayne’s dismissiveness of he being a Passive. But that wasn’t it. Not fully.
There was no reason for him to indulge Zayne’s curiosity. No reason to talk openly about anything but work and ShadowDwellers. No reason to speak with him so informally.
But he did.
And it was in those short conversations that Zayne’s protective instincts heightened. Something in him just decided; Eishirou was adorable and delicate, and he had to protect him no matter what.
It was an odd feeling, he had to admit.
But he trusted his instincts. Not in the way he was taught. But he trusted his gut all the same.
Zayne had never met anyone so genuinely…excited about, well, anything before.
The way his eyes lit up; his amber gaze practically shimmering. The smile on his lips was broad and genuine. How his prattled on and on, almost to the point of breathlessness.
And how…happy he looked when Zayne expressed interest.
Zayne reached forward to idly touch a lock of Eishirou’s hair, allowing the soft brown strands to fall between his fingers and back onto the pillow.
Passives were…fragile.
Zayne needed to be more cautious. Be more careful.
And be far more protective.
The sound of sharp footsteps prompted Zayne to pull his hand back and push himself back into his chair. He turned his head toward the door to the small ward and noticed a member of medical staff.
The blue-haired professor, Neriah if he wasn’t mistaken, stepped into the ward once more. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose as he concentrated on the tablet in his hands. He idly glanced up, likely to check up on Eishirou, only to do a subtle double-take. He was obviously surprised and startled that Zayne was still there. By Eishirou’s bedside. Still dressed in his bloodied clothing.
“You should get some rest,” the professor stated, not suggested.
“Elites are trained to stay awake and alert for up to four days,” Zayne responded without much thought.
Neriah, however, arched an eyebrow. He was surprisingly not intimidated by him, by his words or presence. He simply nodded his head as he walked around him, unconcerned, and stood by the foot of Eishirou’s hospital bed.
“Oh, I know,” he responded. “Unlike Researchers who do it because they’re surprisingly stupid.”
The corner of Zayne’s mouth twitched into a smirk but chose not to otherwise respond. Eishirou had mentioned previously that he, along with other researchers, had the habit of forgetting to eat and sleep.
Still, it was nice that the Professors of this academy weren’t afraid of Elite students. Not like the one he transferred from…
“Though, since you’re still here; remember anything previous to the evacuation?” Neriah suddenly asked. Likely just wanting notes for his files.
Zayne huffed up a breath to blow a strand of hair from his eyes. “Nah. I remember losing my shit. And then doing what it takes to get out of there.”
Neriah nodded his head idly as he tapped at the screen of his tablet. “Running on adrenaline and instinct, then.”
Protectiveness and rage, too, probably.
“As the adrenaline declines, you may begin to remember more,” Neriah continued as he sighed something off with his tablet.
Zayne nodded his head absentmindedly as his gaze shifted back toward Eishirou. Disappointed that he was as still and as pale as before. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quietly.
“He has extreme mana depletion and exhaustion,” Neriah unexpectedly explained. “He’s unlikely to awaken for a day or so.”
Zayne was unable to prevent a frown from appearing on his lips as a twinge of guilt gnawed at him. Mana depletion. Through the continuous use of mana. Was his condition from the numerous Recordings he had pulled? Or was it because he had healed Zayne of his injuries?
No, it had to be both.
“He’s in stable condition and I’ve got my rounds,” Neriah said as he walked toward the door. “Shout if you need anything.”
“Sure,” was all Zayne uttered as he watched the professor walk out the door. The sound of his footsteps fading away.
Back in that stifling silence, Zayne leaned his head back against his chair and stared up at the ceiling.
What happened? What actually happened in that tower?
A bright light. Blinding. And when it faded, Eishirou was…on the ground, clutching his chest with blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. There was something else. Something red floating before him. He…regarded it. He seemed to know what it was.
And after that…?
Eishirou had…healed him. Somehow. Without touching him. But Zayne knew, beyond doubt, that it was Eishirou that had healed him. That gentle, warming presence. He felt it before. When he battled against that Centipede ShadowDweller.
Only the healing was far stronger than before.
And he felt intense anger after that.
It was protective. Primal in a way.
The ShadowDwellers had swarmed him after his wounds had healed. He…remembered that part. After…after Eishirou fell to his knees, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, the ShadowDwellers suddenly reacted differently. Instead of focusing on Eishirou, like they had done previously, they turned on Zayne.
And he slashed the shit out of them. They attacked him in return. Some managed to land, yet…he didn’t feel any of them.
He remembered feeling a sense of satisfaction when they circled him. Slopping and scurrying about. He remembered thinking; “good, now I can kill you all at once.”
The sooner he killed the bastards, the sooner he could get to Eishirou. And get him to safety.
That was all that mattered.
Zayne was pulled from his musings upon another presence entering the room. He instinctively looked over and watched as Professor Chryses, or Jacob, Eishirou’s godfather, entered the room. His face was drawn, his expression sombre.
It was a tight expression. One used when they were reigning in their worry and concern. He had that same expression when he met them in the helicopter bay with the medical team.
Eishirou looked so…small when Jacob hastily took him from Zayne’s arms and held him in his own.
He really was a mountain of a man. Even by Elite standards. He looked like he could be an Elite. But he was a Passive. He definitely was a Passive. He didn’t act like an Elite. Didn’t walk around with a sense of superiority. Or had his head shoved clean up his own ass.
More importantly, he didn’t treat Passives like shit.
Jacob was Eishirou’s godfather, but Zayne had to admit that he was surprised that the man was so openly affectionate about the kid.
As Jacob walked into the room, his attention was forced entirely on Eishirou. It actually took him a moment to realise that Zayne was also present. When he did, he was momentarily surprised.
“Oh, you’re still here, Zayne?” he questioned, curiosity in his voice as he walked over to stand on the other side of Eishirou’s bed. “I’d figured Sigmund would have snared you by now.”
Zayne shrugged, deciding not to mention that he hadn’t told Professor Sigmund where he was. The stoic Elite professor could find him on his own if he needed him so badly. Though, he had to admit he was surprised that Earnesta hadn’t hunted him down.
“You did a good job bringing Eishirou home,” Jacob suddenly said. “And you protected him the best you could. You have my thanks.”
Zayne snapped his head toward him, unable to prevent a frown. Thanks? What for? Eishirou was lying pale as a ghost on a hospital bed. He hadn’t moved for hours. Unlikely to do for hours more.
He had done nothing to be thankful for.
“Not the ideal condition, sure,” Jacob said with a forced half grin. But his expression soon took on a sullen, nostalgic hue. “As long as he’s home. We can deal with anything after that.”
…Eishirou was truly cared for, wasn’t he? Yet, his own godfather seemed to trust him. Trust him to protect someone so important to him.
Despite everything that had happened, Zayne felt his resolve strengthen. He had been given the position of ensuring Eishirou’s safety. And he was going to see to that.
No matter what.
… … … … …
Eishirou was in that strange state of semi-consciousness. Where he was awake, but too tired and too comfortable to move. His bed was warm and soft, and his body felt too heavy to attempt to move. He was conscious enough to know that he wasn’t dreaming and to have the coherent thought that he should get up and be productive. But tired and lazy enough to simply roll over and go back to sleep.
Hmm. He couldn’t remember if he had any dreams last night. He must have been exhausted and just fell into bed.
“Eishirou? Can you hear me?”
Huh? Jacob? What was he doing in his room? Why did he have to wake him up? He was tired and comfortable, and just wanted to go back to sleep.
“Come now, Eishirou, I need you to wake up now.”
Strange. There was a sense of urgency in Jacob’s voice. He had better wake up and see what he wanted. It must be important.
It was a struggle to open his eyes, surprisingly. His eyelids felt heavy and could only muster to weakly flutter them open. He found himself staring up at a while ceiling. A ceiling he wasn’t all that familiar with.
A movement from the corner of his eye prompted Eishirou to roll his head to the side. Though his vision was blurry, he could make out the form of someone familiar.
“…Jacob?” Eishirou murmured as he squinted his eyes. His throat felt unexpectedly dry and tight.
Jacob looked undeniably haggard; dark rings under his eyes, hair a mess, and rather pale. He, however, managed a smile as he ran a hand through his short hair. “Christ, kid, you had me age ten years.”
He was…worried?
Eishirou furrowed his brow and swallowed thickly. “Where am I…?”
A movement from the right side of the bed immediately prompted Eishirou to roll his head to the other side. He was surprised to find that Neriah was there, too. Sat on the right side of his bed. A stethoscope around his neck and a medical clipboard in his hand.
“You’re in the infirmary,” Neriah was the one to answer. “You’ve been here for twenty-four hours.”
Infirmary? He was back at the academy already?
Wait, a day? He had been sleeping for the entire day? Wow. He hadn’t done that before!
“Ok, kid, I need you to tell me what happened,” Jacob said, his tone serious. “Ernesta told me as much as she could, but I need to hear it from you now.”
Eishirou rolled his head back to blink up at the ceiling. What happened…?
He was on an assignment, wasn’t he? To Flutterlight Forest. To investigate the forest and the underground chamber. He remembered walking through tunnels. A cave painting. A recording. And then…
Missing Elites. They found one.
A white tower. A small key. A puzzle on the door.
Inside the tower was a stained glass mosaic.
They were then ambushed by ShadowDwellers. Humanoid ShadowDwellers.
And then…
Eishirou’s eyes widen and he sprung up in bed. “Wait, the Red Lily!”
His vision abruptly blurred and his hearing was drowned out by his pulse throbbing in his head. His world tilted, and so did he. He had to desperately grasp at the bedsheets to prevent himself from toppling out of the bed.
“Easy!” Jacob immediately scolded as he reached out to grasp him by the shoulder and guided him to stay upright. “Your blood pressure is low so no sudden movements.”
Eishirou dropped his head forward to his chest and he grasped at his forehead with his right hand. His hearing was still slightly impaired by the throbbing in his head. He felt somewhat nauseated, too.
He pushed all that aside as he grasped at Jacob’s arm and looked directly at him. “Where’s Zayne?”
“He’s been here,” Jacob pacified. “Neriah here had to kick him out so that he could get some rest himself.”
“He wasn’t hurt?”
“No, not an injury to be found,” Neriah was the one to answer, which prompted Eishirou to turn to in his direction in time to note a half smile on his lips. “From what I understand, he had been by your side the throughout the entire ordeal.”
Eishirou uttered a sigh of relief. Good, he wasn’t harmed.
“But, what about Mikiel?”
Neriah unexpectedly rolled his eyes. Yet there was a sense of fondness in the motion. “Full of questions as always. He’s alive. His injuries have been largely healed. Yet, he still lies in a coma.”
Eishirou couldn’t supress a wince at the memory. “He had swelling of the brain.”
“And a skull fracture, I know,” Neriah replied as he nodded his head idly. “He’s stable. You did what was necessary. You kept him alive.”
That was honestly the best Eishirou could do with the circumstances he was given. At least Mikiel was alive. He was sure they would be able to handle anything that followed.
But that led to a few more questions. He was in a bed. In a medical bay. In the infirmary. His last memory was ShadowDwellers and the sudden appearance of the Red Lily. Nothing after that.
“How did I end up here?” Eishirou asked as he motioned idly to the room around him. “I don’t remember the journey back.”
Jacob leaned back into his chair that had been pulled close to the bed. “Team 3 contacted Communications requesting an emergency evacuation,” he explained as he folded his arms across his chest. “Zayne was the one to ensure your safety. I know about the white tower and the stained glass. Zayne informed me. I haven’t had the chance to inspect the report or photos, but I’ll get to those later.”
Didn’t have the time? That meant he had stayed by his bedside for the entire time, didn’t it?
“Now, lie down and relax,” Jacob ordered lightly. “I need your side of the story. What happened when those ShadowDwellers attacked?”
Eishirou allowed himself to sink into the mattress and pillow. He found himself staring up at the ceiling as he became lost in thought.
Right, what did happen?
“I’m…not sure,” he admitted. “I just remember fragments. The ShadowDwellers were unbelievable. Zayne was protecting me. He got hurt. And…there was a bright light. And the Red lily suddenly appeared. It was just…there.”
Had it been inside the tower the entire time? Why did it appear when it did? More importantly, how did it appear suddenly like that?
Did it react to something? To him?
Eishirou uttered a sigh and clutched at his forehead. He had so many questions. One thing was clear to him, however, that the Red Lily did appear. And it appeared during a desperate moment.
“I…used the Red Lily to give Zayne my healing,” Eishirou continued. “I think. I can’t remember.”
Jacob sat forward in his seat. “Used?”
“I heard a voice. It asked me what I wanted to do.”
It called him something, too. Something soul. Something else he didn’t fully remember.
However, he certainly remembered how it felt to have his energy drained from him. That was exactly what it was; his healing skills and mana were drained from him. And given to Zayne.
It hurt. A lot.
…He shouldn’t tell Zayne.
Eishriou uttered a sigh as he dropped his arm listlessly to his side. He licked his lips and swallowed thickly. It was difficult, though. “Can I have some water? I taste copper. Was I coughing up blood?”
“You were,” Neriah answered as he reached toward the bedside table where a water pitcher sat. “You were clutching your chest, too.”
As Jacob helped Eishirou to sit up, he barely supressed a grimace. He couldn’t imagine how unnerving that sight would have been. Especially if it happened just after encountering the Red Lily.
“How bad am I?” Eishirou couldn’t help but ask as Neriah handed him a cup of cool water.
Neriah’s answer was thankfully brief. “Better than when you first arrived. Severe acute exhaustion and mana depletion. Now, drink slowly.”
Eishirou grasped the glass with both hands. The urge to gulp it down was there, but he resisted. He sipped at the water slowly until he drank the entire glass. It felt so good against his dry, terse throat.
“What happened to the Red Lily?” Eishirou asked as Neriah retrieved the glass from him.
Jacob leaned forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s at the museum. You had it clutched tightly in your left hand. It took a while for us to coax you into letting go.”
Eishirou blinked. “The Red Lily is here?”
Jacob abruptly raised his hand to silence any further questions he had. “Never mind that now. How are you feeling?”
It honestly took Eishirou a moment to figure out how to reply. He didn’t feel all that bad. “Just a little dizzy and tired.”
“That’s to be expected,” Neriah said as he idly adjusted his reading glasses. “And those symptoms are likely to linger for the next couple of days. Less, if you actually take it easy.”
Eishirou frowned. Whenever a doctor would say “take it easy” what he really meant was to do absolutely nothing. And he didn’t like doing absolutely nothing. Especially if there was a relic around for him to help investigate!
“What about classes?” he asked.
Neriah sighed aloud and immediately snapped his gaze toward Jacob. “He has inherited your inability to take it easy,” he stated, sounding surprisingly bitter.
“Hey now.” Jacob immediately threw his hands up in front of him in both a surrender and pacifying manner. “Don’t try to pin that on me.”
“I really shouldn’t expect a man who forgets to eat for an entire day to instil a sense of self-preservation in his apprentice.”
“It is perfectly natural for researchers and chroniclers to possess a determined work ethic.”
“Work ethic? Working until you collapse from exhaustion isn’t exactly what I would call a healthy work ethic.”
“Now you’re just being overly dramatic. I haven’t passed out from exhaustion for years.”
“What about last month?”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Yes, it does!”
Eishirou had to snigger quietly to himself at the two professors as they bicker back and forth across his bed. They had been friends for years. And it was easy to tell.
Over the continuous bickering, Eishirou heard the sound of rapid footsteps in the hall just outside the room. He turned his head in time to watch the door to his room fly open and a certain blue-haired Elite stood on the threshold.
“Eishirou?”
Eishirou immediately perked up. “Zayne!”
Zayne used the door frame as leverage to push himself into the room and Eishirou raised his arms, outstretched toward the Elite. As Zayne reached him, he crouched down next to his bed and allowed Eishirou to wrap his arms around his neck. While he slipped his own arms around Eishirou’s waist.
Eishirou rested his chin on Zayne’s shoulder and hugged him back as tightly as Zayne held him. Neriah did tell him that Zayne was fine. No injuries whatsoever. But he still felt relief seeing him with his own eyes.
After a lingering moment, Zayne finally pulled back. He kept his hands on his shoulders, however, as he knelt on the floor next to his bed. “You’re ok?”
Eishirou nodded. “I’m all right.”
“Did those ShadowDwellers do something to you?” Zayne asked him with a brow furrowed in concern.
Eishirou shook his head this time. “It wasn’t the ShadowDwellers. It was the Red Lily.”
Zayne’s concern soon turned into confusion. “That relic?”
“I…used it to heal your injuries,” Eishirou explained the best he could. “It took a lot of energy. That’s why I’m exhausted. I’m all right, though.”
Zayne didn’t appear all that convinced. He also looked confused, which was hardly a surprise. Eishirou himself didn’t remember how he used the relic. He barely remembered much of what happened after those Humanoid ShadowDwellers ambushed them.
Speaking of which;
“What happened to those ShadowDwellers?”
Zayne hesitated for a moment, his expression blank. Yet there was a sense of…something in his eyes. “They were…defeated.”
There was something he wasn’t telling him. Eishirou had to admit that he was curious. But he was sure Zayne had his reasons and it would do no good to anyone to demand answers here and now.
Eishirou was just relieved that Zayne was ok.
And the rest of the team, too, of course.
The thought of Elite Team 3 reminded him of Mikiel, and ultimately of the condition they found him. And how he was alone.
“What about those missing Elite Teams?” Eishirou asked.
“They’re still searching for them,” Jacob was the one to answer, abruptly reminding Eishirou that he was indeed still there. “They’ve sent several veteran Elites to investigate the island and to deal with those ShadowDwellers.”
Veteran Elites?
They were Elites who were in their mid-thirties or older. They didn’t move in teams, but rather worked solo. They were more than capable of handling things by themselves. As the name indicated, they were warrior Elites who had decades of experience.
Administration must be worried to send those harden fighters to explore the area.
“Needless to say, the Midnight Islands and Flutterlight Forest are off limits for a while,” Jacob continued. “Which means-”
“Which means I won’t be going back to inspect the tower, huh?” Eishirou interrupted with a disappointed pout.
Jacob nodded his head solemnly while Neriah sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Zayne, however, looked somewhat baffled. No doubt wondering why he would want to return to that place after such a close encounter. To him, returning to inspect the stained glass wouldn’t be worth the time or effort.
And Eishirou couldn’t really blame him for feeling that way. A part of him felt the same. He didn’t want to head back in if it meant putting Zayne and his teammates in danger again. Yet, the other part of him wanted to out of sheer curiosity and wanted to learn more about the Red Lily.
Never mind any of that, though. It wasn’t like he could be rebellious and go back on his own. He’d doubt they would let him out of the hangers. And he certainly couldn’t walk to the destination. Swim, more like it.
He’d muse about the Red Lily later. First, he needed to sweettalk his way out of the infirmary. The mood that Neriah was in, he suspected it wasn’t going to be easy.
“So, anyway, since I’m awake and all that, can I go back to my room?” Eishirou asked.
Neriah picked up his medical chart and replied in a matter-a-fact manner; “I want you to stay for one more day.”
“I can’t just go back to my room? I promise not to do anything strenuous,” Eishirou pleaded, even going as far as clapping his hands in front of him in a further pleading motion.
Neriah narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. The movement was subtle, but Eishirou knew exactly what it meant. He had lost this conversation long before it even started.
“We’ve already established that Chroniclers are incapable of taking it easy,” Neriah said as he poked Eishirou in the middle of his forehead. “Personally, I want you to stay a week. So, I’m being nice. Don’t push it.”
Don’t push it indeed!
“Zayne will just have to keep you company,” Neriah continued. “Until lights out, of course.”
Eishirou glanced over at Zayne. Well, that didn’t sound too bad.
#original fiction#writblr#young adult#scifi fantasy#rpglit#gay romance#relic keepers: awakening of the red lily
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looking for longterm novella-style partner
general
hey guys i'm lauren, 26 years old and living in EST! i just got dumped and thought i'd fill the void in my life with some good, good writing so i'm looking for some people to plot and rp with. i'm usually bopping around on social media and love talking to my partners, whether it's getting to know them or just plotting future events for our characters.
i'm also very ditch-friendly! if you're tired of me or our rp, totally just ghost me, i'll get the hint. no need to get all anxious over breaking up with a partner. it's rping, it's all chill. if you're able to, giving me a head's up that you're not feeling the rp would be great though! i will absolutely return the courtesy if i'm not feeling it anymore either.
as a quick side note, i will only rp with people over the age of 21, and have a preference for partners over the age of 23! i just feel more comfortable when my partner is around the same age as me.
posts and characters
i only write in third person past tense and would prefer for my partner to do the same. i'm very flexible with post lengths, but i tend to be on the wordy side. i'd love it if you could provide four or five paragraphs per post on average, though i absolutely value quality over quantity so post length isn't a huge concern of mine as long as there's something to reply to! longer posts are wonderful as well, and i have no issue waxing lengthy posts if that is your preference.
i generally reply at least once a day or once every other day, but even if i'm tied up with work and not able to reply consistently, i'll absolutely be available to chat. i'll let you know when i'm busy and love to shoot plot ideas back and forth even when i can't put aside a chunk of time to reply.
characters! i love playing multiple characters, but having a singular main character is great too. i prefer playing OCs but can also do canons, which i'll talk about more below. i have no preference about what sort of character you're playing, that's your decision! i like to develop new characters for each rp i do, but feel free to bring in old characters if that's what you want! i like characters that are complex and interesting and not ultra-powerful people -- or if they are, you're able to explore the emotional repercussions of it. if you're looking for a specific sort of character to play yours against, give me some guidelines before i whip up an OC and i'll be happy to make someone that fits your needs. i adore creating characters, and like making side or background characters that pass through or come in and out of the plot.
i like creating characters before the plot, rather than the other way around. i have a huge preference for character-driven plots -- putting our characters in a setting, and then letting their specific quirks and motivations lead where the rp goes next.
i also can provide rp samples if you'd like to see my writing before we rp!
genres; love and sex
so first let me prattle off some original character genres that i love! i will list fandoms later.
• adventure; anything with a band of people coming together and forming a found family, traveling together on the way to a goal with obstacles thrown in their way
• fantasy; i adore fantasy, whether it's magical realism or all out medieval fantasy. world-building is one of my favorite things. sci-fi is great too, but i'm not great when things get too tech-y haha
• paranormal/mythical creatures; sort of goes with the fantasy, but i'm always down to rp different species in any sort of setting
• fairy tales; i love taking old fairy tales or stories and giving them a unique twist, whether it's making them #gritty or just tossing them in a different sort of setting
• superheroes; people with superpowers using it for good or evil and coming together yesss
• romance; romance is great and i'll discuss that below, but i prefer this to be like a sub-genre
• AUs; i love taking a fandom and making it an alternate timeline or AUing it completely. also once we have characters and a rp established, i love love love talking about AUs for our characters. i will AU everything, there is no AU too AUish for me
those are just my favorites so feel free to suggest others, but i will not do slice of life. i just find myself bogged down when there's not a defined plot, and it doesn't keep my interest. i also love these things if you'd be interested in tossing any of them in the rp:
• mages
• shapeshifters
• daemons [like from his dark materials]
• people with horns or wings
• pirates
• dragons
pairings
what up what up. i love rps with a dash of romance, whether our characters come in as an awesome couple battle duo, or two dorks realizing they're developing a crush on each other. either way, i don't like characters who are not in a relationship immediately getting together -- i'm all about the bonding and character development. i do not like rping cishet m/f pairings. bi girl and bi dude falling in love is great. trans man and trans woman falling in love is great. ace woman and a masculine nb person falling in love is great. any other type of lgbtqia+ pairing is great. if you have a general preference for m// or f// just let me know!
i also love anything unconventional, from happy polyamorous couples to obsessive unrequited pining. love triangles are great, conflict is great, anything to keep the relationship fresh and interesting without verging into the realm of over-dramatic. if you're looking for someone to rp a dark and unhealthy romance with, i am your person. also if you want to rp cute poly couples. i am also that person.
for fandoms, i'll do canon/canon and OC/OC but not canon/OC!
smut
smut is totally rad, as long as it's not the sole focus of the rp. i like the smut to add something to the character, the characters' relationship, or the plot in addition to just being for porn's sake. cute smut is great. dark smut is great. getting to do both is even better. i do have a handful of smut-based limits including things like water sports, pedophilia, vore -- if you want a complete list just ask when you contact me. themes i would enjoy exploring typically depend on the character and what my partner's limits are.
limits
i don't have any limits besides the aforementioned smut limits. besides that, i love violence, gore, and swearing. i like exploring dark themes when the rp calls for it. i do not like rping with people who treat trauma, abuse, and psychopathy as personal traits or try to make things obnoxiously dark and gritty. but otherwise everything's pretty much on the table! if you have any limits please let me know -- i have no problem not swearing or avoiding certain topics or fading to black if that is your preference.
fandoms
stars denote preference.
dragon age [origins; da2; inquisition] ✩✩✩
dragon age is my favorite thing in the world and i would love someone to rp it with. i have a preference for OCs though would also be up to rping canon characters. rping an OC MC with OC companions is my jam, though i also like exploring what the rest of the world is up to while the main plot is going on. also any AU of dragon age is great -- inquisition in a modern setting, kirkwall with a sci-fi twist; universe diverging where the bad guy wins and stuff like that.
pokemon [any gen] ✩✩✩
i am always down for a pokemon rp you have no ideaaa. however i really like my pokemon rps more serious (i know how ridiculous that sounds). i like exploring aspects of the pokemon world outside of just being a trainer and getting badges. i like to rp pokemon like they're intelligent animals, meaning that wild pokemon aren't so easily tamed and pokemon can get hurt. i'm also so down for crossbreeds/fusions. i have some plot ideas in mind for pokemon and would love to hear yours!
final fantasy [IV, VII, VIII, crisis core, advent children, dissidia] ✩✩
i have this random love for IV, but honestly i am total VII trash and have been playing the remake a lot. i'm also a little familiar with XIV and have some OCs already created for a setting like that.
fallout [any game] ✩✩
would love to do OCs for this, and admittedly something in the commonwealth would be rad because i've played 4 most recently. brotherhood of steel is always great, anything with them is awesome. also stuff with synths that involves questioning what it means to be human and have faith in your own identity/memories w/e w/e would be cool. also just a general AU of a fallout-like setting maybe set in a city that hasn't been explored yet.
kingdom hearts [any game] ✩
i'd love something in the bbs era, but honestly anything is great. exploring nobodies successfully turned into ansem-heart-holders, the new keyblade warriors to defeat ansem (this guy gets around), or kh1&2 characters during the bbs time is all great. for canon characters sora, aqua, ventus, marluxia, and larxene are the ones i've played the most but i'm always looking to branch out.
medium
i like to rp over discord, email, or google docs, with a separate discord channel or IM for separate chatting and plotting. i'm also open to making a joint tumblr blog that we both post our posts on, which i did not know was a thing until very recently!
contact
if you're interested please shoot me a message on my tumblr or at Lauren#5244 on discord! :)
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Beautiful Disaster: Chapter 5 (Pynch Soulmate AU)
Alrighty my loves, this chapter has been a labor of love from the beginning. As you continue reading you will see art pieces and each is correlated with a song (those will be at the end), and references yet again will be made to the EMFS playlist (Ronan’s rehab playlist- I’ve actually made it on spotify! you can find it here)
As usual you can find this story on Ao3 @ glam_reaper 2 if you’re interested <3
TW: Mention of suicide attempt, a panic attack though not super descriptive, cannon typical language.
Iv.
You,
I made a friend last week.
I know for most people that wouldn’t be a big deal, but I assume by now You understand what that means for someone like me. I guess “friend” may be a generous term? I don’t know if we are there yet, Blue definitely disagrees with him “on principle.”
You see, President Cellphone as she calls him, or Richard Campbell Gansey III (I know, what a douchey fucking name) is all boat shoes and privledge and perfect teeth. Gansey isn’t someone I’d normally associate with mind you, Henry kind of met my quota for rich extroverts in the inner circle, and yet…
So, here’s the story. I’m writing my last letter right? And I was so fucking lost. I decided to walk home from Nino’s- I thought maybe it would help me settle. And there, right around the corner is this fucking ‘73 camero. It should have been beautiful, really.. A classic like that? It’s a dream to look at. Only this fucking thing is the UGLIEST color of candy orange you could ever imagine… And it’s blowing smoke all over the damn place. I was honestly going to leave boat-shoes to call his daddy or mechanic or what have you, but he looked so confused. I offered to help him out and was able to get it running long enough to get to Boyd’s.
I expected him to just drop off “The Pig” (the car) like any normal person and come back for it, only I apparently made “quite the impression.”
Gansey ended up staying with me, prattling on about his Masters History program and some welsh king the ENTIRE time I worked on the damn car. At first I was tuning him out, but without realizing it I became completely entranced by the whole story. I’ve never seen such passion for anything, and I have VERY spirited friends.
He has one of those voices you know? The kind that can stop a room, raise an army, lead a nation. The kind that demands to be heard without ever having to raise itself.
That’s Gansey though.
I think he’ll be good for me, I don’t think he’d give me much of a choice in the matter though to be honest. He kind of adopted me this week? That should bother me and yet, being around him is just… It’s being included. It’s a sense of purpose.
I think he needs it too, he doesn’t seem to talk about negative things but you can tell, he’s haunted by something. That’s what solidified it for me really. He may be a senator’s son but he’s seen some shit.
I wish you could have met him, I wonder if you would have been as intrigued by him as I find myself.
Blue is being a total idiot about him, but I’m about 82% sure it’s because she is into him. I know for sure the feeling is mutual. It took Gans approximately 15 minutes after meeting Blue to ask me for her life story, offend her beyond measure, and then haul ass out of Nino’s. It was the first time I’d seriously laughed in so long. Have you ever been second-hand embarrassed for someone? It was that.
I’m going to wrap this up now though, I need to head to Nino’s for my shift, Blue’s working so of course Gans is stopping by. He said he’s bringing one of his best friends with him, some dude named Noah. Apparently he’s pretty cool, so I’m moderately less apprehensive. He said he wished he could bring his other best friend/ his and Noah’s third roommate but the guy is staying with family for a few months or something. Idk? He doesn’t talk about the other roommate much. I honestly don’t even think he’s ever said his name. Who gives a shit though, I can barely handle one new friend, let alone a 3-pack of Ganseys. Good God… I hope Noah isn’t another Gansey…. Fuck.
Welp.
Here goes nothing.
*****
It started with a not-so-subtle idea from the esteemed Dr. Allen. “Show me what happened.” Ronan was never great with words before all this, and since… When he spoke it was usually a litany of curse words. So Dr. Allen had suggested art. In the weeks since his entombment in this fine rehabilitation center, Ronan had kind of already been doing what he was being asked to do now. Though, he didn’t mention it to Allen. He’d spent countless hours sketching his life, the whole thing, in snapshots inside that beautiful leather sketchbook Gansey had given him.
He started at the beginning, pictures of Aurora and his brothers, the Barns, his father playing guitar by the fire. He drew their family vacations, the cows he used to sneak out and sleep beside when he was a child, the feeling of winning the Tennis State Championship when he was 15. He drew the bad things too, his nightmares, his drug-trips, that old stained couch in the basement of Kavinsky’s house. He put every piece of himself, all 22 years of memories down in that book, woven together with song lyrics in the margins.
So when Dr. Allen asked him to look specifically to his addiction and create, he didn’t see a problem. He needed to return to school with a series anyways, Declan had called to inform him that strings had been pulled to allow him to finish his final semester at Georgetown, but he needed to walk in with something to show at the January exhibition. Two birds, and all that.
He settled on 7 pieces, each done in oils on canvas, each accompanied by a song. 7 moments in the life of his battle with addiction, from the beginning to now. With each stroke of his brush he felt infinesmally lighter, pouring his grief into the images before him.
It started with “The Fall.” His father’s murder in reds and greys; fracturing lines and deep shadows. He mixed his paints with tears and used his heart to drag color across the canvas. For the first time in years, Ronan allowed the memory to consume him. He’d re-lived it plenty of times in his nightmares, but this was different. His hands shook, jagged strokes of anger and confusion bleeding through. He painted the brief moment, the final moment, when his world was whole before his teenage mind finally realized what it was he was looking at. His last free breath. And he painted his screams, the cacophony of pain, endlessly mixing with sirens until his vocal chords gave out.
He drowned the canvas in un-kept promises and hung it out to dry with childhood dreams.
Then came “Chasing the Void.” It was a story told in stark lighting. High beams on a backroad, swirling smoke and broken bottles. It was white glasses and white-powder lines on shark-nosed hood. It was going 115mph, bones rattling with the beat of the bass in his sound system. Ronan painted a black tattoo, used the blood on his knuckles to tint bloodshot eyes. His brush moved with his mother’s disappointment and his brother’s anger. Whimsical lines and Gansey’s head shaking when he found Ronan passed out yet again. He painted the highs and lows when sobriety reminded him that he hated the face that stared back at him in the mirror.
Each new piece he added to the collection was brought to Dr. Allen’s office. Together they worked through each memory associated with the piece and slowly Ronan felt the weight on his chest lighten.
Gansey visited every Monday and Friday like clockwork. He kept Ronan apprised to all the goings on of Monmouth and updates on Matthew and Declan. Ronan never asked for them, but he appreciated it regardless. His current obsession though seemed to be a new friend, Adam something. He had been going on for 30 minutes now about how this man single-handedly raised the Pig from the dead. Ronan tuned out most of the conversation, but nodded at what he assumed were appropriate moments while sketching.
“Ronan, are you even paying attention?” Gansey asked, irritation only slightly evident.
“Mmm?” Ronan hummed. “For sure. Pig. Smoke. Some new guy.”
“Essentially. I was saying that Noah and I are heading to his second job, the man works 2 jobs and is getting a masters can you believe it? Anyways Nino’s, so Noah can finally meet him and Blue. Have I mentioned her yet?”
Blue? He thought. Who the fuck names their kid Blue. “Once or twice.”
“Well they both work this afternoon, so I assume we’ll just hang there until they get off. Then maybe grab a bite. I wish you could come, I’m sure you’d get along nicely with Adam.” Gansey said, choosing to ignore the previous sarcasm and barrell on. Excelsior.
“Doubt it.” Guy sounds like a douche.
“On that note, thank you for another lovely visit. I’ll see you Monday, Ronan.” Gansey gathered his coat and made his way to the door with a final wave.
Ronan waved back with a single finger and a saccharine “Bye, Dick.” Then shoved his Airpods back into his ears and lost himself in the EMFS playlist.
*****
As Adam gathered the tub of dirty dishes from above the trash and made his way back to wash them, he was lost in thought. These last two weeks, recent events, had been so much and yet he strangely was beginning to feel some semblance of peace. He knew that Blue had wanted him to write letters to help him cope. If he was admitting to it helping, he also needed to be honest with himself in noting that it may have been hurting just as much. He was falling in love with a ghost. A figment of his imagination that he could tell his every secret too, someone who listened without judgment; Someone who never asked more of him than he could handle. It wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what Blue had intended, of that he was sure. But, if it brought him peace and allowed him to sleep without seeing cold, dead eyes, then what was the harm?
He rinsed the mugs and plates loading them efficiently into the dishwasher, and dried his hands. As he moved to toss the towel into the bin, he heard the bell chime above the cafe door. He made his way slowly to the front, knowing that Blue was currently handling the register meant that he didn’t need to rush. On his way down the hallway he stopped to straighten a missing cat flier on the community bulletin board, taking a moment to snap a picture of the cat in question so he could be on the lookout, then continued toward the front; eyes glued to his phone.
He rounded the corner towards the coffee bar to the tune of laughter, it seemed Gansey had arrived. His eyes found Blue first. For all her insistance that she loathed the man in question, she was positively glowing, head tossed back in a hearty laugh. Lost in the bubble of charm Gansey operated in.
“-And so I asked him, mind you I’ve had a lot to drink at this point, ‘Hey senator, why do you fucking hate poor peo-‘ Oh! Adam” Ganseys story of embarrassing his mother at one of her Republican fundraisers interrupted, as he caught sight of Adam sliding behind the bar.
“Hey Gans,” He smiled.
“My apologies, this is Noah.” Gansey stepped to the side to reveal the man in question, and Adam’s breath stopped.
There, eyes blue and wide with shock, mouth agape stood the man from the alley. The one whose scream still haunted Adam in the dark, solitary hours of sleep. The one that began his every nightmare of that night.
He was different now, tears weren’t pouring from his eyes to dance across the plains of his smudgey face. His blonde hair free of blood was slightly tousled, and his clothes were clean, albeit a little disheveled.
“No,” the word was a broken noise, barely a word at all, closer to a sob. Gansey and Blue looked frantically between the two for what seemed like an eternity before Noah spoke.
“It’s you…”
“Who? Noah, you know Adam?” Gansey’s voice was quietly confused.
Adam began to shake his head slowly, increasing with speed as his breath finally returned to him; Erratic and wild. Crocodile tears blurred his vision, and he finally croaked a simple question, “What… What was his name?”
“Ronan.”
“Oh, god” Blue breathed.
Adam ran, desperately fleeing the scene and chorus of his name called from the front. Ronan, his name was Ronan. Adam couldn’t breathe. His pain fresh, an un-mendable wound reopened now that he had a name to grieve. He paused, only long enough to grab his messenger bag from the back, and took the alley door.
Then he ran, faster than he’d ever remembered running. Tears turning the colors of the world around him to a haunting watercolor. His breath came in painful stabs, each beat of his bleeding heart an excruciating truth.
He somehow made it back to his apartment. The moment the door closed behind him he fell against it and slid to the floor. Ronan Ronan Ronan-
“R-Ronan.” He spoke the name the first time aloud, the feeling of its weight on his tongue was an answer to a question he’d been asking for a month. For a lifetime.
Adam didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, grief taking time and twisting it in on itself. An amalgam of pain, hopelessness, and questions. Gansey, Gansey knew Ronan, knew Noah. Noah the boy he’d last seen carted away in the back of an ambulance covered in red red red. Noah, who’d screamed for help like the world was shattering. Noah, who’d clung tightly to the shredded arms of a bleeding man in a dark alley.
Help me, his mind screamed, his internal voice morphing into Noah’s from that night.
Help me, I’m not okay…
A key twisting in the lock above his head brought his attention to the present. Adam pushed away from the door, and waited as Blue made her way into his dark apartment. Night had fallen sometime since he’d been here, on the floor, lost in the alley. Lost in a name.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Th-that was-”
“I know. Noah told us after you left. Adam, there’s… Adam. I need to tell you something.”
It was a concentrated effort to drag his gaze from the space between their bodies on the floor to meet her eyes. Lights from the street poured through the window in the living room, painting Blue’s honey warm skin in a haunting glow. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, so he waited. He watched. She brought a trembling hand to his, her brown eyes lined with silver, she squeezed.
“Adam, he’s alive.”
A sob born of heartbreak and pain tore from his chest, he couldn’t form words. He broke then, completely and wholly. Blue came to cradle his head against her chest as he cried. Every hope he’d killed since the alley came barreling to the surface; All the pain and confusion, love and questions, beating like waves against the shores of his mind. Some minutes later he finally raised his head and met Blue’s eyes, her smile was wet and broken. He dragged his hand under his nose, across his eyes, and finally found the word to the question he needed to ask. “How?”
So Blue told him. Apparently, him finding Noah and Ronan in that alley, the tourniquet he’d made of his scarf, that extra minute he’d bought him had been enough. The doctors were able to stitch his wounds, and though it had been a close call, he’d pulled through. She explained that he’d had a hard life, though Gansey wouldn’t give details because he insisted those were Ronan’s to share when he was ready. He did however give her basic facts. Ronan Niall Lynch is an artist, a senior at Georgetown. He’s an orphan, and a brother. He’s an addict in recovery at a facility in Arlington, and Gansey’s third roommate.
Blue explained that, when Adam was ready Gansey and Noah wanted to meet with him, to talk more. She offered to accompany him when that time came, but they all agreed they wouldn’t push him until he was ready. “Thank you,” he’d said to Blue. For getting the information. For telling him. For allowing him space. She understood that his history made this difficult, an addict for a soulmate was something he would need time to process. She eventually asked if he wanted to be alone and when he’d told her “yes” she kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door.
“Adam,” she paused, and he looked up. “We’ll wait on your text okay? Whenever you’re ready. But please check in so I know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
With a perfunctory nod she slid back out the door.
Adam spent another minute in silence before dragging himself from the floor. He made his way in a daze to his desk and he collapsed into his chair. Slowly, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper.
His hand shook.
He took a deep breath.
He wrote.
V
Ronan,
You’re alive…
**********************
Art Pieces and their correlating songs (linked):
“The Fall” The War- SYML
“Chase The Void” For What It’s Worth- Malia J
#bd au#pynch#pynch fic#Adam Parrish#ronan lynch#ronan x adam#blue sargent#gansey#richard campbell gansey iii#gangsey#soulmate au
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Ten CCs of Sass || Ricky and Kaden
TIMING: A few days after Ricky took on an asanbosam and after Kaden’s mime stabbing
PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro and @chasseurdeloup
SUMMARY: Best roommates ever.
Kaden was starting to lose track of time in this stupid place. It was hard to know when was what when there were no windows in the room and time seemed to move at a snail’s pace. But he was pretty sure he remembered the layout of the room. And this was not it. Everything was similar but slightly off somehow. “Regan?” he asked, knowing full well he didn’t see her or Blanche or anyone else babysitting him at the moment. Maybe he hoped they would pop up around a corner or something. Still, no answer. But there was a fucking curtain halfway open and another patient on the other side. Putain de merde, just when he thought this fucking hell pit couldn’t get any worse. They must have moved his fucking bed in the night and now he had a goddamn roommate. And better yet, his IVs were taped down so thoroughly to his arm, he was pretty sure getting them off was going to take a solid ten minutes and take off hair and maybe even a little skin. He was thoroughly stuck. Fuck.
All in all it had not been Ricky’s favorite week. While thankfully they’d put him under for the harrowing process of putting his ribs back together and removing a portion of one of them from his lung, the pain afterwards had been almost enough to make him wish the asanbosam had finished him off. Sleep had been an elusive target, and it was only after a nurse had come in and given him something to knock him out that he’d managed a couple of hours. Waking up though, had brought a resurgence of pain everytime his heart beat and he took a breath, and it wasn’t until he heard a voice asking for someone named Regan that he realized how fucked his day was truly about to get. He recognized that voice, even if the last time he’d heard it they’d been on a rickety boat arguing about saving lives. He also knew that that voice was attached to someone he’d promised to try to kill, even if he was in no position to actually take action on the threat, “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.” he rasped out, voice still not up to par, “Did I actually die? I must have. This has to be fucking hell if I’m stuck here with you”
Kaden’s brows knit together. Something about that voice sounded vaguely familiar. He turned to get a better look at his new roommate. “Putain.” He groaned. It was the fucking do gooder lifegarud boy who was probably some kind of monster. Or knew a few. Of fucking course they ended up in the same room at the same time. What a cherry on top of being stabbed by a mime a few times the other day. “You’re right about one thing, this is fucking hell.” Kaden wanted to throw something but there was nothing but the pillow in reach to toss and, uh, he didn’t want to have to call a nurse to come pick it up off the floor. “The hell happened to you, anyway? Have a run in with a perfectly innocent supernatural monster? Or did your dudley do-right routine finally screw you over?”
Through the haze of pain and pain meds Ricky could feel Kaden’s voice grating on his every nerve, “Jesus fucking christ. Of course it’s fucking you” He attempted to push himself slightly more upright and was rewarding with a white hot pain shooting through his chest, “God. Do you ever tire of the sound of your own fucking voice? I will reach into my chest, pull out one of the many fragments of ribs floating around in there, and stab you in the fucking eye with it if it’s going to net me a reprieve from your sanctimonious bullshit.” He resigned himself to staying laying down and sighed, “You know, fuckhead mcfuckstick, there are those of us capable of distinguishing between an animalistic monster that lacks sentience, and a perfectly harmless member of the supernatural community. I’m sorry you somehow failed Humanity 101”
This little shit really thought he talked too much? Kaden scoffed. “You should ask yourself that. I’m not the one ranting over there.” He started picking at the tape on his arm as the kid ranted the same bullshit grumbling he’d heard a million times before. More colorful than most, he’d give him that, but more of the same. “Fuckhead mcfuckstick, that’s a new one.” He shrugged and continued to try and peel the tape away so he could try and leave before things got any worse. “So how’d that distinguishing go for you? Broken ribs, you said? Sounds like you had a really wonderful encounter.”
“It seemed fitting, given that you are both a fuckhead, and a fuckstick, and I’m Irish so we add Mc to everything.” Ricky rolled his eyes and managed to find the controller for his bed, raising himself so he was sitting upright, “Well it went great. Since I very clearly distinguished that an asanbosam is not a contributing member of society and is instead an animalistic hunter. But these were things I knew before. But you know something about being an animalistic hunter don’t you?” His breath came short for a few moments and he stopped talking, breathing as deeply as he could and balling his fists to try to work through the pain, “We were ambushed. Broken ribs, punctured lung. But I lived so, that’s something. They’re not great ones to run into.”
Irish. Noted. Kaden was sure he’d have plenty of time to figure out what kind of monster he was sharing a room with. Unfortunately. “Asanbosam? Too bad no one was around to stake it. If only there had been an animalistic hunter nearby. Guess they were all at home.” Or stuck in a fucking hospital. “That or no one thought you were particularly worth saving. Shame, you clearly handled it so well on your own.” Still, sounded like the kid had it worse over there than he did. “You got lucky. Even with all that.” Not that he was glad he was okay. That wasn’t his concern at all. “Ran into one of those the other week, seem to be out in force with all the eternal darkness shit going on. Almost stole someone up into the trees.”
“I managed just fine. No deaths, so, that’s a win. It’s currently somewhere in the forest trying desperately to get the rosary I knotted around it’s ankle free. They’re particularly averse to religious iconography.” While most children had a childhood full of nursery rhymes, a solid portion of Ricky’s home education had been the various varieties of vampire that would inevitably try to attack him; he knew a fair few of them by heart. “Ah yes, there’s that good old Hunter “judge, jury, and executioner” mentality that we all know and love so much. Good to know whatever didn’t do a good enough job of killing you left you up on your high horse.” Ricky reached for his phone on the bedside table, scrolling through several texts in all capital letters before deciding that was a problem for later in the afternoon, “I always hated the idea of those fuckers.” He muttered, trying to find a more comfortable position that didn’t put pressure on, well, anything. “Iron teeth. Prehensile tail. They’re straight out of some dnd dungeon master’s nightmare. What the hell is a west African vampire doing in Maine, though?”
“Oh are they? Wow, gee, I never fucking knew that. Slayed my first vampire at age ten but wow, thanks for that riveting new information. Where would I be without you?” Kaden rolled his eyes. He just told the guy he’d encountered an asanbosam the other week, so he would’ve thought he wouldn’t go and explain the obvious to him but guess he was wrong. “Yeah well, sorry to disappoint you by my survival. But if you tell me where that fucking thing was I can probalby deal with once I’m out of here. Or get someone else to. You know, if you can lower yourself off that pedastool to cooperate with an animalistic hunter for two fucking minutes.” This was going to be a long goddamn day. God help him if was two. He wasn’t sure he could survive that. The tape on his arm must have been something akin to duct tape because it wasn’t budging. At this point he wasn’t sure he cared if Regan insisted he stayed the full two plus days. No way would he last that long. “They’re a pain in the ass. Species origin doesn’t really seem to be a barrier to entry in White Crest. I mean, for fuck sakes, the sky’s been dark for a few solid weeks now and you’re questioning how an African vampire got here? This place is fucking weird.”
Kaden’s abrasive voice was honestly on par with the subtle grinding and shifting of his ribs that he could still feel every time he breathed, “God. It just so fucking shocking to me that you’re top of seemingly everybody’s ‘kill him becore he kills us’ list. People skills like yours you should be in public relations. As to the where would you be? Fish food. We’ve gone over this. You’d be fish food.” Ricky let talk of killing a roommate fall silent as a nurse came in to administer meds and bring up his breakfast tray… which was seemingly full of things he didn’t want or couldn’t really eat. One insipid slice of ham seemed to be about the only thing he trusted, and he quickly ate it, keeping his face turned away from Kaden so there were no erstwhile glimpses of fangs, before pushing the tray and the rolling table away, “I don’t want the rest of that, if you’re feeling extra peckish.” He could feel the gentle wave of pain meds crashing on the beach of his mind and pulled his phone towards him, tapping out replies to texts as he listened to Kaden prattle on in the singularly sanctimonious way that he seemed to have cornered the fucking market on, “Yeah as long as there’s a fucking tree vamp wandering the forests near my home attacking members of my community I’m going to fucking question it. But in answer to the question that was sandwiched between the insults… it was the forests to the north of the Docks, bout half a mile before the bridge to Harris Island. It felled a tree right in front of my truck, blocked the road.”
“Yeah, yeah. And I thanked you already, alright.” Kaden bristled at the reminder that he was somewhat in debt to the other man for saving his life. Fucking hated that. Normally he made it easy enough for him to push that aside but then it would rear its ugly head. Still, he noted where that vampire was last seen; he’d be sure to kill it once he was out of there. Not long after, a second nurse came in to give Kaden his tray full of what he assumed was awful lumps of sadness pretending to be food. He wasn’t wrong. The food looked awful, alright, but that wasn’t what his eyes were focused on. No, his eyes went straight to the black and white striped shirt folded neatly with a beret on top and the red blood stains seeped into it. His eyes grew wide with confusion and his pulse picked up as he looked at the nurse. She gave absolutely no indication that anything was out of the ordinary and simply smiled and asked if there was anything else he needed. Kaden was stunned for a moment but it didn’t take long for him to flip the try, tossing it away from him the way someone might flick away a bug that had crawled onto them. He tried to quell the panic that was rising up in him. The nurse just looked confused, not like she was going to kill him on the spot. Which was good, but honestly he still wished he had a weapon in hand. Then she shook her head and looked around like she was unsure of what room she was in or what hat just happened. “Did I do that?” she asked, looking at the try and bending down to pick it up. “I’m sorry, I’ll bring you another tray. Is that your shirt?” Kaden shook his head. “Uh, no. Not-- No, that’s not my shirt. And you didn’t-- Sorry, I lost control of the…” He wanted to run more than ever, his hand reaching for the metal stand where the bags of fluids were hanging. It’d be a decent blunt weapon in a pinch. “Oh, that’s alright. I’ll be right back,” the nurse said, all the fallen food and tray in hand and left with a smile, like nothing ever happened. “Putain de merde, what the actual fuck?”
“It’s really hard to take the thanks seriously when it’s always tied to some sort of insane purge-and-purify human-centric rhetoric. Really sort of dulls the shine on that particular compliment.” He’d been focused on his phone and not on the speciesist fuck in the bed next to him when there was suddenly a ruckus that made him snap his head over to look at that side of the room. “What the absolute fuck you lunatic?” Ricky was so taken aback by the scene that he attempted to push himself out of bed to help clean it up, before bolts of white hot pain reminded him why he didn’t do that, “oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck oh fuck.” The nurse’s response to the whole ordeal was what really made him narrow his eyes, “What…. What the fuck is happening over there.” A tiny spot of red appeared on the bandage around his chest and started to grow fractionally, “Well that’s not good. But… that wasn’t normal. What the fuck landed you in here? I mean I had just assumed it was something along the lines of “finally got what was coming to him” but that was fucking weird.”
“Nothing, nothing, it’s--” he started. Kaden’s eyes darted back and forth between where the tray had just fallen and the door. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to slow his breath, bring his pulse back to normal. He let out a deep sigh, trying to rationalize that nothing else was coming in, no one else was there, it was probably safe. But Regan wasn’t back yet. What if something happened to her? Fuck. “Uh, shit. Don’t fucking laugh,” he told his current rommate as he rubbed his palms against the sheets, trying to dry the sweat off them. “I’m here cause I got stabbed by a fucking mime.” He thought about hitting the call button, get another nurse in here. But what if that didn’t help? What if that’s what brought another possessed person to send him more warnings and threats? Shit. He was more or less defenseless if someone came back for him. This is why he fucking hated hosptials (among all the other reasons). “So yeah, that striped shirt, it, uh-- Fuck.” He felt like such a paranoid idiot.
Ricky didn’t really think of himself as a cruel man. He tried to do right by his friends and his neighbors, be a good upstanding member of the community, and generally behave in a way that would make his mother proud of him; since she was his metric for what a good person should be. But the minute Kaden a) told him not to laugh and b) mentioned he’d gotten stabbed by a fucking mime, Ricky knew he was in a losing battle where all of his attempts to be good were going to falter in the face of a chance to ridicule his enemy. The laugh bubbled up inside of him and the piercing pain in his chest battled for dominance but he couldn’t help but throw his head back in laughter, shaking slightly in his bed, “Oh god…. Oh my fucking god…. I”m sorry I’m sorry… did you… did you… the great fucking hunter… bane of the supernatural… did you fucking get put in the hospital by a goddamn mime?!” His laugh turned into a painful cough and he bit down abruptly, a fang piercing his lip “ow fuck.” The laughter died down and he shook his head, “Ahh it feels good and at the same time fucking terrible to laugh. How… how did you manage to get stabbed by a fucking mime?! Was it even a real knife or was this just some A+ really top of the line pantomime that this fucker did?”
Well that was one way to quell the panic. Kaden could feel the anger rising up as the other man laughed. No, fucking cackled. “Shut it!” He looked down at the edge of the bed where his tray fell. Maybe there was still a shitty clementine or something he could chuck at Ricky’s fucking head. No luck. There was still a beret, though. It’d have to do. He scooped it up, scrunched it into a ball, and threw it across the room. He practically huffed as he stewed over on his bed, but a quick glance over to his roommate practically splitting his stitches and he saw it. It was subtle enough, but there was no denying those were fucking big ass fangs sticking out while he cackled. Well that answered that question he was pretty sure he already had the answer to: Monster. What kind, he’d figure out later. Couldn’t be undead if he had a heartbeat to monitor, he knew that much. And couldn’t be a wolf since he didn’t send all of Kaden’s hairs on edge. “Putain, yes it was a real fucking knife, connard! He was fucking possessed or cursed or some shit! Broke into the restaurant and just b-lined to stab me and wouldn’t fucking stop until he died.” It was goddamn karmic watching Ricky in pain over his laughter. Deserved at least that much.
“Oh no, Fuckstick McMimeChow, you have to deal with this fucking laughter because it is infinitely hilarious that a hunter got hospitalized by a motherfucking mime.” Ricky allowed the beret to hit him in the face if only because Kaden deserved at least that tiny victory, and as he held hit in his hands he took as subtle a smell of it as he could, but picked up nothing more than dollar store shampoo and dried blood, “Well… while you can make the argument that choosing ‘mime’ as your profession is in and of itself a curse… he was definitely human.” He threw the beret to the foot of Kaden’s bed, “but I’d wash your hands. There’s blood on that.” Pressing a slightly trembling hand to his chest; the pain was now greater than the mirth he’d received at Kaden’s attack, “That’s gotta be like… top three for shitty dinners. I mean I’ve had some bad fucking meals in my day and while I’ve had both a beer and a dinner roll thrown at me on separate occasions nobody’s actually stabbed me before. Did you kill this maniacal mime or did he just… I don’t know… suddenly expire after coming into contact with undiluted Blood of Douchebag.”
If Kaden had something else to throw, he would have. Instead all he could do was glower at the laughter. “Congrats, Detective pain in the ass, I figured that much out. Of course he was human. Problem was you didn’t see him. The look in his eye. It was like the lights were out but he was going through the motions anway. Really fucking determinedly, too.” At Ricky's evaluation of the beret, he looked down at his hands and decided to just wipe them off on the side of the bed again, in case there was any blood. “We barely got to wine let alone dinner. So yeah, I’d say so.” He sighed, thinking about the poor chardonnay that was the only thing that was murdered that night. What a waste. His head snapped to face his current roommate at his last comment. “Hey, I did not kill him! I mean I didn’t take it lying down, but I’m not a murderer, alright!”
“I’m really feeling like you’re not putting the same energy into this rivalry I am, Kaden. I come up with Fuckstick McMimeChow and you counter with Detective Pain in the ass? I’m a little hurt.” Ricky shot as withering a look as he could manage across the room, “Are you sure that was a curse/possession and not just… you know… people’s kneejerk reaction to being in your presence? I know I always get the urge to stab you repeatedly.” Watching Kaden wipe his hands on the bed he listened before chuffing a sigh of a laugh, “Wait wait wait… did you get stabbed by a mime on a fucking date? Jesus fucking Christ talk about just compounded shit luck. That’s just… woof. I don’t even have anything cutting or scathing for that… that’s just… that’s just rough.” Any pity he might have felt for the other man quickly evaporated however, “Oh yes. This old chestnut. I spend my life hunting things down but am somehow not a murderer. What is this… verse 78 now?”
“Sorry, what can I say. I don’t spend as much time thinking about you as you think about me.” Kaden rolled his eyes at the remark. “He came into the restaurant seemingly just to stab me. I know I’ve pisseed people off but that just doesn’t track, alright. I never saw the guy before. And yeah I was on a fucking date, alright. Shocking as it may be. Still not sure if it’s one of the worst dates I’ve been on.” He sighed at the remark. Of course, couldn’t get through one conversation without the bleeding heart bullshit. “Look you don’t have to fucking agree with me but don’t act like you don’t know where I stand. Murder is when you kill people and monsters aren’t people. Been over this.” There was a long stretch of silence and it seemed like they might be done snipping for the moment. Fine by him, but the whole place was too quiet. And he couldn’t bear to sit and watch this shitty infomercial. He waited a moment, maybe he could just sleep or something. But he wasn’t tired. “Hey, uh, I think you have the remote. Can you change the thing. The Price is Right is about to come on.”
“Jesus. And I thought my fucking love life was grim. You make me look like a fucking Casanova if that wasn’t one of your worst dates. Am I surprised? No. But still… blech. Poor woman. I’m just assuming you’re straight because I’m fervently praying you’re not gay. We don’t want you on our team. Please stay far the fuck away.” It was still a little surprising how robotic and immediate the return to the hunter party line was. There was almost a moment, for just the briefest of seconds, where Ricky had thought that they were actually on the road to… well whatever was one step above immediately homicidal. But all of that was swept away in an instant as they returned to ground zero. A zone which did not net Kaden any tv privileges. “Sorry.” He picked up the remote and plucked its batteries out, tossing the powerless shell to the other man, “Sharing is what people do.” He smiled a wide bright smile, every perfectly maintained fang shining in the horrible hospital lighting, “and I guess I just don’t qualify. Besides…. Price is Right with no Bob Barker? One of us is the monster here and it isn’t me.” This was going to be the longest hospital stay ever.
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