#Sure he might have a broken arm but overall he’s still fine! :D
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WIP Wednesday
*crawls out of my hole and hisses at the light* Weeeeednesssdaaayyy!
Yes! Hello! It is I! I’m here! I’m ALIVE! XD
I’ve been absent for about..two weeks? Something like that. Doesn’t seem long when you put it into perspective, but the main reason was because I was having some tough days with my mind and I became fixated on Tales of Arise. 50 hours later, and here I am! Back on my shit and slowly regaining control over my brain! :D
And so to celebrate, I have Solas ANGST! AH-HA! >:D
Thank you @noire-pandora and to all the other people who had tagged me in recent things! I’m grateful everyone still went out of their way to include me! X3
This includes some...complexities with Fane’s overall existence and a lot of things might seem vague. I introduced Tenacity and Devotion in a previous snippet, but this kind of hints at their overall role! :3c
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“The fever has broken,” A relieved sigh passed gradually upward, curving lips and emerald eyes found their way upwards as well, shining with relief and gentle happiness as they connected with Solas’ own.
Solas blinked before letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, feeling the same wave of relief that he could see in Devotion’s stare. So intense was the rushing of emotion he felt, that he found himself slowly doubling over, his chest and arms laying flush with the mattress and the furs where a dragon–his dragon–slumbered in peace, breathing even, face dry of sweat, and not in pain any longer.
Fane would be fine. Tenacity had succeeded in shoring up the foundations, putting stakes to refortify the walls of being. While Solas knew this entire series of events were actually the doing of the stubborn spirit, he couldn’t feel an ounce of dissatisfaction or anger at present. The reasoning that Devotion had provided for the disconnection helped with that, but he was also exhausted–physically, mentally, and most of all, emotionally. The last week had been…arduous to endure. It brought back painful memories, ones he never wanted to relive, even if he sought to relive other aspects of the past, to witness them and remember. He would never forget what had happened so very long ago when scales were flesh and a two-toned stare was the only voice offered, he couldn’t, lest such events take place again, but he could certainly do without reminders.
“You are certain?” Solas muttered out the question into the furs, feeling numb, but worry still found a way to invade him. It was always the way of his mind to doubt, wasn’t it? To search for shadows, even when light was shining to banish them? He always grappled with ‘hope’. It instilled more fear than relief at times, as any time he had hoped, he had lost that which was precious to him. He had no reason to doubt Devotion’s assessment, she knew Fane’s make-up and circumstance better than he, and yet…
Solas’ thoughts stilled as he felt a warm hand rest against one of his shoulders gingerly, much like a mother who sought to comfort her child did. Its sudden presence had him letting out another breath, this one far shakier, far less composed. It was becoming near impossible to keep himself from crumbling, but perhaps that was for the best. A release would be welcome and it would be needed. No matter his reservations, it would be needed…
The hand against his shoulder squeezed lightly, reassuring him, “I am certain, Fen’harel,” Devotion said, voice quiet, but holding no room for her words to be denied. “I can sense Tenacity’s presence around and within,” A warm chuckle tickled his ears, making them twitch and his body relax, “It is…strong, nearly palpable. He is no doubt cursing himself, letting fury fuel his endeavors.”
Solas let out mildly derisive snort, a tiny flicker of irritation welling up inside of him. He wasn’t sure how he could find the energy to be so, but perhaps an ember resided underneath cooled coals. The thought of Tenacity berating himself now for such irresponsibility was just…infuriating.
“Ah, so he was not cursing himself before then?” Solas inquired, feeling the strain in his voice, as well as he could hear it, “So he was not concerned that his absence was slowly, but surely draining the life he had worked so hard to preserve?! I believe that should be a forethought, not an afterthought!
Devotion’s hand against his shoulder flinched at his words, but remained present. Solas could determine it was seeking to ground him, to offer him comfort and a silent message of, ‘I understand why it is that you’re upset.’, but truthfully, he did not need it. He was merely exhausted, all of the hidden fear coming to the forefront and dispersing in the form of venom filled words. Many in the Inquisition believed him to be cold, not easily ruffled, and oftentimes, that was an accurate assessment of his personality. Distance was necessary due to the precariousness of he and Fane’s situation, subtly was paramount. Not to mention that trust had always been rare in him, especially centuries before.
So many second chances had been given, and each one had shattered as surely as the first. Trusting another, an entire Inquisition, was a risk Solas couldn’t afford, but yet he took it in regards to Fane. And that was understandably due to the nature of their relationship, their shared past, but it ran deeper than even that. His dragon was most likely the only one, besides spirits, that he could fully trust, could fully allow in and not fear being stabbed in the back. The passage of time had done nothing to change that.
And that life had nearly been lost because of one willful being’s oversight. Solas could feel himself getting hot with anger once again, and in an attempt to mitigate the burn those flames could potentially inflict, he brought a hand up to grasp one of Fane’s own. He needed stability, reassurance and a live pulse offered that.
Anything that drilled the statement, ‘He’s alive’ into his head offered that.
Devotion’s hand slowly began to recede from his shoulder, taking the warmth it offered with it. Her voice came slowly, quietly with the depths of remorse filling its more delicate undertones.
“We frightened you…,” she said with no small amount of certainty, “Made you and his deepest fears a near reality,” Solas heard a shift, fabric upon fabric, but he did not raise his head as Devotion’s voice came again, its tender cadence warbling with the beginnings of a sob, “It was not our intent to do so. It was not our intent to–to…mh.”
Remorse seemed to intensify around them at that and Solas felt his body freeze at how easily Devotion had pinpointed the source of his anger. He sometimes forgot just how adept the delicate spirit was at reading not only him, but anyone she came across. She was nearly as perceptive as Cole was at hearing another’s pain. But whereas Cole reached out to any and anyone, Devotion only reached out to those she felt an acute connection to; a deep resonance within her very being.
Solas felt a tinge of guilt stir between the ire wishing to envelope him as a stifled sound of distress came from Devotion, a frown working itself onto his face that he still had dutifully hidden against the furs. His intent had not been to cause harm, but as always, his words had been poorly chosen. While he was upset and tired and utterly spent, it wasn’t right of him to thrust all of the blame onto Devotion, or even Tenacity. The two spirits had had a justifiable reason for drawing away from Fane, and it wasn’t their fault they had been forcibly removed from their host. His dragon’s more gentle occupant had explained the situation to him, regaled that an odd and sudden influx of familiar magic had turned both she and Tenacity’s heads in an instant, and said that once realizing they had been extracted from Fane’s very being had bee-lined straight to where they could feel his flagging existence. Solas was as Devotion had stated; frightened.
Frightened at how easy it could be to have that which he cherished, that which he adored with all his heart be ripped away once again…
Solas sucked in a deep breath through his nose, releasing it on the next exhale before feeling his lips move, “...Ir abelas, Devotion. Neither you nor Tenacity deserve my anger.” he apologized with sincerity and gave Fane’s hand a careful squeeze, biting into his bottom lip when he felt the soothing thud, thud, thud of a pulse against his palm, “I am merely…”
Darkness enshrouded him as he squeezed his eyes shut, staving off tears of both fear and relief. As much as Solas wished to raise his head and look up into purely emerald eyes, to see if his behavior had been forgiven, he couldn’t. He was fearful of seeing nothing but scorn, or worse yet, hurt. Devotion’s eyes reminded him of the deepest part of Fane’s, and he couldn’t bear the sight of potential jade right now. Hurting the motherly spirit was like hurting Fane, for the dual spirits were Fane. They were independent in their own ways, which was intriguing due to how they could merge into his dragon’s consciousness and reflect into the various panes of his personality, but they were still him.
And just like his love, they had had no choice in the unfortunate events that befell them. Blaming Tenacity and Devotion’s unwilling and unknowing extrication was like blaming Fane for the abuse he had endured as a child. It was ignorant and it was undeserved in every way. Each may have made the first move towards those events, but deception had goaded their feet into even contemplating such movement.
He was just…he didn’t know anymore. Tired from days and nights of constant worrying and observation, running on barely an hour of sleep and entirely forgetting to eat? Frustrated due to his lack of helpfulness when Fane had first began to show signs of sickness, of failing strength, of his own fear, and from how the other members of the Inquisition had not ceased in questioning, even when Solas had reiterated how he had no clear reasoning for what was happening? Desperate to hold onto the last thing that he could say he truly, truly loved without feeling hesitation or the dreaded sensation of inevitable parting? Perhaps it was all of those things, maybe even more, but it still didn’t justify placing blame where it wasn’t due. All that mattered, all that should ever matter in an event such as this, was that Fane was alive. He was alive and he was safe.
Silence stretched on and on, filling the space, making him realize the further foolishness of his words, but he was loath to break it. Instead, he focused on the ambiance of life, of the gentle inhales and exhales of not only himself, but Fane. For several days that had been his only fixation, worry gnawing at his heart and mind as each breath had grown shorter, more labored, more deathly. All Solas had been able to do was watch as precious life sought to dissolve, and the spectacle had nearly torn him to shreds. He was so tired of losing, so tired of reason not aiding him when it was truly and desperately needed.
Irrationality had festered in him as the days passed, as the nights grew unbearably long, and any self-preservation he may have had, had been thrusted over Skyhold’s ramparts along with many, many conjured boulders. In the darkest depths of his being he had receded, seeking to destroy all that dared exist while another, that he felt deserved to exist more, whittled away. Sadly, that senseless urge of destruction, of annihilation had not sated the beast that dwelt deep, and irrationality grew, his temper flared more brightly, and many members of the Inner Circle had caught the tail ends of its flames due to merely being just as worried for the state of their Inquisitor, their light. Solas knew he would need to apologize properly. Especially to Mhairi. It was sometimes hard to fully understand that he and Fane were no longer…alone. Incredibly hard.
Solas let out a tired sigh before letting his eyelids flutter open. All he was greeted with was continued darkness, but he could see tinges of candlelight at the edges of his vision. Evening, then. Time passed quickly whether one was enjoying themselves or not. How long had he sat here with the Devotion, fretting and nearly spiraling into the darkened abyss that had engulfed him once before while she remained calm and attentive to Fane’s outward condition, and Tenacity toiled away within with fervor?
Truthfully, he had no idea. The sun had risen, the sky had turned blue and bright, then it had shifted to pink and orange, and then before he knew it, it had vanished, night cloaking the world in its blackened blanket. Now, all that remained was starlight and the moon’s glow, each source filtering in through both stained glass and simple pane. Candles had been lit, of course, mixing with paleness to offer sight and warmth, but even the memory of when he had lit them, or Devotion perhaps had lit them, was nonexistent. All Solas had been fixated on was Fane and the possibility of losing him–again. He had been so dangerously close to losing him.
So dangerously close…
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A long treat for your reading pleasure! A gift! :3 Solas is a mess right now. This is what happens when your lover’s very existence is heavily dependent on various factors~
Tagging (with no pressure!):
@oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @dungeons-and-dragon-age @dreadfutures @rosella-writes @drag-on-age @little-lightning-lavellan and anyone else that’d like to share something! <3
#wip wednesday#my writing#god it has been a hot minute since i've written anything ngl#and every time i come back to writing i IMMEDIATELY write from solas' POV X'D#my mind is like 'yes let's try and write one of the most difficult and complex characters you've ever known as a warm up!'#i swear. no chill in my corner. PFFFT#fane's fine don't worry~ :3#tenacity and devotion just did a...mistake. heh.#and this also puts solas and fane in a precarious situation with the inquisition HEH.#*sighs happily* good shit~#dragon age inquisition#dai#solas#solavellan#oc: fane lavellan#male lavellan#m!solavellan#dragon age#writing
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SBi d&d AU: Tubbo
Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!
From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D
Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!
There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar.
It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored.
Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.
Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit.
Nothing they hadn't done before.
And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong.
Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard.
Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times.
Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.
To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone.
Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle.
And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such.
Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.
For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third.
They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it.
So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.
It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different.
That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright.
"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance."
The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up.
"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will."
After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems.
Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories.
Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.
The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.
The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn.
He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever.
The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children.
Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head.
No, he's not going to bring it up.
Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring.
They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground.
At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.
Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are.
There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz.
Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression.
"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?"
Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship.
Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar.
"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.
The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.
On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises.
The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.
Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.
"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.
"Holy shit, Toms."
The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.
When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown.
All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him.
They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on.
Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.
And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind.
It lasted for one day.
Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page.
But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again.
Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh.
If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself.
And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?
To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.
The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure.
He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it.
His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels.
Tubbo's going to be alright.
Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend.
Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.
"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal.
"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes.
"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier.
Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement.
"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked.
#mcyt writingtober#sbi dnd au#now sbi&co#dnd au#technoblade#tommyinnit#wilbur soot#philza#ph1lza#tubbo
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Fix it ~ Invincible Fanfiction
Summary: Rex's hand gets damaged in a fight. No one is willing to help him, so he helps himself.
Warnings: spoilers for both the Invincible animated show(episode 7) and comics(issue #40) concerning Rex-Splode, injuries(nothing nearly as graphic as the source material)
Word Count: 2.3k
This is my first Invincible fanfic, and one of the first fics I've written in awhile! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to tell me what you think about it! Constructive criticism would be appreciated :D
"We meet yet again, Invincible!" D.A. Sinclair shouted with his usual dramatic flair. He had escaped from the government facility a couple months ago and holed up in a sewer, making more of his fucked up 'reanimen' who the new Guardians of the Globe were now fighting.
His army of cyborgs were unleashed onto the fleeing crowd, more destructive than self destructive this time. Sinclair must've taken notes from his previous failures.
While they targeted the heroes, civilians were caught in the crossfire left and right. Dupli-Kate evacuated the remaining civilians while Shrinking-Rae fought off any cyborgs coming near. The rest of the team tried to disarm the cyborgs without killing them, which Mark made them agree to do before the fight.
Invincible went through one after the other, knocking out the cyborgs, one could tell he was holding back. Monster Girl knocked out a good chunk of them, but accidentally killed one or two with the strength of her monster form. One of them slammed her against a building, sending a big crack up the wall, no doubt affecting civilians in the upper floors. Shrinking-Rae rushed to save those in the building affected by the crack, while Monster Girl slumped against the wall, down for the count.
Rex-Splode made it past the wall of reanimen defending Sinclair and shot a projectile at his torso. He stumbled as the magnet hit his side and exploded, only grazing him but doing damage all the same. He cupped a hand around the wound, and when he regained his composure, looked directly at Rex.
"You'll pay for that!" With a movement of his hand, D. A. Sinclair ordered the cyborg to target Rex-Splode.
"Sure I will, asshole!" Rex smirked and raised his hand again, aiming for Sinclair's head. The cyborg intervened, lunging towards Rex, who dodged and backed away. He couldn't kill the guy, but he really didn't want to get beat to a bloody pulp today. He made a split second decision to shoot him in the legs to slow him down. He did so, but all he received for his efforts was the sound of a small metal impact. He'd missed the human parts, the projectile only slightly slowed the cyborg.
Just as he was about to shoot again, the cyborg grabbed his hand, crushing flesh and metal alike. Rex doubled over as a wave of pain hit him like a brick. He tried to push past it after a few moments, looking up just in time to see Robot come up behind the reaniman, knocking him out with a punch. Invincible grabbed a piece of metal from a street sign that had been crushed in the wreckage of the battle and bent it tightly around Sinclair, effectively trapping him. And since the cyborgs were all either knocked out or no longer under his control, the battle was over.
"You couldnt've done that earlier?" Rex complained as Mark tied up Sinclair, wincing in pain. Several members of the team gave him a familiar look of annoyance.
"Maybe if you weren't too busy cowering we would've finished this sooner." Samson stated.
"I wasn't--!" Rex began, but he doubled over again before he could finish, another wave of pain hitting him.
The rest of the team had sustained some injuries as well, but they were able to shake it off for the most part by the time they arrived back at the guardians' base.
"Hey Robot-" Rex tried to catch him before they fully returned to the group.
"It's Rudy."
"Right. Rudy, can you uh.." he pointed to his busted up hand, the blood dried onto the metal. Rudy made a wincing sound at the sight, then looked to their friends, who were in a group celebrating the won battle.
"Hm.. That's going to take a bit to fix, if you can wait I'll fix it in a couple minutes." he decided. Rex opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and nodded in agreement. The two rejoined the group.
They spent a few minutes having conversations in small groups, some about the fight, and some about completely different things. After about half an hour passed, Mark got up from his seat, explaining that he needed to get back home, as he had some homework to finish up. Slowly the group dissolved, rejoining their everyday lives. Rex ran to catch Rudy before he and Amanda left.
"Hey Rudy, can you fix this thing before you go? If you couldn't tell, it *kinda* hurts." Rex gestured to his hand, pulling the glove up a bit to show the broken metal and bloody skin.
"Can it wait, Rex? Me and Amanda are getting lunch." he paused, conflicted, "you can join if you want." he offered politely, but judging by the looks on his and Amanda's face, it wasn't an invitation.
"I'll pass." Rex sighed, unsure if he was more angry or sad about it at this point. Rudy shrugged as if to say "your loss", and he and Amanda left the base. Rex left as well a few moments later, Kate and Rae's conversation fading behind him as he made his way to his apartment.
Rex tried to ignore it, he really did. But god, it hurt. He must've been in shock before, but now that he had time to really think about and feel the injury, the pain set in. The metal of his hand had torn into his flesh and he was afraid to move it for fear of further lodging it into his arm. After awhile of trying to ignore the injury, Rex decided he couldn't take it anymore. If no one would help him, he would help himself.
Rex knew a thing or two about robotics since he got his powers from the devices in his wrists, and had been taught a bit at the facility for use in battlefield situations. So he got some spare tools he used for small repairs on his arms and got to work fixing his hand. It took just about all night, but by the end he was fairly confident that he'd at least helped the situation.
He must've done something right because next time the guardians fought a villain, he was able to shoot the projectiles from his hand. No need to ask Rudy for help. And the next time it was damaged, and he fixed it himself again. This time his aim was slightly off. He hit several walls, the ground, and nearly a civilian before his desired target, but it was fine, right? He hit the guy eventually, he missed the civilian, and it still worked decently well.
He continued to repair it himself, using the knowledge from his previous mishaps to improve upon it. It continued to have slight malfunctions, but it worked.
Until it didn't.
He aimed, and shot, but the small explosive wouldn't budge. It wouldn't leave his hand, something blocked it. The BB lit up as he tried to shoot, but it exploded in his hand.
"Fuck!" Rex yelled, throwing a magnet from his belt with his offhand and dodging out of the way of an oncoming attack.
The team made quick work of the enemy, but not before they got a few good hits in on Dupli-Kate and Monster Girl as well. Amanda was slumped against a wall while Kate Prime nursed an injury on her side.
Back at the base, Rudy was busy being at Amanda's side. She had a minor concussion, but overall she was alright. The excessive blood from a cut on her head made the injury look more serious than it was. They were thankful that she was alright, minus a bit of blood loss and a head injury.
Rex wanted to celebrate her quick recovery longer than he did, but hesitantly left after drinks were had and the party died down a bit. He knew he would have to work on his hand for awhile to get it in working order and get any sleep that night.
It was already much later in the day by the time he arrived at his apartment. Repairs went well for the most part. He had passed out before realigning the metal, but quickly aligned it before heading to the base that morning, presumably deeming it functional, which was an achievement in Rex's opinion considering how badly it was broken and lack of materials. He got hardly any sleep, but he wasn't exactly the type to usually get a full eight hours every night anyways.
The next day after training, Rudy approached Rex unexpectedly.
"Hey Rex, I noticed your hand got busted up pretty badly yesterday. Need me to fix it?" Rudy offered, glancing at Rex's barely-together hand with a hint of what might be worry. Rex scoffed.
"Oh no it's fine," he said, half proud of his work and half bitter at Rudy. "I figured it out."
Rudy gave him a curious look, pausing for a moment before repeating, "You 'figured it out'?"
Rex nodded, taking off his glove and showing off his hand, which he'd barely been able to peice back together the night before. "I figured it out."
He'd had to patch up the hand with spare metal parts and slightly off-size bolts, but it wasn't too bad of a job. From a certain angle, it'd look fine even. A bit busted up, used for sure, but functional. Now, from the angle of someone with as much knowledge in robotics as Rudy had, the sight was returned after a long pause with a vaguely annoyed, "this is going to take awhile."
"What're you two doing?" Amanda asked, walking into the workroom with a half empty carton of disguised booze.
"Rex tried to fix his hand. By himself." Rudy explained condescendingly after a pause that made it obvious he was focused on his work. Rex scoffed at the answer.
"I think I did a great job, thank you very much." And besides being proud of his attempt at fixing it, the way he phrased it made Rex sound like an idiot, as if he hadn't asked for help several times before deciding to fix the problem himself.
"You put the metal covering back in place just off enough to block the projectile, the bolts are all the wrong size, and part of it is still jabbing into your arm. This isn't even the right kind of.." he trailed off, clicking a new bolt in place before mumbling, "how did you even fight like this-?!"
"Well it's not like you bothered to help me when I asked.." Rex answered with the tone of an upset child.
"You didn't say how bad it was."
"I showed you! You saw it!" Rex nearly shouted, frustration and anger bubbling up in his chest and out his mouth.
"I would have fixed this easily if you'd asked sooner."
"I did ask sooner!"
"You could've asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy spoke nearly absent-mindedly, focusing intently on prying part of the metal out of damaged tissue that tried to heal around it.
Rex hissed in pain before responding, "When were you not busy? I asked you like three times, you told me to wait!"
"I just told you, I was busy. Why didn't you go to Cecil for this?"
"Oh yeah, like I'm asking some creepy ass guy from the government to fix my hand- No fucking way!" Rex tried to ignore the hint of fear in his chest at the idea of some shady government operative poking and prodding at him in a blindingly white room.
"You'd rather bother me than ask someone whose job it is to fix things for help?"
"I'd rather ask my friend for help!"
"You could have asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy repeated, obviously struggling to keep his cool. "I'm not going to drop everything for you, Rex!"
"Yeah? Of course not, but I bet you'd drop everything for her." Rex pointed at Amanda, who had a front row seat to the argument standing in the doorway. The two locked eyes for a moment, then Rudy looked away to glare at Rex.
"At least she offers something to the team. She's an invaluable asset and I need to keep her safe." He didn't need to shout, his tone and words cut deeper than raw anger could.
"Well pardon me for wanting to be able to use my fucking hand--"
"Excuse me?" Amanda snapped, glaring at Rudy. "Rex is my friend, and I won't reciprocate your crush on me just because you look like him and aged down for me. I don't owe you shit. And being a dick to the guy whose face you stole doesn't make you more appealing."
"But I--" Rudy was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence. Scrambling to regain his composure, he blurted out, "But I did this for you!"
"I don't owe you shit for that." she repeated firmly. "And if how you treat Rex is any indication, I wouldn't want to be with you, if this is how you treat a long time friend who needs help."
"Exactly!" Rex agreed, relieved that Amanda stepped in. Rudy glared at him before catching himself and looking back towards Amanda, who sighed angrily.
"He couldn't have asked Cecil!?" Rudy reiterated, grasping at straws trying to 'win' the argument he'd already lost.
"He's obviously uncomfortable with that, or he would've done it already. Something you would notice if you bothered to give him a second glance." Amanda snapped back. "He came to you for help, and you lectured him for it."
"I.."
"Let's go, Rex. This asshole isn't worth our time." she decided. Rex followed her out the door to rejoin the rest of the group with a satisfied sort of pride in his chest. It felt nice to be defended by someone other than himself.
The door slammed shut.
#fanfiction#invincible#rex splode#rex sloan#robot#rudolph conners#rudy conners#invincible robot#spoilers#comic spoilers#issue 40 and episode 7#i know that was a cheesy opening#but i also think its exactly the kind of cheesy shit D.A. Silclair would say#also i just#love rex splode#still a douche but hes a very good character#and i love rudy but hes a borderline narcissist and i feel like this is pretty in character for him#i havent read all of the comics but ive heard enough to know the basics#also if youre like me and had to google this monster girl's real name is Amanda#and i know this isnt the most accurate to the comics but we can pretend cant we-
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i watched the dallas theater company les mis and here are my observations part TWO
i recently watched a modern adaptation of les mis from 2014! i took hella notes bc les mis being set in modern day has a LOT MORE than you would think! i just posted my act one notes, so here are the ones from act two. enjoy! :D
ACT TWO
(Building The Barricade)
oh javert,,,you and your red beret-scarf combo
everyone shakes hands the same way?? they all like. half bro hug. young people ig 🤷♀️
oh on my own is gonna hurt me huh
éponine has her hands up when she goes to take the letter to cosette that’s an interesting take
jvj looks so done lmao “really bruh just give me the letter i’ll give it to cosette it’s FINE”
omg first time i’ve ever seen éponine not take the money after the letter!! that actually makes so much sense bc she doesn’t take marius’ money when he asks her to find cosette’s house either. that,,,yes that’s good
the modern era begs the question... why didn’t marius just ask for cosette’s number?? i’d assume it’s just a thing that jvj doesn’t allow her to have a phone bc The Cops, but. maybe marius and cosette are the straight version of cottagecore lesbians they just write letters for ~The Aesthetic~
(On My Own)
i was right on my own was gonna hurt me
first time i’ve ever seen an éponine disguise where she actually passes as a boy lmao
FINALLY A VERSION OF OMO WHERE ITS NOT JUST FORLORN SELF-CARESSING THANK YOU
surprisingly i have less notes here that’s fun i thought i’d have more
(Javert at the Barricades)
WOAHHHHH THEY DID NOT SKIMP ON BARRICADE SET PIECES THAT SHIT IS COOOOOL
oh the barricade scenes are already hitting too hard
cops are in riot gear cops. are in. riot gear.
oh the javert spy thing that also hits funny because obviously
gavroche is armed with a bat i love you son
FULL VERSION OF LITTLE PEOPLE AT THE BARRICADE AYEEEEE
(A Little Fall Of Rain)
wait hold on why is marius not,,,singing to éponine on “why have you come back here?” he’s like. scolding someone,,, huh??
oh enj goes to help marius with ép!! and he calls over who i assume would be joly i STAN
MARIUS CRIES AFTER ÉP DIES KILL MEEEE
(The First Attack)
i like how jvj does the second confrontation here. he looks less angry and more like,,,compassionate and that MAKES SENSE bc yk. he’s telling javert he’s wrong but he’s not doing it out of spite he’s doing it bc this guy NEEDS to know what he does as a cop and realize that being a cop isn’t just enforcing rules, and it never was just that.
i do love the exasperated “gO” from jvj that’s kinda great ngl
(Drink With Me)
i’m very sad that there won’t be any exr from these boys
v e r y sad here
i do see grantaire looking PRETTY sad though
bold of y’all to assume that the modern day amis would all be straight
okay i can tell that grantaire really is going hard on the Existential Singing like,,,sure he’s just standing there but like. damn bro
SO THERE A R E LADIES ON THE BARRICADE WHY TF ARENT THEY FIGHTING
BETTER SEE SOME CHANGE THERE
i just realized that the cockades are buttons that is the BEST
(Bring Him Home)
jvj actually looks kinda happy in BHH and tbh i kinda like it?? it’s only on the “he’s like the son i might have known” line but i like it
oh those vowels oh boy they TALL
(The Final Battle)
enjolras is for some reason, still angry...why...why bro....
the staging for gavroche’s death is INTERESTING bc he’s reaching up at the sniper on the tower. hm. i dont hate it
OH SOMEONE ON THE BARRICADE IS RECORDING I THINK!!! GOOD ADDITION!!
i can’t imagine how many blood packs they went through
oh enjolras’s death okay so. he’s in a like. No Man’s Land almost, and the riot cops come in after him. it’s an interesting take because it almost mirrors the scene in the book, except obvs grantaire isn’t here. they also have an added scene after he dies where cops are checking out and using radios that is. that is EERIE.
jvj walks over to enjolras’s body 🥺
HE ALSO FUCKIN S C R E A M S WHEN HE SEES MARIUS ON THE GROUND GODDAMN MAN O U C H
thenardier steals combeferre’s glasses wow thanks for that added pain
thenardier and jvj have a mini fight oh that’s kinda cool hm
(Javert’s Soliliquy)
javert opens his soliloquy with some SPICY SADNESS OH B O Y he sounds broken already!! start strong!!
emotions go broken - anger - confusion? - mAJOR confusion - hopelessness
javert can FLY! no legit he’s on ropes
(Turning)
turning is. turning is almost a funeral.
OH THEYRE N U N S !
nuns are visiting the barricade 🥺
OH DAMN “what’s the use of praying if there’s nobody who hears?” THAT CERTAINLY HAS WEIGHT NOW THAT THEY ARE N U N S
it has just occurred to me that people have been dead on the floor for like. a solid five minutes
(Empty Chairs At Empty Tables)
“now my friends. are dead. and gone” he pauses like he’s realizing it just then oh OUCHIE
wait is marius,,,at the barricades? is he legit singing to his friends dead bodies? oh shit oh NO
OH N O OH NONONO THIS IS WORSE
THE BARRICADE BOYS RISE UP FROM THE FLOOR OH N O OUCH OUCH
they group up and salute him and wALK OFF NO OWWWW
*cosette and marius kiss* jvj: *COUGH COUGH*
marius and valjean’s lil conversation is interesting in the way valjean seems to ask marius “who am i?” rather than ask himself. he phrases it in a way that makes me think he’s like. quizzing marius lmao
(The Wedding)
omg i think baby cosette and éponine are flower girls 🥺🥺
“go away thenardier” *madame mouths ‘dammit!’*
thenardier your boat shoes hurt me
madame: “get up! get up!” thenardier: “stop—STOP IT!”
TWO GUYS ARE DANCING TOGETHER AND WAVE AT THENARDIER ON “this ones a queer, but what can you do”
yeah i think i found my new favorite thenardiers thank you dallas theater company
fantine sits on the bench when cosette comes by, cosette sits on bench next to her, and fantine tries to touch her but can’t 🥺
jvj just gave a hand-over-heart head nod to cosette but fantine gave it back i,,,ouch
ENJOLRAS AND GAVROCHE ARE WITH FANTINE AND ÉPONINE FOR JVJ’S DEATH
the chain gang is in the epilogue i repeat the cHAIN GANG IS IN THE EPILOGUE
the orchestra rests on the last “say do you hear the distant drums” and that was the coolest thing i’ve ever heard
that final harmony is MONEYYYY and i want to cry
OVERALL NOTES:
this javert has the most interesting interpretation because up until his FINAL SCENE he is the stone cold police officer, and he plays it SO WELL. like i have never been truly angry at a javert up until this guy, and whether that was because it was modern and resonates A LOT in 2020 or he just looks like a cop i want to punch, I DON’T KNOW but he plays it SO WELL and i love it so much!!
these thenardiers are the fucking BEST NGL they are the perfect mix of funny and cruel. madame t is also funny as HELL and i wish i had her talent lmao
i said it before but the police costumes in this show are. woosh. kudos to the costumer i took one look at those guys and was like “haha, no!.” vaguely related to that, i think this was the first time i nearly cried at Look Down like. the first song at the show, simply because of the convict getting the SHIT beat out of him on the floor. that hurt me and i hate that it is completely accurate to what happens in prisons today.
lovely ladies was,,,a LOT and tbh, i feel like it didn’t need to be. obviously it does show how horrible it is for sex workers, but that is why the music is there. the music and lyrics is there to tell what you don’t show visually. (though i do love the male prostitute lmao he took no shit)
i also said this before but the fact that there wasn’t bigger of a relationship between enjolras and grantaire kind of annoys me simply because they are revolutionaries in the present day. you can’t tell me that ALL OF THEM WERE STRAIGHT. with how many people i know now that identify under the queer and trans umbrella, and also how queer they are (to me) in the brick, the absence of any exr in a modern interpretation hurts a little.
in conclusion, this show was fucking FANTASTIC and even though i’m six years late, it still resonates hard given the time we live in today. i think i nearly screamed when i saw the cops in riot gear on the barricade because that is LITERALLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. this just reminds me how timeless the story of les mis is because you had to change LITERALLY NOTHING from the story to make it make sense in the modern age, and that is really the lesson you should learn from les mis; these things happen everywhere, and they need to be fixed.
thank you for listening to my rambling, i am sure i forgot something because there was just so damn much but i hope you enjoyed otherwise! not-a christmas-tree out! :)
#les mis#les miserables#les amis#les amis de l'abc#dallas theater company#jean valjean#javert#fantine#cosette#marius#enjolras#grantaire
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Tylenol and Tequila Part 3
written by @anotheronechicagobog
Warnings: swearing, mature themes, fire, chemical reactions
A/N: This one is REALLY long. I don’t know the word count but it took up ten pages in google docs with size 11 font, so I hope you guys like it!
Also, I came up with the term ‘Hermann Horde’ to describe him and his kids, I think it’s hilarious, but let me know what you gusy think.
Stella Kidd has always wanted to be a mother. To experience the joy, fear, love, frustration, cheer that being a parent brings. The only problem? She didn’t want to be the one to actually give birth to them and she didn’t agree with surrogacy. But she had been homeless and in the foster system when she wasn’t living with her addict parents, so she knew that there were lots of kids who just needed someone to love them. This had been a point of contention between her and Grant. Biological kid(d)s are the only ones he would accept. It would end in screaming matches, Grant saying at some point that it would happen whether she liked it or not. That should have been a huge red flag for her, but she’d loved him so she ignored it.
With Kelly though, he understood. He understood that if she got pregnant she would have to take leave from being a firefighter for a while, so long as there weren’t complications with the pregnancy that were severe enough to end her career, and that was something he would never ask or expect her to do. When Stella wanted to have a serious conversation about kids he watched her collapse in relief that he shared her opinions. That he thought it would be better for both of them to foster older kids, pre-teens and teenagers.
Kelly had never liked Grant. Always thought that he was a manipulative piece of shit, and every even remotely serious conversation had been about Grant ignoring Stella’s wants, needs, and choices. If Grant showed his face again it would take an army and at least one dragon to stop him from killing Grant.
The only people they’d told were Boden, cause he’d need to know as their chief, Matt and Sylvie because they’d need someone to talk to about it besides each other and references. They’d all been ecstatic for the couple, Sylvie in particular. She didn’t remember much about her time in foster care, but she remembered enough to know how terrible, nightmarish, and broken it was.
Kylie was the first kid who popped up in both their minds. Her dad was a neglectful cop who had multiple families and her mom was a heroin addict. Kylie did what she could to remain afloat, to distance herself from who her parents are and what they do, but it was hard. Her dad just showing up and doing whatever the fuck he wanted and leaving ruins in his wake, and her mom was only around a third of the time, almost always on a bender with whoever she was ‘dating’ that week. Kylie had spent most of her childhood living with her grandma after being placed there by social services but was dumped back on her mom after seven months after her grandma passed three months in the system. The four months she spent being tossed between group homes and foster families were not times she advertised or wanted to remember. Girls on Fire had brought the support that she hadn’t had for so long into her life. When she missed a Girls on Fire meeting Stella got worried, it didn’t correlate with her character.
A call to detective Jay Halstead from Kelly brought out the depressing truth. Her mom had gotten high, signed her out of school, and then dragged her to a scummy abandoned warehouse to help her score some product. Kylie managed to slip away and call 911 for help after the dealer smacked her around for saying ‘no’. But he found her at the end of the call, and he didn’t react well. They’d rushed over to the ED when they found out where she was.
Stella actually started to cry when she saw the state Kylie was in. So frail, monitors beeping, covered in bandages, arm in a sling. Kelly tracked down Natalie to figure out what her condition was, and it wasn’t good. Amelia Wood, a social worker showed up just as she finished explaining everything.
“Hello, I’m Amelia Woods from DCFS, here for Kylie Reyez?”
“Of course, Ms. Woods as I was just explaining to lieutenant Severide, Kylie has a minor concussion five bruised ribs, a shoulder fracture, and we’re waiting on the results from her sexual assault kit.”
“And why would you be explaining it to lieutenant Severide? The only relatives listed in her file are her deceased grandmother, ineligible father detective Mark Reyez, and criminally negligent mother Daphne Adams.”
“My girlfriend Stella Kidd runs a program called Girls on Fire, a fire department outreach program for girls, and Kylie’s signed up for it. When she didn’t show up for the last session she had a really bad feeling and Kylie wasn’t answering her phone so we called some people and found out she was here. We rushed over, Stella’s actually with her now. What, uh, what’s going to happen to Kylie?”
“Well she’s not going to live with either of her parents, and she has no other family, so she’ll go into the system.”
“Group home or foster family?”
“... Group home to start... We’ll try to find a foster for her but that’s unlikely at her age.”
“Stella and I are in the final stages of getting approved as a foster family, would it be possible for Kylie to be placed with us?”
“Who’s the social worker assigned to you?”
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After a week in the ED Kylie was permitted to leave, and go to Severide and Kidd’s apartment. Kylie was ecstatic, Stella and Kelly had made it clear that their apartment was a safe place for Kylie, that all she would have to do was be a teenager. There would be some rules and curfew in place but Stella and Kelly were just focusing on making sure that Kylie had a stable home.
When they got home Stella gingerly showed Kylie her room. It was plain, had been seen Matt moved out the year before, but Sylvie had offered to help Kylie decorate it when she was comfortable. “We can arrange for that shopping trip in a few days, let’s just get you settled in first.”
“Ladies, our deep dish order has been placed and should be here in forty minutes. I think that maybe we should take this time to talk about some rules and stuff. Then we can chow down on pizza.”
Stella chuckled at her boyfriend’s attempt at humour, and Kylie smiled at how they looked at each other. “That sounds like a good idea Kel. You ready Kylie?”
“Yeah, let’s hear it.”
“Okay, so curfew is 10:30pm, but if there’s something special going on that night just let us know in advance and we can extend it.”
“School is priority, if you want a part-time job or something that’s fine, but school comes first.”
“Look, we don’t want you drinking or having sex-”
Gagging from Kylie interrupted Stella, “yeah, yeah, it’s gross to talk about with your guardians but we get that as a teenager that’s just something you might get into, so if you need condoms or a ride home or something, just let us know or call, we just want you to be safe. We won’t exactly be happy that you’re partying or whatever, but anything’s better than playing keep-up.”
“And if there’s stuff you want to talk about, we’re here. And if you don’t want to talk to us, that’s okay too. As long as you’re talking to someone, a teacher, guidance counselor, Brett, whoever, just as long as you talk to someone.”
“When we’re on shift we’ll both have our phones on if you need us, we’ll leave you by yourself so no parties, please. If you want to have a friend over that’s fine, but let us know beforehand and we’d like to meet them first.”
“The system actually covers therapy bills so you could even talk to a therapist if you want. And as far as the money from the government goes, we’ll budget it so that some pitches into groceries, and there’s some spending money for your room or stuff you want, but the rest will go into a post-secondary school fund for you, which we’ll also be personally putting some money into.”
“... Really?”
“Yes, really. We are here to make sure that you have support, and that includes making sure you have some money for when you’re out of high school.”
“Thank you...”
“You really don’t need to say ‘thank you’ sweetheart, we’re here to help and love you as much as we can.” The doorbell ended their conversation that left tears brimming the eyes of all three, “I guess it’s time for pizza.”
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There had been some disagreements and adjustments, but overall everyone could agree it had been a complete success. A month later, after the move-in and hours spent convincing Kylie that having money spent on her was okay, Sylvie, Stella and Kylie met up at the nice shopping area of downtown with money to spend. The plan was to spend the morning shopping then meet up with Kelly and the rest of 51 at the park for a picnic with the lovely souls from 51, 21, and MED.
“Where to first, Kylie?”
“Umm, a bedding store maybe?”
“Kylie, we talked about this, it’s okay that we want to spend money on you, okay?”
“Kylie, I went through this too. I still get freaked out when people spend money on me, especially if I didn’t have time to discourage them from doing so. I’m still pretty stingy if I’m honest. I know that it’s hard, you feel panicked and like you’re not worth this, you’re not worth this waste of money. What I find helps is taking lots of deep breaths, going straight to the sale and clearance racks, and remembering that all the stores we’re going to are family businesses, and that by spending money here we are supporting small businesses and people who work really hard to earn money and own a store of their own.”
Kylie thought for a moment, taking in Sylvie’s advice. “Okay, I’ll try that.”
“Okay.”
“So, where to?”
“I could use a couple shirts...” Stella and Sylvie smiled brightly, grabbed onto an arm, and marched over to the nearest boutique.
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After dropping everything off at the apartment the three women made it to the park a thirty minutes after the designated time. “‘Bout time you three showed up!”
“Cool it, Halstead, besides, shouldn’t you be spending your girlfriend?”
“Hailey is not my girlfriend!”
“Y’know, it’s kinda funny, Stella didn’t even mention a Hailey...”
“Hey! I have more than enough people on my back about this, I don’t need a kid I haven’t met- oh waiiiiit, you’re Kidd and Severide’s foster right? Well, I’m Jay Halstead, Severide hasn't shut up about you, everyone’s really excited to meet you.”
“Including Hailey.” Jay froze for a second, before an exasperated expression took over his face, then he leaned his head back and groaned loudly before stomping away, leaving nothing but laughter in his wake.
“You know what Stella? I think Kylie should meet Hailey first.”
“Ooooh, yes.”
“Hailey! We have someone we want you to meet!”
They all ran across the field to her after hearing the panicked ‘NOooOOOooo’ from Jay Halstead. The confused blonde greeted them with a chuckle. “Hi, I’m Hailey Upton, you must be Kylie. It’s really great to meet you.”
“You too, I’ve heard a lot about how badass you are.”
“Oh, don’t listen to all that you hear-”
“Ig- *gasp* ignore her. She’s awesome.” A stressed-looking Jay sputtered out as he took his place beside Hailey. “Well,” Kylie slyley started, “I’m not sure that you’re unbiased, but I guess I’ll take your word for it.” Jay panicked, Hailey was confused, Stella and Sylvie were doing everything in their power not to laugh.
“Wha-”
“Maybe she should meet Casey next, hmmm?” He gave a well-placed look to Sylvie and she started to pout.”
“That was cold.”
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It had been a long day, filled with grilled food, cake games, and new family members. Kylie was happy though. It had been a lot, but she felt like she connected with and could count on everyone there. She was full of food and happiness. “That was really fun. It was great to meet everyone.”
“Really you didn’t feel like it was too much?”
“We were worried that we’d overwhelm you.”
“No, I think it was good to do it this way, like ripping off a bandaid.”
“Good. Well we have shift tomorrow, starting at six in the morning. So we should probably head to bed.”
“I’m gonna do the same, I am beat the Hermann Horde really knows how to wear it out of you.”
“The Hermann Horde, oh my god... That describes them perfectly.”
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Shift had gone rather smoothly so far, a couple fire drills at local schools, a few fall-down and PD calls for ambo 61, and a smoke-detector check in an apartment building. All was well and good until around two o’clock when Stella got a horrifying phone call from Kylie.
“Stella?”
“Kylie? What’s wrong your voice sounds really shaky.” Kelly’s head snapped up at her words and she gestured for him to come over, he’d arrived and Stella turned the phone so they could both hear and talk just as they heard screams. “Kylie? Kylie!”
“There’s a fire, it’s getting big and we’re trapped and I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, where is the fire? What lit it? Has anyone called 911 yet?” Kelly prattled off doing his best to be helpful instead of curling into a ball and crying. “Chem room, sulfuric acid and a chlorate, and everyone else is calling 911.”
“Okay, are you near a carbon dioxide extinguisher?”
“Uh, cupboard next to me... Yeah!”
“Pull out the pin, lift the nossel and aim at the BASE of the fire by squeezing the levers together.”
They didn’t get a response but could hear what was happening, it took a few minutes before Kylie picked up the phone again, “it’s ou-t but smoldering or- smoking a bit? What-ever, it was down enough for all of us to- get out, so- we’re running.”
“Oh thank god. We’ll come right away- or do you want us to meet you at the hospital? You need to get medical attention if you were near ractive sulfuric acid.”
“Uh, how about I just keep you on the phone as I get checked out, we can figure it out from there?”
“Okay, we- we’ll wait.” Stella and Kelly just about collapsed in relief, all the members of 51 who had gathered around them smiled and offered them as much comfort as possible. “Hey, um- my foster parents? They’re on the line, they’re firefighters, uh, just want to know what hospital we’re going to, if I’m okay.”
“Well, tell...”
“Stella Kidd and Lieutenant Kelly Severide.”
“Kidd and Lieutenant Severide to meet us at Chicago MED.”
“We’re leaving now.” They both froze and stared at Boden like deers in headlights. “Alright,” in Boden’s usual gruff voice, “mount up everybody. We’re going to MED. We’ll keep our radios on and leave from there if necessary. Kidd, Severide, I’ll need to call in a floater to cover one of you for the rest of shift. It’ll be easier if it’s Kidd, cause at least one of you has to stay with Kylie. I’ll see what I can do about a floater for you though, Severide.”
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Amelia met them at the hospital, there were some incident forms, but because Kylie called them for help and saved herself and her classmates because of it, Amelia just gave them a smile and told them they were doing great. Kylie needed to stay at MED for a couple days because of the smoke she inhaled, but so did her classmates and they kept each other entertained. Then OFI showed up. Seager was quite obviously still carrying a torch for Kelly, but was still very polite to Stella and Kylie. “Well, your story matches up with the evidence we have and the statements collected from your teacher and 29 classmates.”
“Wait, she has 30 classmates, there’s 31 kids in her class.”
“Yes, well, Chad is the only one who’s story is off, but that’s because all the evidence points to him messing around and starting the fire. None of you can say anything to any of the other victims and their families.”
“Got it.”
Seager left with a longing look directed at Kelly, but no one was looking at her. Kylie had started to tear up, the reality that she could have died finally hitting her at full force, and both her parents (what she’d started calling Stella and Kelly in her head) immediately tended to her. Hugging her, letting her know they were there, and that it was okay to cry. So Kylie lay there, shaking and sobbing, as the two people who loved her just as much as her grandmother had, did everything they could to let her know they loved her, and that they had been scared too. That they would be sad if she had died. At some point the tears stopped being about fear and started being about love.
This was the scene that Casey walked in on, he quietly stepped away, knowing just how intimate this moment was supposed to be. He walked back to the waiting room. “Not yet guys, they need some time to themselves. I think it might be better if we came back later with some food or something.” A call came over their walkies before anyone got a chance to agree with their captain.
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Kylie had transferred schools after the fire, the smoke from the chemical reaction that started the fire had gotten into a vent and messed up the entire air con system, meaning the school had to be shut down for the rest of the year while it was replaced. The air quality was deemed too dangerous for students and staff to even retrieve their stuff from the school. So Kylie had been transferred to the same high school as Lee Henry Hermann. He’d shown her around the school and introduced her to his friends. Things had been going really well until 51 got a call to a mattress factory fire. Kylie hadn’t been around when Otis died, but she could still see how everyone was affected by his death. The fire was so bad that the news had been reporting on it since before school even started and new, terrifying developments were still coming. Kylie was scared, her stomach was so twisted she felt what she could only describe as extreme nausea, she couldn’t focus, and she was practically jumping out of her skin everytime she got a notification on her phone. She couldn’t find Lee anywhere either, she had no way of knowing how he’d be handling it. While he was around to know Otis, his dad had been a firefighter longer than he’d been alive. Maybe he had coping methods.
After another panic grab for her phone Kylie was excused from class with a sympathetic glance from her teacher. She wandered the halls for a few minutes, doing everything not to cry, not to feel hopeless, when one of Lee's friends spotted her. “Henry heads to the greenhouse on bad days.” Was all Donovan said before walking away. Kylie took a breath, hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder, and headed to the greenhouse. What more did she have to fear?
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The door was unlocked, so she walked in and... Immediately took off her cardigan. “Lee?”
“Kylie...” His voice wasn’t confident like it usually was, it was hoarse and weak. She maneuvered her way around all the planter boxes before finding Lee sitting on a small, poorly made if she was being honest, wooden bench that was surrounded by peonies of varying colours. It was strange seeing Lee the way he was. Sickly pale, eyes red, exhausted lax muscles. “You’re scared too.”
“Terrified... I don’t know how you’ve dealt with this your whole life...” Kylie couldn’t control her emotions anymore. Lee tugged her by the wrist to sit beside him and wrapped her in his arms. “I don’t know how I’ve dealt with it either. I don’t think I do, really.”
“Does chocolate help? Cause I’ve got some in my bag...”
“Oh, yes. Chocolate helps.” The rest of their last two periods were spent crying, hugging, and eating chocolate in the greenhouse. They didn’t find out until they were leaving that the last of the fire had been put out, and that no first responders had died, and while three had been injured none of them were from firehouse 51.
“This may seem childish, and I know you don’t do this, but I think I’m gonna head to 51... I need to see that they’re okay for myself...”
“The only reason my siblings and I don’t do that is because our mom manages to keep them in the dark still. She used the child safety functions to keep the news from giving us alerts, she only tells us something happened after the ash has settled, or she just tells us that dad had a bad shift a half hour before he gets home. She runs so much interference, but, I... I disabled the child safety stuff when I was twelve, so that I could watch some PG-14 movies, I didn’t find out about the news notifications until a month later. I mean, I saw that news apps were specifically selected when I disabled the setting, but I didn’t think anything of it until they got a call to a train wreck. I had never been more afraid for my dad in my life. I hadn’t fully comprehended just how dangerous my dad’s job was until that day. Every five minutes there was a... higher body count, reports of trouble at the scene, a video of a gas explosion that 51 was barely able to control... I strongly believe that it was the worst day of my life. I wanted to go to the firehouse, I told my mom that I found out from friends, I didn’t want her to turn the news off again... But she told me I couldn’t go see him. I had to wait. It was a long four hour hours. So, I get it. If you want, there’s some time before I have to pick up my brothers and sister. How about we go pick up some doughnuts, then my siblings, and then make a visit to 51.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me.”
“Yeah, this way I get to see my dad after fearing for his life all day and I can use you being worried as an excuse when my mom asks.” Kylie laughed as Lee smirked, proud of his plan.
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“Hey Brett.”
“Hey, I brought you doughnuts, courtesy of the Hermann Horde and Kylie.”
“How annoyed is Hermann that the nickname caught on?”
“Very.”
“So, how do the kids look? I imagine at least Lee Henry and Kylie saw the news today.”
“Kylie looked like she was going to burst into tears when she saw Stella and Severide. Lee looked like a weight came off his shoulders when he saw Hermann. But then, he uh...”
“Hm?”
“Lee Henry looked at Kylie and smiled, really softly, and he got this puppy dog look in his eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I know what I saw.”
“You think there’s something going on?”
“Not yet... But I’m keeping my eye out.”
#One Chicago#Chicago Fire#chicago med#stella kidd#Kelly Severide#stellaride#stella x kelly#kelly severide x stella kidd#matt casey#matt x sylvie#sylvie brett#matt casey x sylvie brett#brettsey#Christopher Herrmann
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A Promise Broken with a Vow - Chapter 2
A Scarlet Vision Victorian AU
Chapter 2 summary: An unassuming day leads to an existential crisis for Vision, one that forces him to re-examine and redefine what he wants.
AO3 Link
Acrid smoke swirls with the palpable waft of grease sliding from spits into hungry flames, a mixture that envelops Vision as he walks, hands lounging in his trouser pockets. There are fifteen wagons left, comprising what appears to be three separate groupings. Each wagon looks roughly the same—knotty boards forming the base, the ends sloping up and ballooning into off-white canvas covers. It’s akin to watching a fleet of boats skim through the bay. In a way this is accurate, the prairie grass oscillating in pelagic mimicry.
Based on what Vision has read in pamphlets and heard in saloons and trading posts, this is a popular jumping off point for the wagon trains. Gaggles of people flocking to explore the relative unknown of the territories, some in pursuit of gold, some freedom from poverty and lack of opportunity, and some because there might just be something more out there. Whatever the reason, he feels a kinship with these strangers who are so willing to shed the past and seek a new future.
What he does not feel a kinship towards is the inconsiderate messA. Carefully he sidesteps another pile of luggage, movements slow as to not step on the broken, hand painted tea cups forming a barrier around a lopsided stool. A wagon train left this morning and this is only one carcass of their lives, eight other mounds rise from the ground, each one swarming with scavengers eager to pilfer from another’s discarded life, not once seeming to wonder why the former owners left it all behind.
“Excuse me, fine gentleman?” Vision’s hips turn first, eyes remaining for a half second longer on the broken arm of a doll laying in the grass, and then his upper half follows. “Would a double-breasted water butt-smasherB like yourself fancy to know the secrets of your future?”
His right hand slides from his pocket and finds its way to tug at his earlobe. “I do not, um, think that is an apt description of my, well...” A wave of his hand over his decidedly non-athletic physique finishes the thought.
The fairly clear display seems to be willfully ignored, Wanda’s lips tightening into a pleased line. The action is accentuated by the silk headscarf she wears, the crimson and marigold beads (ones he spent many days threading onto it) framing her delight at throwing him askew. “Just get over here you fine yard-of-pump water.C “
“Wanda,” there is no one within ear shot, yet her brazen disregard for all etiquette both offends his sensibilities and also sends a spark of desire twining through his body, “please.”
The attempt at admonishment is weak and crushed immediately when she stands and grabs his hand, leading him to a wooden stool. It’s then buried deep in the ground as she leans against his shoulder, lips not far from his ear and accent rougher than usual, her tone sending his heart and mind into a dizzy, “It’s Scarlet.”
“Well, Miss Scarlet,” he makes sure to emphasize her working moniker, enunciation sharp on the c and t, “I do hope you are in my future.”
Her forehead thumps his shoulder, untamed curls tickling his jaw as she shakes her head with an ounce too much drama to be taken seriously. The lack of annoyance is confirmed once she moves away to take her seat, only bemusement left in her unerring gaze. “You do know that is the most overused line by men thinking they’re being clever with me.”
This is not a mystery to him and he admits it is an uninventive and tired quip, but the way she looks when her cheeks develop a subtle glow, fingers picking at the fringe on her shawl, all while her eyes pierce him with disbelief always shields him to embarrassment long enough to (politely) be bold. “And yet it will most certainly be successful.”
“I suppose I can consult the spirits to see what chance you have.” With a wink she easily slips into her spiritualist role. A moderate, swooping dance of her hands accompanies a drop of her voice into a recently practiced monotone, one Helen and Amadeus agreed gives the most otherworldly feel. “Based on what I see in my crystal ball,” which is not a crystal ball but a discolored beaker of Helen’s they charred in a campfire for added, spooky effect and then stood up in a cushion made from one of his socks, “you,” the band of her crescent moon clinks against the beaker as she points at him, “will be in my bed tonight.”
“Is that so?”
“The spirits never lie.”
How she keeps a straight face is a mystery to him, especially given he can barely manage it himself. “Can you perhaps explain to me how the spirits are so certain it is I in your bed and not you…” A woman and her daughter walk past as he speaks, eyeing the table with disquisitive mistrust, causing his voice to lower into a stutter, “um in mine?” Vision clears his throat, the reminder of the public nature of this interaction grounding him immediately. “Or well, not that it matters, I suppose, given this whole thing is a farce.”
Wanda is unfazed by the passersby, her attention solely on him. “Just give me your hand and I’ll confirm it.” He complies, tugging his glove off and allowing her to grip his wrist, fingers lackadaisically tracing the lines of his palm. For a fleeting moment he considers asking for a tarot reading, believing it is a bit more intriguing to watch from an outsiders’ perspective given his own curiosity about the process, having only seen the practice from a distance since Wanda never offers it to him. He, however, will not ask nor push her. Even though she has embraced and reclaimed the Scarlet Witch persona, he knows there is far more depth of agony in the title and its consequences than she wishes to face, understandably so. “Was it easy to see me across the way?”
“It was,” an important aspect they’ve discovered in traveling to towns with more open spaces than cramped ones. The more direct sight lines to her table, the more likely people are to get curious. It is why, once they’ve set her up, he will meander the perimeter to check her overall visibility, often weaving between the wagons or railcars or whatever mode of gathering they are near to decipher any poor angles. “I do think the tablecloth needs more panache to truly signal your offerings.”
Wanda seems less certain, albeit not completely against the idea. “What if we added more to the scarf instead?”
The current headdress is not as prominent as the one she used to wear, though it still, to him anyway, is unmistakably a look only a spiritualist would don. Additionally, it creates a rather fetching silhouette when she leaves her hair down, like she has today. “I can see if there are any potential additions when I am at the trading post. Perhaps some feathers?”
“Worth a try.” Toying with his fingers is not part of a typical reading, something he won’t point out to Wanda since he is not at all bothered by the action and she always carries a certain amount of nervous energy before customers arrive. “When does Helen want you back?”
“Not until one.” He answers her next question before she can ask, since it is the same every time, “I will be sure to stop by before then.”
“Good.”
Their conversation lulls into an amiable calm, her fingers moving haphazardly along his hand while her eyes wander the surroundings. All of this a sham to bring in customers. He even wears one of his nicer suits for it, the hypothesis being that if a man of civility is intrigued enough to seek a reading, then others will feel it is the socially reasonable thing to do. Part of him wonders at the ethics of ushering people towards a practice that is inherently specious while the other part of him knows that the decently accurate (albeit empty) reading does not actually harm the customer, per se, other than maybe a mite more hope or worry or vim, depending on what Wanda tells them. Plus, and this is the most persuasive argument for his involvement, Wanda truly seems to enjoy it now that she has figured out how to avoid amphibious attacks. “What do you think is going on over there?”
“Where?” Vision does his best to turn in the direction of Wanda’s gaze without pulling his hand away and breaking the illusion of their performance. Nothing has changed since he sat down, he thinks, other than a handful of people beginning to edge closer. “It seems you have some curious parties?”
The feel of a phantom hand nudging his chin a bit more to the right would be a curious thing if he had not become so accustomed to Wanda’s powers. He follows the direction and spots the farthest wagon train where there are four fires dotting the ground, each surrounded by people conversing and going through their belongings, likely to determine what to leave behind. “I am not sure I-”
“They’re setting something up”
There are more seats arranged than is usual, well maybe not more seats but the arrangement is somewhat odd—trunks, boxes, and blankets set up in clear lines. “Perhaps there is a, um,” gala is the first word to come to mind, except that is not the life they are leading now, “a gathering tonight?”
“Well,” a tug brings him back to face her, “we should come back tonight. I’ve never gotten to see you kick up a shindyD.”
“That is because I do no such thing.” There are, admittedly, many things he had never done until he met Wanda or thought about doing until she came into his life, her influence a pleasant chaos that leads him down some rather indecorous paths. Lively dancing in public, however, is an embarrassment he will not suffer, even for her. “Nonetheless, I will accompany you if you wish to participate.”
It is not meant as a challenge, yet she is staring at him with the same lopsided grin and narrowed eyes as when she is about to take the last pair from his hand in a game of Commerce. “Vision,” and this is how she says his name when she is about to hit his ball into the oblivion of grass on their makeshift paille maille course, “we both know that—” her mouth snaps shut and her eyes move to watch something over his shoulder. “Play along now, please.” It seems the onlookers have drawn within earshot. Wanda begins to hum, ramping up the eccentricity of the reading, dragging her nails along the grooves of his palm. “Your life line is branching, a sharp turn towards fortune is in your future, but,” a dangerous, over-the-top edge enters her voice, “you must tread carefully lest you bring about your own ruin.”
Vision is not a thespian, is not even decent at telling lies, so hopefully his words are heard as sincere. “Does this mean I’ll find gold?”
The path of his reading jackknives towards the base of his fingers. “Not just treasures, your heart line curves here,” she rubs the base of his ring finger, “if your heart is open, you will find love as well.”
“Love and fortune?” He tries to sound enthralled and gullible.
Wanda winks at him, a whispered not bad in his mind as she releases his hand, her palm coming to rest over her heart. “Yes, now go,” the people are barely two feet away now, “follow your heart and you will triumph.”
“I will.” He stands, as quickly as he can manage without wincing, hand diving into his pocket to retrieve a silver dollar. “You have saved my life.” This is sincere, something he tries to convey with a hard stare at his fiancée, gleefully accepting her moony smile. “I must go forth now and seek my fortune.” Compared to the prior statement, this one feels awful in his mouth, an acerbic falsehood tainting his general demeanor. At least it is almost done. The coin (which is near 100 times her going rate) thuds on the table and he slides his palm beneath hers, breaking script to lay a doting kiss to the top of her hand, “Thank you.”
Wanda’s jaw tightens as she does her best not to break character, her, “Go” vibrating with amusement. He grins at her and grabs his glove, pulling it back on before he walks away, turning after ten feet to see a woman already occupying his old seat and a line forming behind her.
With the feederE act done, he is free to explore the town, a task Vision finds inherently satisfying, no two places exactly alike. It’s why he never bemoaned when Mr. Stark would send him on wild goose chases to hamlets and towns with varied and often confusing names. Sometimes he would even suggest a new merchant to “investigate” if he discovered a name on a map he was ignorant of. Based on the walk from the hotel to the wagons, there are at least ten unique shops for him to explore and he has already mapped out the most efficient path between them all.
First, however, he returns to the railcar for his shopping basket. He locks the door, tugging on it several times to be sure it is secure. Satisfied, he turns towards Council Bluffs, ready to discover what it has to offer.
The grainery is the farthest away and most strenuous to get to, located in the old fort on the side of a hill. It is also the quickest, the owner more than happy to deliver fifteen bags of flour to their hotel this afternoon. At the bottom of the hill Vision ambles into Royal Amy’sF, flanked by muskets and pistols but only interested in finding a suitable combustible to help start fires in wet conditions. The Robinson Hotel has a side business of selling excellent dried venison, or so he overheard at breakfast. He buys a few bags and determines, based solely on the lobby, which he knows isn’t fully fair, that they chose the correct accommodations. It’s on his stroll to Harle’s Hall that a realization creeps into his mind. A minute glance over his shoulder confirms what he suspected, spotting the same bearded face roughly fifteen feet behind him that has been fifteen feet behind him since he left Wanda. Granted this is a small town, albeit one inundated with transient visitors which should reduce the probability of being followed...unless someone else has deduced the same logical shopping route. That thread of reassurance is frayed since the man hasn’t once gone into the stores to purchase goods.
There are two other experiences Vision can find equivalent to now. After he was known to be the butler of the Stark Estate, it was not an uncommon occurrence to be cornered by Mr. Stark’s jilted business partners or lovers, sometimes it was individuals with grand ideas that needed financing, and other times it was mothers looking to climb the social ladder who believed Vision would be a suitable candidate for their daughters in the hopes their daughters would then seduce Mr. Stark. Only no one here knows who he is and it leaves the other, far more insidious experience. Vision shoves the thought away, arm curling tighter to trap the basket against his side, determined to remain calm and logical.
This determination is short lived. While he’s in Harle’s his eyes betray him, sliding every so often to the windows at the front where the man stands talking with a group of people, angled perfectly to see the front door. Then Vision’s body, against his wishes, defects from rationality, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead at the memories he tries so hard to keep at bay lest he inadvertently forces Wanda to relive their capture, something she already experiences at least one night a week while she sleeps...as does he.
Vision scans the room, recalling the instructions Natasha once gave him on evasion after a particularly overzealous mother pressured him into a six hour tea where he met all eight of her daughters. The lessons emphasized the need for alternative exits, a tactic that he, as a butler for a man with questionable morals, had already discovered though clearly had issues fully utilizing. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Yes?” The store owner smiles amicably at him.
“Is there a second exit?”
The friendliness slides from the man’s face, replaced by befuddlement. “Er, yes, back left corner’s where they deliver the goods.”
“Thank you.” Vision pays for the balms and ointments, eager to escape while still ensuring he remains cordial so as not to leave a poor impression. “You have a lovely establishment.”
Past the soaps and bandages, wedged between a shelf of loose teas and a display of elixirs, Vision bends to exit through the small delivery door, finding himself in a grove of pine trees that insist on latching onto the threads of his jacket as he struggles through their alpine embrace.
It appears he has successfully navigated off the main road, a small dirt path separating him from the field of wagons. Given the rest of the shops are on Broadway, it seems like the majority of his perusing will have to wait, except, however, the trading post which is situated on the outskirts of town near the railcar. Luckily for him, it also happens to be the most important stop of the day and isn’t terribly far, perhaps a quarter mile.
Vision glances around, checking for untoward eyes, and walks as swiftly and casually as he can without overexerting himself, worried if he stumbles or shows signs of his ailments that he will be perceived as an even easier mark. In a sense, being on this dirt path allays his worries of kidnapping while in another sense the lack of bystanders and witnesses make the ease of absconding with him that much more proficient. He tries not to consider this option, instead forcing himself to think about the target destination. For instance, earlier today the owner at Amy’s explained how the trading post is one of the few log-based structures in Council Bluffs, the majority of the houses and buildings either stone or sod. It also stands alone, a sturdy structure framed by the emptiness of the fields beyond, the first thing all travelers see when they arrive. Or the last, depending on the direction of travel, and for him, at the moment, it arises as the solitary structure leading him out of town.
Successful in reaching the building, Vision enters and assesses the room, relieved when he only sees a mustachioed man at the counter. Adding to his comfort is that the inside is almost identical to every other trading post in the last three weeks. All the shelves are packed so tightly with an array of items it is hard to decipher the logic of their placement, assuming there is logic in putting oil for lamps immediately next to bags of cornmeal. All Vision can imagine is how a bump of an elbow would knock the oil over and how it would then soak into the bag of food. Once it dries, would anyone be the wiser?
He decides to skip the cornmeal and wait to grab his oil until the end. On his journey towards the maps he collects their typical victuals: rice, coffee, fermented fish (not Vision’s preference but it does last long), dried apples, jarred beans, and hardtack biscuits. He grabs a new cast iron kettle, Amadeus accidentally losing theirs down a river, a few more mugs, and a collection of sturdier cooking utensils. The next shelf is stacked high with beaver pelts, just as expensive as all other stops so far. Vision runs a gloved hand along the fur, trying to convince himself the money spent will be worth it now that the weather is beginning to bite.
“Mornin’ Francis!”
Vision glances up at the newcomer and his blood freezes. Slowly he backs away from the pelt table and towards the corner with the axes and goads. All his life he has believed in the goodness of mankind, and mostly he has been proven correct, except his body aches at the memory of the evil that brought him here, that is forcing him to travel to Seoul. His hand wraps around the wooden handle of a goad, sliding it off the hook on the wall and keeping it close at his side. Natasha would be so proud of him and the thought is a little sickening.
Armed and on edge, he shuffles his way towards the table of maps, half heartedly sifting through them while keeping his attention on the men speaking at the counter. He notices a hefty book labeled The Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California and scoops it up, gently placing the goad against the wall so he can open the guidebook.
“Howdy.”
Vision flinches at the voice, dropping the book at the sight of the bearded man grinning up at him. “I am not interested.”
The grin intensifies. “I imagine you might be interested in knowin’ that guide‘s barking at a knotG.” Somehow Vision resists looking down at the discarded guide, knowing from Natasha’s lessons, and his own experience, to never remove his eyes from an enemy. “You the fella with the afternoonifiedH railcar?”
It’s phrased as a question and stated as a fact. “I, um, yes, I am.” He could deny it but he is not a gifted liar.
“Where ya goin’ with it?”
“San Francisco.” Instantly he realizes the mistake. He should have said somewhere that is not their actual destination just as he should have told mothers he was taken and Mr. Stark’s jilted lovers and business partners that they deserved better.
The man whistles in response, scratching the back of his neck. “So you, the lad, and the two AngelicasI are plannin’ to go all the way to San Fran in that?”
The danger of the situation fades into a stubbornness he developed when working in the factories, never one to take lightly the gall of people who question every decision without proper facts or documentation. They have planned this trip, they have survived this long, the graves this man’s voice is digging for them is unacceptable. Vision stands taller, towering over the stranger as he grabs the Emmigrant’s Guide. “Yes we are. Now please, I need to purchase my goods and be on my way.” The man lifts his hands in mock apology, stepping away from Vision.
He makes it four steps before he’s held hostage all over again. “You want to lead them to their deaths with that fallacy,” the man’s dirt encrusted finger is pointed at the book, “have at it. Lansford never updated the map in there after the first publication.” Natasha’s protocol is broken by Vision’s eyes darting down. The name on the front of the guidebook is L. W. HastingsJ. “The rest of it’s decently useful,” something that seems to be painfully admitted, “but the map’s bound to put ya’ll in a bad boxK. So if you want to walk away from someone’s been on that trail dozens o’ times and rely on an almost decade old map, go right ahead.”
If Helen or Wanda were here, they’d likely urge him to leave, but the guilt that he tries to keep suppressed, the knowledge that he is the sole reason for this journey, that he has single handedly put the woman he loves and his dear friends into numerous precarious situations already, weighs so heavily on him that he can’t seem to move his feet and can’t take his eyes off the guidebook in his hands. The man picks up on the hesitation, shifting his demeanor from a soothsayer of doom to a gentle friend. “Wanna see my map? Update it every journey.”
Maps are not evil nor suspicious nor likely to kidnap and torture him. If he treats this as reconnaissance to figure out the correct path, would that not be preferable to ignorance? “I would.”
From the depths of four layers of unmatched clothing the man pulls out a weathered, chicory-colored leather bundle. Lovingly he unfolds it, revealing a map that sends a spark of awe and a whip of jealousy into Vision’s chest. It is handmade, similar to the ones Vision has been constructing, only there is so much more, or so he thinks, the legend and all markings in symbols he vaguely recognizes. “I been on these trails dozens o’ times.” Enraptured, Vision moves closer, bending down to watch the man show him their forthcoming journey all while opening the guidebook’s map and comparing them. “Y’all will have an easy time across the prairies, some good buffalo hunting here,” the brown smudges are apparently buffalo herds, dotting the map in various places, sometimes close to the thick black trail and sometimes a fair distance away. This is not information available in the book. “Then you reach Fort Laramie. Good place to stock up before the mountains. Happen to fall in love, it’s one o’ the few magistrates on the trail.”
“Are there not weddings on the trail?” The plan, as of now, is to wait until they are in Seoul to get married, allowing their marriage to start with hope (and health) instead of being shrouded in uncertainty. It is also the latest Wanda is willing to consider despite their promise to Mr. Stark. But Vision had also assumed, based on sensationalized stories shared in the newspapers, that weddings were common on the frontier and easily coordinated if spontaneity suddenly befell them, at least it is what he conceded to Wanda the last time they had a fraught conversation on the topic back in Springfield.
“If you want it legal, gotta have a magistrate, and they ain’t readily available, see,” now Vision understands the faded heart symbols on the map (yet another difference with his own), only three of them falling along their path. “That ain’t your big concern, really, after Laramie is the first mountain pass, it ain’t bad in pleasant weather, but it ain’t easy either. Break a wheel or lose an oxen, you best hope you get out before the snow.”
Vision listens in increasingly abysmal despair as the man walks him through the path—raging rivers, deserts where people freeze to death in their sleep, stampedes of buffalo, thunderstorms with lethal hail and whipping winds, dysentery, cholera, starvation, dehydration, wild predators, getting crushed by other wagons, and the crowning bit, “Y’all lookin’ to hit the Sierra Nevadas right around the time the Donner Party did who, by the way, used Lansford’s little guide.”
Even in New York, the morbid, cautionary tale of the Donner Party was brought up at any mention of the pioneers. “Is there another path?”
“Re-route here,” the name is illegible in the secret code the man uses, “go south to the Sonoran. It’s a pretty big desert so gotta hope it ain’t too cold or ya don’t run out of food and water but ya avoid the mountains leastways.”
Vision already knows his functioning diminishes greatly in the winter, every joint with metal seizing into a deathlike rigor when the temperatures drop too low. Adding to this the constant concern of freezing to death, or starving to death, or developing infections and illnesses, or being crushed by other travelers, or shot because you’ve been mistaken for an elk, or attacked by bears, wolves, coyotes, or mountain lions, and he feels himself questioning every choice they made concerning this journey. Had they known all of this, would traveling to Seoul have been a solution? If they were not so pressed for time would they have more fully investigated the paths? Should they have delayed long enough to send out messages about the condition of the railroad? The growing list of should haves are irrelevant now, the past impossible to rectify and so he must do as he always does and try not to let himself fall prey to the cruel, illogical entity of his pastself’s ignorance kicking up a shindy with hopeful, rushed desperation. There is only the future now and he intends to make a reasoned decision. “How much longer would that route take?”
The man shrugs, scratching his bearded chin as he calculates, “Prolly two, three more months.”
Vision struggles not to allow himself to slip into the grave this man already so kindly dug him. “How long is the journey if we took the mountains?”
“Total from here?”
“Yes.”
“Just you and the three?”
“Yes.”
“In that fancy railcar?”
“Yes.”
The map is folded up as the man thinks, sliding back into the depths of his clothing when his answer is ready. “Five, six months.” The grave grows deep enough for all of them. “But you trade it in for a schooner and some oxen, get a good guide, and hit all the best weather, four months, three and a half if y’all are of the first waterL.”
Without Wanda’s powers, it is useless to assess the trustworthiness of the estimate. Men with a business accept a certain level of dishonesty to get compliance from customers. “Thank you for your time and the informative discussion.”
“Listen,” the man leans to the left, blocking Vision’s exit, “you can talk to all the other guides ‘round and all they can give ya is a lick and a promiseM. I’m the only one can say I ain’t ever lost a soul on the trail.”
A large, unsubstantiated claim. “I must discuss everything with my party.”
Nonplussed is the general air of this man. “Well, when ya’ll decide, you can find me in the Ocean Wave. Ask for Phillip.” He tips his wide-brimmed hat towards Vision. “Don’t forget yer goad.”
In a haze, Vision picks up the goad, the Emmigrant’s Guide, and four pelts. The price registers enough in his consciousness for him to pay and then he returns to the railcar. He removes each item individually from the basket and places it in the appropriate location. Once the basket is empty he sits down, hand diving into the front pocket of his waistcoat. A small click and he confirms it is a quarter to one, just enough time to check on Wanda and then return to the hotel.
Except he can’t seem to find the energy to stand, drowning in the images of the trials ahead. Vision drops the pocket watch back into place and then grabs the bundle of papers from his inner coat pocket.
Just underneath the third paragraph of his draft letter he allows his thoughts to seep into the parchment, awaiting this evening when he will have time to contemplate it all.
I am beginning to think we have made a grave mistake.
He wipes the pen tip, blows three times on the statement, and then folds it up. There is nothing that can be done immediately and wallowing his way into tardiness is never an option.
Vision stands and does what he has always done the entirety of his life; he moves on to the next task.
“Lift your right arm.” Vision complies, muscles constricting around the immutable vibranium until it leaves his arm hovering as if reaching for someone walking away. Dr. Cho measures the space created by the action. “Bend your elbow.” The grinding of the hinge is felt far more than audition allows, regardless, Dr. Cho’s nose scrunches at what he hoped was a silent struggle. “Straighten it back out and then rotate your wrist.” Vision does this easily, relief swirling along with the movements. “Good.”
His arm drops back to his side, fingers drumming noiselessly against the thin layer of cotton on his thigh, always on edge under such observational scrutiny, Helen’s discerning gaze and muted writing amplifying the feeling of dissimilitude between his flesh and inhuman parts. “Left arm.” They repeat the process, his arm lifting, Helen measuring and then writing her observations, a bend of his elbow (this one is more compliant than the last), a twist of his wrist, and then he stands still, awaiting either a comment or a new direction. “You’ve lost almost four degrees in both arms.”
That cannot be accurate. “Are you certain? Only my right felt any resistance.”
The clinical mask slips for a moment, compassion radiating in a way that should be more soothing than worrisome, only it’s not. “Your right elbow is inferior to the left, but,” she places her notebook on the desk before gently coaxing his arms back up into his full wingspan (well, a lesser version than what he can ideally attain). “The joints are good over here,” her fingers tap his left elbow hinge and then the ball socket of his shoulder, “but you’re losing movement,” she steps behind him, an impersonal touch outlining the plate traversing the entirety of his upper back, “here.”
It wasn’t until he found his body failing that Vision paid any mind to the intricate dance of his musculature and how one malfunction could ripple so far. Perhaps he is being disingenuous to his younger self, there were times he’d get injured at the factory (however rare it was, his precision and precautions were always taken to the book) and find the effects of the injury were not isolated. Only those healed and could be easily forgotten. “What is the total loss so far?”
The numbers of his life are scrutinized, the tip of her pen wiggling in the air as she calculates. “It seems typical of your month and a half progression.” Which is worse than he suspected. “But we need to assess everything before reaching conclusions.” Helen moves out of sight, her hand coming to rest on his lower back. “Try to touch your toes.” A physical impossibility, his fingers dangling uselessly around his shins due to the stubbornness of the exoskeleton. “Hold it there for a moment.” He does, even as the telltale pain of his abdominal plates pinching skin becomes borderline unbearable. “Stand back up and rest for a moment.”
“That was worse.”
There is no denial in her silent scribbling. “Did you and Wanda find a good spot this morning?” It must be a troubling number for such a diversion.
“We did. When I stopped by on the way here she still had a line.”
A small, facetious curve breaks Helen’s scientific façade. “I have a hypothesis that the more uncertain the environment, the more superstitious people become.”
A fair prediction, one he has noticed as well, particularly once they began coming into more frequent contact with settlers gearing up for the West. “It does appear hope of any kind is in higher demand the farther we proceed.”
“Can you lift your arms over your head and bend to the right?” The bolts of his left hip react harshly and he clenches his teeth to smother any reaction, not wanting to cause more alarm than is needed. “Maybe we’ll all need Wanda’s readings by the end of our trip.”
The groan building in his chest is transferred into a brief snort at the thought of abandoning science in such a way. “That,” it’s hard to speak at this angle, the vibranium weighing heavily on his right lung, “would be a troubling development.”
“It would. Stand up.”
Vision’s body happily settles back into place, the residual pain dissipating with thoughts of what it would take for them to wholeheartedly follow spiritualism, particularly when their resident purveyor is not even a believer. Likely the same things that spur other travelers—unexplainable storms and diseases, dangerous crossings and the nigh constant concern of death. “I was approached by a trail guide today.”
“Oh?”
A nudge encourages him to bend to the left this time. “Yes, at the trading post,” momentarily he considers sharing the being followed part, but decides it is not pertinent. “He walked me through our journey. Did you know we have to cross a desert?”
“I don’t remember one on the map. Put your hand on the wall.”
He does, mind still focused on the harsh terrain ahead. “Apparently there is one.” It was the unmarked opening on their map, an area they all thought to be a valley or prairie. “And we will be crossing the last mountain pass at a precarious time.”
“How is it any more precarious than what we already assumed?”
A fair question. It’s not as if they hadn’t studied any maps before leaving, except there is a major difference in observing triangles on parchment and the reality of traversing the steep slopes under the threat of winter. “Well…”
“Lift your right leg and bend the knee.”
There is little discomfort in the action other than trying to remain balanced on his other leg. “We will be arriving at the mountains right before the snowy season.”
The lack of any response beyond a slight rise to her eyebrows makes him realize he may need to better convey the direness of what he learned, certain she will have a similar reaction to himself. “Did you know we will reach the mountain at the same time the Donner Party did?”
This information drags her lips down into contemplation, a half second of thought and then it slips away, appearing to not be worth much at the moment. “I did not. Switch to your other leg.”
“Of course. Apparently—” with a single lift of his left knee the words crash into an uncontainable groan and an outbreak of sweat across the entirety of his chest. Typically he uses a certain level of mindfulness in preparing for a move that will aggravate whatever part of his body is currently rebelling. It seems he was too intent on conversing, too intent on proving the direness they all overlooked, that he forgot to do so, breath still trapped in his chest and body shaking when Helen wraps an arm around his waist and guides him to the bed. Gently she eases him down until he is laying on his right side.
With medical precision and formality she unbuttons the outer seam of his drawers, ones specially made by Tony to provide maximum modesty while also leaving the steel fasteners available. “I need you to breathe.” Shallow inhales are followed by harsh exhales as she lightly prods at his hip, each touch sending stabbing pains up his torso and down his leg. “Vision,” another push, this time with her whole hand, and he gasps, droplets forming along his eyelids, “this is worse than you implied.”
Vision closes his eyes to block out the physical pain and the searing embarrassment of minimizing the truth of his injury, a tendency that should be added to his running list of flaws, right between a predilection for self-sacrificial actions and being overly detail oriented.
He doesn’t see her leave the room, too focused on shutting the world out of view, but he can hear the creak of the door and a muffled conversation in the hallway. Several minutes later there are footfalls and then a quilt is gingerly tucked around him. “Amadeus is retrieving Wanda.” A contingency that was agreed upon before they ever left New York, one that does not bode well for his prognosis. “I want to try a direct injection.”
“I thought you had decided it was too risky.”
“That was when you hadn’t started showing signs of infection yet.”
The implications hang over the bed like a noose. There are only so many rivets, only so much medicine, only so much time. Every decision has to be made with the knowledge of the consequences. If they merely ignore the infection and change the parts, it will do nothing to slow the spread of illness to his blood. This they know for a fact, many years of painful experimentation confirmed the treatment must be twofold: replacement and the intravenous conveyance of his medicine. But if they use the medicine in this unproved fashion and it fails, it cannot be synthesized again. If he then develops a worse infection later (a guarantee, from his experience), it will have to be treated with a smaller dosage than likely required. Amadeus has been hard at work learning the properties of all the herbs and plants on their path, but as of yet, he and Helen have not produced anything more promising than an ointment that soothes the ache in Vision’s muscles and is also used by all of them for sore feet.
The ups and downs of his life are never more pronounced than in moments like now. Less than seven hours ago he walked down the road with Wanda on his arm, nary a hitch to his steps nor worry in his thoughts. All onlookers saw was a young man of decent standing ostensibly at the prime of his life. And then slowly the façade chipped away, the worries returned, the pain amplified, he hasn’t breathed correctly since the trading post and now, well now it is once more a bag of nailsN. This cyclical pattern is a sad truth of his life and he wonders why he tries so hard to believe Wanda’s affirmations or Helen’s scientific proofs of his humanity when, in reality, his body is more similar to the piles of discarded luggage and unneeded tea cups.
“I think it will work.”
The hand rubbing this belief into his back is not of the medical doctor but of his friend, a bond that formed primarily through the exchange of letters and has transformed into a foundational sense of calm in his daily life since they met once again. It's under her auspice that he allows all his worries to tiptoe from his lips, “I am doubting my ability to reach your lab.”
“I know.” Helen’s hand stops, caught between his shoulder blades, “we all know.” This is more concerning than cholera or starvation. He is certain Wanda has an idea of the depths of his doubts, but up until now he believed he had kept it fairly well masked in front of Helen and Amadeus. “Vision,” what usually comes next when she says his name like this is a reasoned, logical breakdown of why his thoughts, though valid, are more harmful than useful if he ruminates on them for too long, “without making reasoned adjustments, I also worry you won’t make it.” Chastisement, however heavily layered with concern, isn’t what he expected. “What is Newton’s third law?”
It comes out without thought, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”
“Exactly. Every action you take influences your well-being.”
Helen is his equal and (more often) superior in many ways, least of all is her practical approach to rationality and conversation, making the vagueness of this comment especially aggravating. “What are referring to, specifically?”
The circular motion of her hand is no longer a comfort, each revolution rubbing the meaning of her answer deep into his soul like a stain that grows bigger the more you try to wash it out. “You insist on helping us with everything even though it is detrimental to you.” This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation but it is the most severe her tone has been. “If you continue to physically push yourself like that, under Newtonian laws, the friction of the exoskeleton on the steel will lead to a quicker deterioration.”
Physics has never been volleyed against him like this and, under the weight of the sciences he so dearly admires and practices, he struggles to counteract the claim, forced to rely on immediate emotional concerns. “I do not want to be a coffee boilerO.”
“You do realize the only reason any of us are on this path is to save your life?” Something he has never failed to recognize. If not for needing the cradle, Wanda would be safe in Normanskill and Helen and Amadeus would be on a well-furnished boat sailing through warmer waters. It is a thread of contemplation he has almost daily.
“I know.”
The bed sinks beneath him as she leaves it, re-emerging with a chair and situating it right in front of his face. She sits down, face serious and determined. “And the only reason we want to save your life is because you are worth saving.” A lengthy pause and hard stare forces him to accept her words. “A desert won’t stop us.”
“There are also mountains.”
Helen bends forward, elbows on her knees and chin resting in the nest of her hands. “It is a well-established belief in the Joseon scientific community that altitude is good for one’s health.” His lips tilt slightly in half-hearted appreciation of her attempt. “You can make it, but only if you stop physically helping us all the time.”
Any positivity of altitude is lost at the command. “Helen, I…” In every great hurdle in his life, helping has always been the very thing that has protected him. Whether it was fixing a threshing machine to allow his mother to hire less farmhands, or learning to mend broken axles and belts in the factories, or spending long hours doing extra research at university, it centered him. After the fire, he refused every offer of financial aid and firmly denied the insisted arrangement that he simply live as Mr. Stark’s ward. He needed a purpose and so he informed Mr. Stark that without gainful employment, he would rather fend for himself. Butlering then inoculated him from the worst of his despair. It filled his day and mind with lists of what he must do, of what came next, never allowing him to dwell too deeply on anything beyond an hour or two away. And now, on this journey, it’s been small duties such as restocking their supplies and caring for the horses, fixing their railcar, rearranging their belongings to provide more space, or building a fire to make tea for Wanda when she’s cold, that have helped keep him functioning. Without the menial, he spirals into a feeling of suffocating nothingness. “I can’t.”
“We’re aware.” Severity has turned into a frustrated gaiety. “The other night Wanda suggested we just tie you to one of the seats.”
A suggestion she has made to him as well, though hopefully the contextual underpinning was very different when she made it to Helen. Regardless, it is a preposterous thought, just like asking him to shrug off such an integral mantle of his existence as helping. “There are just so many difficulties ahead for me to sit and watch.”
Helen shrugs, acting like this is as trivial as deciding between pickled herring or halibut, both tasting the same in the noxious liquid. “I only said physically. You can still navigate, and strategize, and provide company to the overnighters.” All things he never categorized as menial tasks, viewing them instead as interpersonal and often intellectual jobs that are simply enjoyable. “Amadeus still wants you to learn Sokovian with him, he says it makes him look better,” somehow a snigger breaks through his melancholy, the young man more competitive than anyone he has ever met and, unfortunately, far better at languages than himself. “You won’t be a coffee boiler and you won’t just sit idly.” Clearly this conversation has been planned for some time, by all of his companions. Helen’s words are sure and lack any hesitation, even down to the precise lightness she imbues her voice with as she reassures him. “It’s not like we are asking you to do nothing ever again. We just want you to choose how best to use your energy and time, and personally, I don’t think it should be doing chores.”
If there is merit to the suggestion, he needs time to consolidate his thoughts on it and weigh every positive and negative aspect of this change in activity, hence why he diverts away from it, asking the question she hasn’t fully answered. “What is the prognosis based on total loss so far?”
“As long as this injection works, it is my medical opinion that we should have at least another five months.”
A desert flanked by mountains fills his mind, his worries flurrying to obscure the path. “And what if five months is not a feasible timeline for travel?”
“Then it’s not feasible.” It’s said with an unperturbed air, like it is a struggle for a future Helen to consider, one that, in five months, is lost in the snowy mountains. Her fingers grip his shoulder, squeezing it as she speaks. “Death is biological. It is a process every living being experiences.” A phrase she wrote him in the second letter they exchanged, one that was more comforting four years ago than it is now. “If we can’t make the trip in under five months then yes, you will die and,” this is the first hitch in her voice, the first indication that they may have veered away from any pre-planned words, “we all will be shattered by your passing.” The shards of their grief embed into his heart, twisting deeper to nullify the thoughts he uses to comfort his own worries, the certainty he has that they are strong and will be fine, that their lives will move on. Except the tears she’s already shedding for him while he is alive suggests otherwise, just as Wanda’s anger each time he tries to speak of this informs him, very clearly, that he is stepping into imbecilic territory for the sake of his own mental comfort. “Science won’t stop death, superstition won’t stop it, whether it's a slow, foreseen inevitable or quick and unsuspecting, it will happen to all of us.” How she can smile so gently in the face of unrelenting fate is beyond him. “I, however, will do everything I can to delay it as long as you promise me something.”
Guilt urges him to accept her request before he’s had time to fully think it through. “I will try to stop helping—”
She chuckles, shaking away his attempt to read her mind. “Two promises then. Will you forgive the quotidian nature of my next statements?”
Vision provides a puzzled, “You are forgiven.”
“You have planned everything for your death,” a truth he cannot refute, he even has instructions of what to do for every state and territory based on the local laws, “so, Vision,” he shakes away the morbid thoughts and looks intently at her, breath bated for what he has to promise, “now it’s time you accomplish the only thing anyone truly needs to do before biological inevitability.”
There are very many things he wishes to do before he dies, how a woman of her intellectual standing can boil her own accomplishments and goals into one unit is curious. “That would be?”
“You have to live, Vision.”
It is perhaps the least scientific phrase he has ever heard Helen utter and yet it affects him more than Newton did, leaving his mind in a haze of what precisely she means or how one is supposed to operationalize living. Before he can inquire further, the door to the room opens, abruptly ending their conversation and pulling Helen away.
Wanda’s concerned face comes into view, her hair engulfing him as she bends to kiss his forehead. “How are you doing?”
A question he is not capable of articulating an answer to at the moment. Instead he grips her hand and brings it to his lips, shoving down all doubts and uncertainties from his mind before she reaches out to him, like she always does. “Unfortunately, it seems I will not be able to kick a shindy tonight.”
The roll of her green eyes is a sight to behold, filling him with an immense gratitude that he gets to see it so often. “If you didn’t want to go you could have just said no instead of going through all this.” She settles onto the bed next to him, her hips pressed into his stomach, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her skirt.
Vaguely he is conscious of the sounds of Helen and Amadeus laying out the supplies needed, can even catch a whiff of the iodine, but he lets it all fade away as Wanda draws her hand along his cheek. “Want to know what they were setting up?”
“I do.”
“You were close.” The soothing dance of her fingers on his face stop for a millisecond, resuming with a more hesitant rhythm as she finishes her thought. “It was a wedding.”
Living is a fickle thing, filled with highs and lows; for some, like himself and Wanda, far more ravines than mountains. But as he feels the expectant, slightly nervous anticipation in her body, he realizes that there are some things not worth risking, that if he bypasses a long day of collecting supplies, it means he can spend one more evening wandering the fields with Wanda, or an afternoon playing paille maille, or an indecorous dusk in a barn. Admittedly he has never been one to be selfish, always putting others needs before himself, and he has done that already, everything is planned that can be planned for the inevitable. Life is finite and maybe, just maybe, he needs to do what Wanda has always urged him to since the day they met – decide exactly what he wants and unapologetically pursue it.
Vision kisses her side as the image of their future solidifies in his mind. “How wonderful.”
Victorian Language and Culture Decoder
A
The Oregon and California trails were littered with people’s broken, old, or unneeded possessions. It was officially known as leeverites (leave ‘ere right here)
B
Double-breasted water butt-smasher: a man of athletic build.
C
Yard of pump-water: a tall and lanky man.
D
Kick up a shindy: Dance, cause a raucous. It is a precursor to shindig, but it seems that words wasn’t in US usage until the 1880s.
E
Feeder act: an actor or actress whose role is meant to feed/help the more important actor or actress.
F
I have a link to a map of 1853 Council Bluffs over on Ao3
G
barking at a knot: Useless
H
afternoonified: Smart
I
Angelica: an unmarried woman
J
Lansford W. Hastings: Hastings, or Lansford for those who read too much about him, is one of the biggest names in the Oregon trail. He did write the Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California. He also founded the Hastings Cut-off in Utah which is the route the Donner Party took, though he did not actually recommend people take the route. It actually was only a one sentence suggestion in his book, so don’t blame him for the Donner Party. By 1853 he was either living in California or Arizona (sources are mixed), so he couldn’t be their guide. Next chapter I’ll leave a footnote on good ole Phillip as he is a comic reference.
K
Bad box: a bad predicament
L
Of the first water: something or someone that is first-rate or excellent
M
A lick and a promise: Doing something with minimum effort.
N
Bag of nails: when everything seems to go wrong at once
O
Coffee boiler: a person who is lazy or shirks their responsibilities
#scarlet vision#wanda maximoff#vision#thescarletvisionnetwork#alternateuniversescarletvision#au#mine
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Daydreaming
Pairing: Chanyeol x reader
Genre: Friends to lovers, a little angst
Words: 2,640
“Are you even listening?” Chanyeol shook your shoulder from across the table. You snapped out of your daydream. You found yourself doing that constantly, daydreaming. It was becoming a favorite pastime. You laying down on your hard mattress staring up at the ceiling at one in the morning. With this instance you were currently at the library with your friend Chanyeol. It was almost 9pm and there was a few people in the college library. A girl with black hair sitting a couple seats down from you was sleeping soundly. A boy with ginger hair a couple tables away from you was typing furiously away at his laptop. You didn’t know if he was typing a paper for a class or playing a video game.
“Hey,” Chanyeol grabbed your attention again when he shook your wrist. You felt your face grow warm at his touch and instantly pulled your arm away.
“I’m fine,” you choked out.
“You sure? It doesn’t look like it,” Chanyeol chuckled. You glanced at the time on your laptop.
“It’s getting late, we should get going,” you said gathering up your things. You put your various pens and pencils in your book bag and placed your laptop in your laptop bag. Chanyeol was mirroring your actions across from you. He was putting away his things as quietly as possible, he probably didn’t want to wake up the girl that was sleeping. You both quietly walked out of the library. Chanyeol said goodbye to the librarian who had a squishy smile on her face when Chanyeol acknowledged her. Chanyeol had that affect on people. He made people feel like they were on top of the world when he was around. He was funny, kind, charismatic, good looking and overall such a nice person to be around. He didn’t make you feel awkward or out of place, he made you feel like you were apart of his world.
You both were walking to your respective dorms, the cool autumn breeze chilled your exposed arms. You noticed Chanyeol instantly take off the hoodie he was wearing. You started to protest but Chanyeol didn’t hear it. He handed you his hoodie and you took it. Chanyeol graciously took off your book bag so you easily slip on his hoodie. The scent of him engulfed your senses. He smelled like pine and peppermint, two fragrances you loved. When you fully had his hoodie on, he took your hair that was trapped between the fabric and pulled it back. You felt your neck grow hot. You were glad it was semi-dark out so he won’t notice your blush.
“You’re too nice,” you said. Chanyeol laughed, he also took your laptop bag out of your hands and proceeded to carry both your bag and laptop.
“It’s called being a gentleman,” he said, smiling at the distance. And that was the problem. He was too nice. Compared to the many guys you’ve meet, they’ve never lived up to the gentlemeness of Chanyeol. He put all those boys to shame. Of course someone like him had to be an asshole right? But no, Chanyeol didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was constantly helping others with their papers, projects, he helps out at the local animal shelter, he was a literal Disney prince but with an actual personality. And that was many of the reasons why you loved him.
Yes, love. You loved Chanyeol. You couldn’t help it. It all started a couple years ago. You used to bike to your classes every morning. It was therapeutic for you. You loved the way the wind flew through your hair, the way the morning sun burned your face, the way you felt so free. You loved that feeling. But it all came crashing down when a car beeped and it surprised you so much that you fell off your bike. You could faintly hear a bone crack in your ankle. You didn’t want to believe it, you’ve never broken anything in your life. As a scream rang through your ears, you noticed a figure standing over you.
“You okay?” The person asked. All you could do was nod. “You’re gonna be okay, I called an ambulance.”
“Before you knew it, you were in the hospital for a broken ankle. You were startled by a woman who was in her car. Her face was blotchy and red from all the crying she was doing but you insisted her that you were alright. It was just a broken bone. The boy who discovered you was Chanyeol. He was on his way to the library when he heard the car horn and when you fell off your bike. He ran to you in panic to see if you were okay. The nurse said you’re probably gonna need a cast and might be in here for a few days.
Chanyeol was there for all those days. The nurse thought he was your boyfriend but you wiped your head back and forth in protest.
“Okay honey, whatever you say,” the nurse whispered to you when Chanyeol appeared by your hospital door. He brought you sunflowers on your last day at the hospital. You were already in your ankle cast. You were just waiting for the doctor to sign you out so you could leave.
“How did you know these are my favorite flowers?” You asked.
“When your roommate was gathering stuff from your dorm to give to me, I noticed a couple sunflowers by your bed and they were wilting, I figured you wanted some new ones,” he said.
“Bora probably didn’t water them,” you sighed. “She never waters the flowers.”
“Doesn’t matter now, you have these,” Chanyeol held the new batch of the sunny flowers to you. Your fingers brushed as you took the flowers in your hands.
“Thank you,” you said.
“It’s no problem.”
The crush on Chanyeol evolved a few weeks later when he invited you to his basketball game. When he scored the winning basket, he came running towards you, all tall and sweaty, and lifted you up in a hug. You were both taken back by the sudden affection and he quickly put you down.
“You sure you’re not dating?” Your roommate Bora asked you one evening. Chanyeol invited you to a house party. You were never really a partier, you preferred staying in the dorm reading a book or binge watching The Office for the 24th time. But since Chanyeol asked you to go, you would go.
“We’re not dating, he’s just a friend,” you said. Of course he wasn’t just a friend. You really liked him. The way he always put others before himself, the way he would treat anyone he talked to like they mattered. You admired him.
You walked into the house party with nervousness. You told yourself to not be such a loser. You barely had friends in college but you decided you were gonna suck it up and deal with it. You walked towards the kitchen, you recognized a few faces here and there but most everyone else were new to you. When you reached the kitchen, someone placed a beer in your hand. You hesitantly wrapped your fingers around the cold beverage and took a sip. You instantly regretted it as you swallowed the devil's drink.
“You don’t like it?” Someone asked you. You looked up and you found a boy with sandy blonde hair and a gentle smile on his face. You recognized him from campus.
“Uh, not really no,” you said. He took the beverage out of your hand and placed it on the counter behind him.
“I’m Baekhyun,” introduced the boy. You told him your name.
“Oh, you’re friends with Chanyeol?” He asked. “I know him.”
“Yeah, he helped me out when I broke my ankle a couple months ago.”
“He’s actually out back, let’s go see him.”
Before you could figure out what was going on, Baekhyun took your wrist and dragged you out the kitchen towards the back of the house. You saw a glistening pool and a few people swimming. The cool breeze hit your face as Baekhyun slipped through the back doors.
“Hey Chanyeol, look who I found!” Baekhyun explained. The sight you saw before you nearly broke your heart. Chanyeol was kissing a pretty girl with blonde hair when Baekhyun called out his name. He tore his lips away from the girl and glanced at Baekhyun who was still holding your wrist in his hand. You couldn’t make out what he was thinking from the emotions from his face. A grin spread across his face when he saw you and Baekhyun.
“That’s his girlfriend,” Baekhyun said to you as Chanyeol started making his way towards you, his girlfriend slowly trailing behind. You slipped out of Baekhyun's grip on your wrist.
“Hey, so glad your could make it,” Chanyeol said when he reached you. He squeezed your shoulder. His touch burned your skin. “This is my girlfriend, Miyoung.”
The blonde haired girl popped up behind his shoulder.
“Hello, Chanyeol told me so much about you,” she held out her arms out for a hug and you politely hugged her back. She smelled like cotton candy and strawberries. You couldn’t possibly hate someone who smelled liked that. It was impossible. And it was impossible for you to hate Miyoung. She was just as nice as Chanyeol if not nicer. They were made for each other, it was clear as day. Miyoung invited you to places with her and her friends. You said yes to those activities since you didn’t want to be mean. But then one day, those activities stopped. You weren’t complaining since most of what her and her friends would do wasn’t your thing. You were relieved she wasn’t contacting you anymore. You could go back to watching The Office.
“So how’s Miyoung?” You asked Chanyeol now, you were both still walking to your dorms. The sky was filled with stars, illuminating the streets. The setting was quite romantic but you didn’t want to dwell on that.
“We broke up a couple weeks ago,” Chanyeol said, looking up at the sky. You ignored the fluttering feeling in your chest.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said.
“It’s fine, it didn’t work out, that’s all.”
You both walked in silence now. You had no idea what to say. It was selfish of you to be happy when he was obviously going through something personal. You’ve only been in one relationship in your whole life and once that ended, it broke your heart and felt like your insides were falling apart. You hated that feeling and hated that that’s what Chanyeol was going through at the moment. So that’s why Miyoung wasn’t contacting you lately. You were Chanyeol's friend and it would be weird to hang out with your ex's friends. You finally reached your dorm. You stood outside your door as Chanyeol handed you your things.
“Thank you for walking me to my dorm,” you said. Chanyeol smiled at you. You loved his smile. The way it squished his cheeks and the way how ears stuck out, made him look several years younger.
“You’re welcome, glad I could accompany you,” he said.
You started taking off his hoodie from your body but he quickly stopped you.
“Keep it for now, there’s a basketball game in a couple weeks I would like you to come to if you don’t mind. You can give it me then.”
“Okay,” you said, “goodnight Chanyeol.”
Flash forward to a couple weeks later, the basketball team scored a winning game. Everyone was screaming and yelling. You stayed in the bleachers as everyone gathered around Chanyeol for a high-fives and congratulatory hugs. Chanyeol texted you to come to the locker room a couple minutes later. Everyone seemed to be out celebrating as you walked in the boys' locker rooms. Chanyeol laughed his deep laugh at you as you coughed from the axe body spray perfuming the air.
“Why are boys so disgusting?” You asked, you sat down next to him and handed him his hoodie. He took it without a word. Chanyeol was still wearing his basketball uniform.
“Hey you okay?” You asked.
“Yeah, just thinking,” he said.
“About what?”
“My future.”
You often confided in Chanyeol with your personal problems. You could go on and on for hours on why you hated your major but decided to do it because your mom suggested it. As you ranted, Chanyeol would rarely open up about his personal life to you. You weren’t bothered by it, he would open up to you when he’s ready and you guessed this is that time.
“What about your future?” You asked, you glanced to the side of his face. Sweat was still running down his face, his muscles were glistening. You couldn’t help but stare at Chanyeol's physic, he was gorgeous, way too gorgeous, it wasn’t fair.
“I don’t know if I want to do basketball for the rest of my life.”
His sudden confession snapped you out of your daze.
“What do you want to do?”
“Music.”
You weren’t entirely surprised. Chanyeol clearly had a love for music with a guitar tattooed on his arm to his guitar collection in his dorm room to his velvety deep voice you heard once when you were ease dropping on him once. You weren’t planning to but his voice captured your heart in no way anyone else had. It was crazy how much you were in love with him. You felt heat move around your body. You’ve always wondered what it would be like if you confessed to him. If you blurted out the words, “I love you,” to him but you were scared. Scared he would reject you, scared he would stop talking to you. Scared it would ruin your friendship. You kinda thought of yourselves as Jim and Pam from The Office. And it some cases your stories were similar. You were Jim and Chanyeol was Pam. Miyoung was Roy. But with Miyoung out of the picture like Roy was a couple of seasons into The Office, maybe this could work. Maybe you and Chanyeol could become something, anything. The thought made your heart race.
Chanyeol called your name.
You looked to him and you suddenly felt the closeness between you two. Chanyeol was closer than he was before. The words lost in his face as he looked to you. His big brown puppy dog eyes peered down at you. You didn’t know if you were getting closer or if he was, it didn’t matter once his lips touched yours.
You couldn’t quite believe what was happening, the kiss was soft and firm as they moved together. One of Chanyeol's large hands gripped your hip while the other one held your neck as he titled your head up for a better angle. You placed your hands on his upper arms. The kiss was intoxicating, he tasted like heaven and clouds. You eventually pulled away with a breath.
“I’ve liked you for a really long time,” Chanyeol confessed. “Sorry to startle you.”
You ran your hands up and down his arms.
“It was no problem at all, I, uh, really like you as well,” you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Chanyeol grinned his cheesy grin of his. The one where he showed his teeth, his cheeks full on display, his ears peeking through his shaggy hair. He pulled you in for another kiss. This one was just as great as the last one if not better.
“You know what I just realized?” You asked.
Chanyeol hummed through the kiss.
“You’re like a real life Troy Bolton.”
Chanyeol's loud laugh burst through his lips, causing you to separate.
“You’re really something else huh?”
One day you'll tell him you love him, one day.
#exo#exo chanyeol#chanyeol#park chanyeol#exo scenario#exo scenarios#chanyeol scenarios#exo imagines#chanyeol imagine#chanyeol x reader#exo x reader#chanyeol imagines
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Heather
This story is a small exploration of a Silvaze fanchild and how the pair might function as parents. Beyond that, I don’t have much of a blurb for this one; I just thought up their little Heather and ran with the idea of her. Creating her was a lot of fun and gave me some creative breathing room, from imagining how her powers might work to deciding which of their parents’ traits she would inherit to figuring out their overall family dynamic. Writing an OC amoung a canon cast was a new experience but a wonderful one none the less!
This piece totals 6,637 words long and is suitable for all, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
A cast iron kettle hung in the air, cloaked in a bubbling mint green aura. Its owner sat at a desk beneath it, scribbling away in preparation for an upcoming maths test but, unfortunately, was more distracted than she'd admit by her tea-brewing endeavour. It wasn't that the effort was overly strenuous and it wasn't that she hadn't practised, but maintaining a temperature low enough to prevent overflow was proving more difficult than she'd anticipated. She'd got stuck three sums into her workbook, a geometry question no different from those prior was somehow taking ten times their effort. As she cursed her inability she felt her pencil brittle in her grasp, paint melting as the wood turned to a husk. The feline sighed, gripping it by the graphite tip and blowing, but the damage was already done. The fingertips of her right glove were stained yellow and black. Her pencil was well beyond use.
She groaned, tossing it in her wastepaper basket, and reached to her pen-pot. There were no more pencils, only pens. Pens were no good for maths. She opened her drawers, only papers; no pencils. A low hiss slipped from her throat, she balled her fist only to flinch and quickly reopen it. The paint now marked her palm, cast black by the glowing green symbol behind it. She slumped back in her chair, a much louder hiss slipping her throat, and brought her left hand to her forehead.
That was when a meteor fell from her ceiling; her kettle crashed through the desk in front of her and she, in response, tumbled twice backwards over her chair and landed flat on her back. A hiss escaped her throat, despite being a cat she clearly had her father's reflexes; couldn't have just landed on her feet. Just as she thought of her father, his voice rang up the hall.
"Heather, what was that?! Is everything alright?!" His call was followed by the sounds of a psychic whir; he was undoubtedly racing toward her room.
"I'm fine, Dad! It's fine! Don't come in!" She dared to glance at the damage, the now dented iron mass and her demolished oak desk. Almost-tea had been sent in almost every direction. Was the floor broken too? Knowing her luck, probably.
Despite her demands, there was a gentle rap at her door; undoubtedly her father's knuckles. Heather released another sighing hiss, brushing off her skirt and clambering to her feet; making sure her ponytails were still in place. As cats went she was on the fluffier side, her pastel purple fur was rather untameable, and thus made maintaining a serious visage… difficult. She'd had her right ear pierced in an attempt to fix that, coupled with a shift from garish pinks and yellows to a more serious (gothic) style. Out with sundresses and dungarees, in with black skirts and shirts from her favourite metal bands.
"Purpur, are you sure you're okay? Can I come in?"
Fists balled and eyes shut tight, she spoke through gritted teeth, "Dad, I told you to stop calling me that, I'm not a kid anymore." Another hiss escaped her throat, Heather knew she had whined rather than demanded that change.
"Sorry Heather, I just… can I come in?" She heard the worry in his voice.
Heather turned away from the door, wandering over to inspect what remained of her desk. Her papers were ruined, the woodwork was smashed and water was freely leaking from her kettle.
Eyes closed, fists clenched and her ears lowered. "D-Do whatever you want."
The door unlatched behind her, footsteps padded across the carpeted floor behind her. "Oh dear, well at least you're alright. This shouldn't be too hard to fix!"
Cyan light flared, the kettle returned to the air and soon its puncture was turned inside out; the metal folded to reseal. Her papers too lifted skyward; water being separated and pooling within a separate psychic bubble. While he couldn't fix her desk he did his best, the broken board splintering back together and being set to lie atop its legs. With a point, her trinkets and kettle were piled on her bedside cabinet. The orb of tea was quickly disposed of, her window briefly opening to set it loose.
"We can get you a replacement desk in the morning, don't worry about it."
She felt his hand on her shoulder, Heather shrugged out another sigh but no hiss accompanied it. The feline finally turned to face her father, looking up at his stupid smiling face and ridiculous quills. Even though she was fourteen he still towered over her, the fluffy tips of her ears barely reached his chin. Cyan symbols were etched on his hands, not quite the same as her octagons but unmistakably similar. Moments like this reminded her that she had his brighter eyes, not her mother's amber ones as she liked to think.
"Thanks," His smile grew at her praise, ugh. She turned away arms folded, "I-I guess, but I could have cleaned it up myself."
That hand on her shoulder pulled her in for a hug. She kept her arms firmly crossed and forced herself to maintain a frown despite the tickling of his fluff. "I know you could but it's fine. I just wanted to save you the hassle, no matter how grown up you are I'm still going to do my best to help you."
"Dad, stop embarrassing me." At that, she felt him hug just a little tighter, practically forcing his fluff up her nose. Her eye shut, she could feel the heat on her face. "I should be cleaning up my own messes, solving my own problems n-not relying on you or anyone, n-not even mum!"
She'd tried to sound serious but, again, Heather knew she surely hadn't. Not only had a stutter snuck past her lips but her words had surely been muffled against his frame. If he couldn't take her seriously when she spoke clearly, what chance did she have now? Finally conceding, she leaned into him… but she wasn't going to return the hug.
"We both know what she'd say if she heard you say that." Heather could hear the teasing in her father's voice. He wasn't wrong, as much as she wished he were.
"I know, she'd call me stubborn." But if he was going to tease her then she could push back. She was an adult; she didn't have to stand for this. "But she'd call you naïve for babying me."
He snorted, "She's been calling me that long before you were here, it didn't stop me then and it won't stop me now." She felt his hand shift, rising to ruffle her unpierced ear. Before she could complain he'd released her from the hug, still beaming with that stupid grin. If anything it'd grown even stupider and far more embarrassing. "You're always going to be my little Purpur. Nothing you can do will ever change that."
Heather tried her hardest to force the red from her cheeks. She shot him the harshest glare she could muster, ears pinning back and tail stiffening. "You are the catalyst of my misery, the key to my hatred and root of…" Cheeks flared brighter as she searched out more words; she knew her glower was wavering. "All my ignominy." Unsatisfied with the effort, she turned from him, making sure to whip her tail. "I long for some great thaumaturgy to free me of your unabashed foolishness. You handle a future sorcerous and monarch as you might some plain infant, as though I am some hapless new-born still crawling on my hands and knees." That was better, Heather refolded her arms in an attempt to further emphasise her points. "Your assiduity shackles me five hundred magnitudes more than you could ever comprehend, binding me to a crag of discontent to be scoured by waves of embarrassment."
For some time there was quiet, a vacuum that rather surprised the feline. Heather had doubted he'd take her effort to heart, in truth she'd expected him to laugh her off again. She'd expected and they'd float off into the air, him having hugged her, and very nearly bump against the ceiling. There'd be groaning, she'd try to push away, but he'd continue to hug her and call her by that insipid name.
But, rather than a hug, his words broke the silence. "Well, perhaps you're right. You are growing up so, if it means that much to you, I'll stop calling you Purpur." Eyes widened, she looked over her shoulder to him. "Of course, as I said, that's what you'll always be to me; but if it really embarrasses you so much… then fine." She could see the sincerity in his eyes, as they locked with hers though his smile near tripled in size. "That doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking after you though, no matter how much that embarrasses you. You're still my little girl after all."
"I-I'm not a little girl, I'm an adult; a future monarch no less!" The young feline turned away again, feeling a smile creep onto her lips. For as embarrassing, foolish and goofy as he could be, Dad wasn't one for lying. If he said he wasn't going to call her Purpur, he meant it. Before she could really think two muttered words slipped past her lips, "T-Thank you."
That'd done it. The naïve oaf was upon her; arms wrapped around her and his chin crowning the top of her head. Before she could struggle they were in the air, approaching the ceiling. Heather couldn't see it, but she could imagine the stupid smile plastered on his face as he nuzzled and cooed. All her pushing and decrying did was alter their trajectory, soon blood was rushing to her head and the floor spanned out above them. Only his power could force such embarrassing hugs, he'd stopped doing them in public last year but the house was a different story.
"Dad s-stop that right now! You shouldn't even be in here; this is my room. You're going to leave boot prints on the ceiling. G-Get out! Get out! S-Stop hugging me, r-right now!" Heather swore she heard him laugh, or at the very least chuckle. "Ugh, you're so embarrassing!"
"Just a little longer, it feels like its been months since I last cuddled you." He'd kicked off the ceiling; they were slowly approaching the floor.
Regardless of that Heather continued to battle, wriggling away from him nuzzles. "Y-You hugged me less than ten minutes ago!"
"That one was too short, it hardly counts." She could feel her fur growing messier and messier, pricking as her agitation grew. "I miss when my little girl would return my hugs."
"Your little girl isn't little anymore! I-I'm an adult, I'll do whatever I want!"
"I already told you, no matter how old and mature you get you're always going to be my little girl." Eyes rolled, she over exaggerated a hiss, but she knew it was only reinforcing his words; drawing out her childish anger. "Although, as you are such an adult, I suppose I can trust you with a little errand? If you agree to do it I'll set us down now."
It was an especially embarrassing combination, first an attempt to crumple her ego followed by such an obvious attempt to bolster it. She felt her flush grow even redder, "F-Fine! I'd rather suffer a thousand lonely deaths than endure five more minutes of this." That was too much, again it sounded like she was trying too hard.
As feet finally met the ground he gave one last nuzzle, again brushing that unpierced ear much to Heather's chagrin. She quickly pulled away, arms refolding as she turned to face him. "Well, this will be far easier than that. We've got an important guest coming for dinner, I was going to collect her from the harbour myself but I'm sure she'd love to see you first."
"We're having a visitor here rather than in the castle?" Her brow furrowed
He ran his fingers through his chest fur, giving the words some thought. "Knowing her, she'd probably want to stay here with us rather than in a guest room. Odds are she'll refuse a room and sleep on the couch too."
It was rather unusual for guests to stay in the house rather than the palace. Usually, people came from the other dimension in groups too; only one woman coming was rather strange. Aunt Amy, Uncle Sonic and their brats had stayed for a week no more than ten days ago. The Rabbit had family visited a week before that, alongside the heads of the Chaotix detective agency. Who else was there? She recalled a bat and echidna family, she cursed herself for forgetting their names, but she doubted it.
Curiosity had been piqued though she attempted to bury that, standing fully to attention and taking the task with the utmost seriousness. "Who is it I am to escorting?"
"It's…" The hedgehog paused as if some idea had struck him. "Well, I suppose it was always meant to be a surprise; I shouldn't change that now. Even if you don't remember her, she'll surely remember you so don't worry about missing them. I'll be surprised if she doesn't recognise you, not much has changed." He realised his mistake before she could begin to frown, quickly following that up with, "I-I mean, you've grown a lot since back then and changed in some amazing ways Heather but some things are, well, rather permanent."
Dad raised his hand; a cyan-blue pillar of light entered Heather's vision. She sighed, matching the effort; a mint hue was unleashed, a wave of warmth coming with it. He wasn't wrong, between her markings and eyes it was obvious who her father was and cats weren't exactly common on the island, let alone those with the royal mark on their forehead. She noted the wrinkle of concern on his brow.
"It's fine dad." Heather internally rolled her eyes trying to maintain her serious expression. While it was a basic and pitiful errand, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of pride. It was a small step, but clearly an important one toward being treated like the adult she was. Eyes closed, she put on her clearest voice. "While it's hardly a task befitting of my status, I shall do as you have requested. I'll see to it that this visitor arrives without delay."
Immediately his hand was back on her head, now quite reaching her ears but ruffling the thick fur on her head. Eyes quickly opened, she struggled to bat the hand away. "I'll leave you to it then."
"Yes, now… get out of my room." She reached up to smooth out the damage he'd done but quickly remembered the melted paint on her palm, likely newly melted by their brief light show. Heather balled her fists, "Ugh, you're so embarrassing!"
Finally, she heard footsteps; he said something to the effect of "Stay safe" as the door closed behind him. Alone again, at last. She quickly removed her gloves and sought out a clean pair; taking up a comb she quickly flattened her fluff and retied her ponytail. While she didn't know who she'd be meeting, it was only right that she appeared proper; both for them and the populous at large. Well, as proper as her fur would allow. She drew a jacket from her closet, a simple (hoodless) coat with a fake breast pocket. It was more an accessory piece than for warmth; it wasn't as though she felt the cold after all.
Satisfied with her appearance, Heather took to the hall. The scent of herbs immediately struck her, forming an obscuring barrier, but beneath it was the scent of salmon. It wasn't being cooked yet, the smell was too weak for that, but her mother's sense of taste had rushed to the forefront. Despite the fish's taunting, she managed to round her way down the stairs and to the front door; collecting her key from the hook and quickly slipping on her shoes. All was ready, all was set, it was a simple task but it was a taste of proper responsibility! She pulled open the door and stepped outside…
Bright yellow eyes collided with a regal, amber, set. She'd departed just as Mum arrived, the older purple feline was dressed in her usual robes; what'd once been a ponytail had recently grown into a lengthy braid.
Quickly, Heather returned to her full attention; hands clasped in front of her. "G-Good evening mum, I hope work was… productive?"
A small smile crossed the monarch's face, Heather tried her hardest not to mirror it. She had to look serious; no she had to be serious! "Good evening Heather, it was dull but yes, productive. I hope you aren't going far? By that smell, dinner can't be too far off."
"No, just to the harbour. Dad trusted me to collect our guest, but he hasn't told me who they are." She was thankful her stutter hadn't persisted. Deep down, she knew her attempts to elevate the task only made it more infantile, but success here would surely grant her further independence. That meant it was the first step on the path of making her proud. "Regardless of the difficulty his naivety has caused, I'll locate her and return post-haste."
"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding her, she'll likely shout the moment she spots you." As Blaze went to pass Heather stepped outside, holding the door open. "She's never quiet, even eight years later I doubt that much has changed."
Again Heather thought back, eight whole years? So she'd only been six when this person left. To the young feline, that time was a mess of pink dresses and tea parties, wanting to be the stereotypical pretty princess more than anything. Now it was starting to get to her. Heather's eyes finally averted from hers, "I wish he'd just told me."
"You're so stubborn, your father wants it to be a surprise for a reason. I won't deprive you of it." It wasn't a serious chide of course, but Heather couldn't help feeling she'd made a misstep. "To be honest, I'm surprised you've forgotten her. You sobbed for weeks when she set out."
"I-I did?"
"Well, when you see her I'm sure it'll all come back." That small smile remained, though Mum's eyes departed from Heather. "Remembering someone you've forgotten is… an experience. I suppose, with that in mind, I can stand for you two to be a little late to dinner." Mum took another step over the threshold; gently nodding as she passed. "I'm off to surprise your father. Have fun."
For once, the clear interlude to her parents' flirting didn't faze Heather. She was dumbfounded, her mouth agape a single word snuck past her lips, "O-Okay." She quickly rectified this though, restoring her attentive posture and furrowing her brow. "I'll see to it that we're back in time for dinner, I'll take no longer than twenty minutes; there and back."
Her claims weren't met with a response; by the time she'd recovered her mother was well on her way toward the kitchen. The young feline closed the door, slouching against it and heaving a sigh. On one hand, she'd been called stubborn again and she doubted her Mother was much impressed by her immature display. On the other, Mum seemed particularly happy for this reunion and furthermore, apparently, it was someone she'd known as a child? How old were they?
Heather managed to push away from the door, beginning the trek down the path and away from their family home. She glanced to her right; the Sol castle itself wasn't far from here. They stayed in their separate house for practical reasons more than anything, the building was archaic and upgrading it had proven difficult; the water refused to heat, oftentimes leaving it cold. That wasn't a problem for Heather, nor her Mother of course, and when they did stay there Dad simply demanded more hugs but providing them bedding meant powering an entire wing; a wing full of empty rooms. Additionally, three people sat taking breakfast at a table made for fifty was a frankly bizarre sight to behold; with her parents' powers and the lack of threats, the royal guard had all but been disbanded. Naturally, those were the reasons Mum gave rather than Dad. Instead, he'd say something mushy, something about enjoying the domesticity of their little home or how he just wanted his little Purpur to have a regular childhood before she had to worry about those things. Ugh. The central chambers saw use for politics, when important guests came it saw further use still, but beyond that, the building had become somewhat of a tourist draw.
Thoughts of her future reign in the castle carried her all the way there. On occasion she received glances, elder folks would remove their hats and younger kids would stare, tugging at their parent's sleeves or having their heads turned by their parents. She gave affirmative nods and waves but didn't want to risk stopping and missing this mystery guest. The harbour itself was relatively quiet, save for a trio of elderly koalas lugging crab-crates onto dry land. Empty sailing vessels of various shapes, purposes and sizes were anchored within the harbour, protect from the (rather mild) waves.
Heather found a space and took a seat, feet dangling above the water's edge. She'd promised to return within twenty minutes, not that Mum had taken it seriously, but that might've been well outside of her hands. Pending the tides and their visitor's vessel, they could be hours late. The wind was gentle against her fur, the sky a muted orange but it couldn't be long till the sun dro-
A sudden splash pulled Heather from her thoughts; the shock sent her skirting backwards and forced a cry from her throat. Before even thinking to rise, she scanned behind her, fortunately, the fishermen were out of sight and earshot. She was prepared to reprimand herself for letting such a simple thing surprise her when she remembered; the ocean's surface was over five metres beneath her. Heather sat up straight and found that a rather peculiar device had sprouted from the water. It was …a pipe? A pipe coated in rush, a bend near its end, was turning on its axis to look left and right but facing the direction of the sea. The young feline pressed her hands to her shoes, unleashing her symbol's warmth to dry them, and curiously eyed the pipe just in time for it to fully turn to her. There was a glass lens on its end, nothing but darkness within. For a moment, she was locked in a stare-off with the pipe.
It plunged back into the depths without warning, sending forth a geyser of water in its wake. At that Heather clambered to her feet, ignoring the lingering moistness of her shoes to peer down at the water. As quickly as it had appeared, the pipe had vanished without a trace. Nothing but the blue sea, gentle waves rolling on its surface. Brows were nit into a sharp frown as she scanned for any movement, any sign of a machine or a creature. She got more than a sign.
There was an explosion of water, despite jumping back Heather found herself now fully soaked. A hulking metal mass coated in orange rust and long worn blue paint had emerged on the surface, jostling in the wake it had caused. Just as she thought she understood its entirety Heather heard a sound like this hiss of a thousand bottles of lemonade being unscrewed, the giant metal hull cracked like an egg and the rusted shards began to tumble into the sea. In a matter of moments a proper shipping vessel was revealed, a large sailing ship that (judging by its patchwork) had seen more than its lifetime of use. Everything from sheet metal to driftwood had been used to fill gaps in the hull, a large green sail hung from a mast at the boat's centre but at its rear end was an engine that looked much too large for the boat to maintain buoyancy.
"Alright mates, we're back at last! Unload the cargo, I'm off to see my Niece!" That voice, its twang was so familiar. It, the green colour of the sail and what remained of the original boat… the three were very familiar to Heather in a way she couldn't quite place. The ship was much too tall for Heather to see its deck but she could hear the pounding of footsteps and grumbles of sailors atop it.
She walked along the length of the ship, looking for anything else familiar. A worn patch of the original wood stood out, up high and near the bow of the ship. There was an engraving on it of some sort, assumedly the ship's name? It was too high to read, especially in its current state. Heather clenched her fists, mint green energy flared around her person and began to dry her clothes but that was merely a by-product. Soon she was airborne, hovering eye to eye with that faint inscription. What did it say? The Royal Raccoo-
"Strewth! You finally learned how to fly?! Well, it took ya long enough."
Before Heather could turn to the voice on the deck a great weight smacked into her, eyes closed and energy focused as she attempted to slow her tumble to the ground. She, mostly, succeeded; a psychic barrier on her back prevented too much damage, but the weight that had struck her remained. Eyes groggily opened, sat on the young feline's chest was a fully grown raccoon; brown and orange fur in patches all over her face and bright blue eyes smiling down at her. She'd changed a lot but, almost immediately, Heather recognised the older woman's face.
Aunty Marine. Memories of those 'princess tea parties' came flooding back, wearing stupidly billowy pink dresses and strutting around the castle grounds. Whenever Mum and Dad were busy with work, Aunty Marine would take over babysitting. She'd let the young princess do things she, probably, shouldn't; stay up late watching pirate movies, eat ice cream for breakfast and, most irresponsible of all, play princess with the royal treasures. Marine, who would tell her stories of pirates and princesses on the fly, talking for hours on end with next to no prompting but always capturing the young feline's attention. Of all the things she'd shunned in growing more mature, Marine was the linchpin.
Having caught herself staring, still very much beneath the racoon, Heather attempted to compose herself. "G-Good evening Aunty Marine. I-I…" She bit back a snarl, cursing her stutter. "I hope you're well?"
"Aww, mate, knock it off with the formal stuff. By the looks of you I'd thought you'd changed, are you still playin' Princess even now? Hardly look like it though," Did she have to be so loud? When was she going to get off, at least there was no one around. Suddenly a hand was on her forehead, thumb rubbing her jewel before she reached up to ruffle more fur. "Where's all the pink gone? You'd have died for that colour last I saw ya, everthin' had to be pink no matter what. I see you've takin' on a couple of the pirate aesthetics though, earrings are lookin' rippa mate. Surprised your mum let you get that so soon, still, I can…"
The princess' head was spinning, when she was a child Marine's mannerism and endless capacity to speak had been compelling but now she could hardly stomach it. Would she ever stop? Were they going to stay like this until the sunset? She felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment.
"…You've gotten real big haven't ya? When I was last about you were hardly at my waist but now-
An opportunity! The exhausted feline cut in, "D-Do you think you're still taller than me?"
"Oh, that's a good question mate! Let's find out then, hurry up and get up!" Immediately the raccoon was on her feet, a hand extended to Heather.
She opted to take it, dusting herself off having risen. Now that she'd remembered the Raccoon she couldn't help noticing some changes. For one, her dual pigtails had now morphed into a singular boomerang-shaped ponytail. For another, a dark green long-coat and waders had replaced her green sundress. She was tall too, a few inches taller than Heather herself and maybe a couple more than Mum.
"Nah, you're still a shorty. Might beat me someday but you'll never beat ya Dad, how is that lanky dork anyway? Suppose we should set off and see 'em eh?"
Her blush hadn't yet faded but she managed to stand at attention, "Judging by your description, yes. He's as frighteningly foolish as he's always been."
"Aww, that's no way to talk about 'im. Sure he's a big doofus, but he's our big doofus. What, is he still callin' you his lil' Purpur." Heather's fur spiked, "Judgin' by the look of you, you wouldn't like that."
"He promised to stop just today actually," She relinquished, "Though, admittedly, he acted like I was a child afterwards…"
"Well, of course, he did mate, he's your Dad." The raccoon's smile reminded her of his, "Look. I know to you it probably seems like our ages are close, but when I first met your mother she was fourteen while I was seven. Those ages made a world of difference so, even now, I'm sure she won't think of me the same way as she does other adults. I'm like her little leech, and no matter how she tries to flick me away or embrace me; that's what I'll always be to her."
She blinked, "I'm… not sure I follow?"
"Look, your Dad's always gonna think of you as his little girl, so will your Mum for certain, but that doesn't mean you can't grow up. Bein' a kid in their eyes doesn't make you a kid forever mate."
"I guess that's true."
"Adulthood is what you make it, it can be all frilly and pink or, well, more like ya current self." Marine jabbed a thumb to the centre of her chest, "Look to me for inspiration, embrace the ocean! Go sailing, have a crew and sing shanties for years at a time. Bonza!" That didn't sound like proper adulthood, not at all, "Speaking of my crew though, I've got so many stories to share mate! One time we were…"
As anticipated, the raccoon continued to ramble for much of their journey back; her loudness drawing far more sets of eyes than the appearance of royalty. The young heiress found it easy yet difficult to listen. On one hand Heather felt a tinge of excitement and a wave of familiarity, the stories she told matched those she'd made up as a child; high adventure and excitement. But on the other, it was all told in such a childish way. They were the exact brand on nonsense she'd been rejecting.
In short, the sailor had set off on her own accord; bored with the normalcy of the island community following the final defeat of the Eggman family. She'd sailed from island to island, living off the land and bartering the treasures she discovered. The raccoon had been shipwrecked no fewer than twelve times over the eight years, much of her crew had abandoned her during the voyage and, for a length of time she referred to as eons, she'd fought on and off with her greatest rival; a giant squid or octopus, she'd never been quite sure.
It was only as they neared the house, the castle in view, her voice took on a quieter tone. "That old place looks dreary as ever, to be honest, I'm glad you parents moved out of it. All the suits of armour, the precious tapestries and all; just way too much fun to be had, way too easy to get into trouble." Her wide grin quickly returned, "Then again, that's the fun of it. Gardon chasin' after me, tryin' to make me sit still, how is the old fart?"
Heather bit back a sigh at the older woman's foolishness, a half-hearted attempt to maintain her composure in the face of such childishness. "He's well enough, perturbed to be relinquishing more of his duties but he still leads most of my lessons."
"Oh, right, I forgot he must be getting on. Well, he was already grey so I doubt much will have changed. I'll drop in and surprise him, I'm sure he'll have missed me." Before they could reach the front door, Heather felt a hand on her shoulder. Immediately Marine was much too close to the young girl's ear, half whispering. "Oi, I've got a wager for you mate."
Her left ear flickered, "A wager?"
A cunning had washed over bright blue eyes, "When I go in there Silver will surely give me a hug, talking about how he'd missed me, but when he finally releases Blaze will notice how grubby I am and give me a proper earful. I'll give you half my venture's fortune if I'm wrong."
"But… why would you risk that?"
"Just to prove to ya that they'll treat me like I always have, just like you'll always be your daddy's lil' Purpur." At that, Heather could no longer hold her peace.
She stomped her way forward and quickly unlocked the door, holding it open for Marine to enter; glower plain on her face. Heather could stand the childish stories and even the raccoon's ignorance of personal space, but the fluttering in her chest as she heard those words in that nostalgic tone was far too much.
"I am Heather, heir to the throne of Sol and-
"How long has it been since I last kissed you?" Suddenly, Heather's frown was overwhelmed by redness, her fists balled and her eyes closed tight. She knew what was happening; she knew it far too well.
"It was when you arrived, couldn't be more than twenty minutes ago..." Purrs were reverberating up the hall; she could picture it in her mind's eye, bodies so close as they idly waltzed around the kitchen.
"Such a long time…" Heather shuddered; that sentence was undoubtedly paused for a kiss. They were in the living room, they knew a guest was coming, how could they be schmaltzy at a time like this! "I missed you today."
"I missed you more." Heather felt her fur spike, a glance to Marine found the raccoon chuckling; hand plastered over her mouth.
"Oh? Do you really think so?" Why did Mum have to entertain this? She'd been the inspiring guardian of their entire nation since birth, fighting robots and monsters with class, composure, style and dignity. Stern, serious and without scruples… that was, unless Dad was present. If the public knew of their cutesiness they'd surely coup. "I suppose I'll just have to show you the truth then... always forgetting, so naïve." Undoubtedly, lip-lock had resumed. It was always like this in the evening; just before dinner they'd reunite with a kiss and a hug but tonight's sounded especially sappy and gross.
Heather felt her stomach turn; even knowing a guest was coming, they'd were kissing and hugging and being awful. Dad truly brought out the worst in Mum, drawing her in to kiss and cuddle Her eyes closed, head pressed against the door, how long would they keep going? How long until they started to wonder where she was?
Before she could consider it, a firm hand had grasped her own; she was being dragged along the hall. No matter how she dug her heels, Marine's strength seemed to dwarf her own. "Oi, mates! We're here! Did you not hear us come in!? Hello!"
The kitchen door was kicked in, Heather dared to open her eyes and found her parents exactly as he'd anticipated. A purple tail had wrapped around the hedgehog's waist, hands marked with psychic symbols clasped behind the feline's neck. Their foreheads had only just parted but, already, Dad was beaming his usual, stupid, smile.
Released from mum's grasp he shot over, arms binding not only Marine but Heather in a tight hug. "Marine! Its been so long!"
"Aww, big softy! I missed you too Silver, have you got even fluffier? Just don't remember it ticklin' this much," Heather struggled to fold her arms, casting her eyes to the wall. "Could use some warmth to complete the cuddle, think you can handle that Blaze? Don't think lil' Purpur can handle it on her own."
"You're not five minutes back and you've already trampled dirt throughout the house," Things were going exactly as Marine said, "After all these years, I knew I shouldn't have expected any better but, really Marine?"
Marine just laughed, Heather felt the raccoon's arms wrap tighter around her. "Get in here, I'll deal with the mess later; I promise, I promise."
Heather could practically hear her mother roll her eyes, "I highly doubt that."
Despite her reprimand, the Queen quickly joined the huddle; Heather felt a warm hand between her shoulder blades. Trapped, the kitten eventually conceded to the hug; certain a long and embarrassing evening awaited her.
#silvaze#Silver the Hedgehog#Blaze the Cat#fanchild#OC#sonic#sonic the hedgehog#blaze#silver#fanfiction#marine#Marine The Raccoon#sol dimension#fanfic#heather#I guess I should have that tag for if/when i write more of her?
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This Shit Will Linger - “Dennys, Anyone?”
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19379371/chapters/46111951
Word Count: 2,634
Summary: Everyone has made it into NYU!! Of course this calls for a celebration!After a late night of drinking and watching shitty movies, Chrisitne makes an interesting suggestion.(For reference, this is what I picture Michael's PT Cruiser looks like: https://www.autoblog.com/chrysler/pt+cruiser/ )
"We all made it!! We actually got accepted!!" Christine excitedly attempted, and failed, to embrace everyone into a group hug following the very exciting news.
"We better start saying 'hello' to student debt."
"C'mon Jerry! As true as that is, we need to celebrate!!" Brooke smiled as she began to pack her bags.
Yes, that is correct. The SQUIP Squad is officially heading to New York as students of NYU in 6 months!!
Christine followed her passion and decided to major in Musical Theatre with a minor in Asian/Pacific/American Studies, Jenna Rolan wanted to put her curiosity of knowing everything about everyone to use, majoring in Sociology. After a few stressful weeks of going back and forth, Jake settled on Sports Management while Rich went with Chemical Engineering. "It's so badass." He would say in defense, but in reality, Rich just wanted to assure himself a stable job.
To no one's surprise, Michael is going to major in Music Technology while taking a minor in Producing. Chloe went against her parents' demands and chose Individualized Study across the Humanities, "I'm not entirely sure what I want to do yet, but I want to focus on myself. But not by being pretty or whatever, like self-improvement." Brooke was definitely happy to hear that as she happily followed in her mother's footsteps, majoring in Nursing.
Jeremy was the last one to pick a major, continuously procrastinating on his application, but after some advice from Mr. Heere and some reassuring words from his friends, Jeremy decided to stick with his secret dream of Digital Art & Design. Although he typically kept his drawings to himself, Jeremy would occasionally post a drawing/design that he was particularly proud of.
Everyone was happy with their choices, and they were so ecstatic to know that everyone will be attending the same college.
"I think this calls for a chaotic hangout at Dennys! Who's drivin'?" Rich swung his backpack onto his back. "Not Jake, the last time he drove we actually almost ran into a tree." Brooke recalled the group's previous trip, sending Jake a glare.
"In my defense, I was kinda jammin' out so.." Jake didn't have anything else to say, shoving any remaining notebook paper or pens into his bag. "Yeah yeah.. So who can actually drive us there?" Jenna eyed everyone.
It only took a moment before everyone nodded and looked at a certain hoodie-wearing teen. "Michael!!"
The outburst was one thing that unsettled Michael but it was about him. And he wasn't prepared, almost falling off of the desk he was leaning on. Michael pulled down his headphones. "Yes?" Jeremy smiled and wrapped his lanky arm around Michael's shoulders, "Would you be so kind and drive us to Dennys? Pwetty pwease?" as he gave Michael the infamous puppy-dog eyes, Jeremy knew the answer already.
"Fiiiine. But you're paying for my meal." Michael groaned and grabbed his keys from his pocket. It's not like he didn't want to hang out with his friends, he was so happy about being accepted but he wasn't thrilled about moving to a new place, especially New York. It was littered with people. But nonetheless, Michael will try to adjust, if not for him, then for his friends, for Jeremy.
"Sweet! Let's dip!.. Chloe, my love, you're about to- well.." Brooke tried to warn Chloe about her smoothie but it was too late. It practically turned her top pink. "SHIT!! I JUST BOUGHT THIS!!" Chloe immediately dropped anything she was holding trying to wipe off any heavy amounts of strawberry chunks. Unfortunately this included her phone. Luckily, Christine caught it just in time as she was grabbing her book from the floor. "Woah! That was close! You need any napkins, Chlo?" Christine placed the device on a nearby desk. "What does it look like!?- Sorry! I mean, yes. Please." It's still going to take a bit more time, but Chloe has come a long way when improving her anger issues and just her overall attitude towards others.
"Are we done fucking around? I want Dennys!!" Rich lightly punched Jake's shoulder as he waited impatiently.
"Will Michael's car even fit all eight of us?" Jenna recalled the size of Michael's PT Cruiser
"Oh sure, all we have to do is tie like two of us on the roof." Michael chuckled. "But for real, you'll be fine. I think you might have a either sit on the floor or sit in someone's lap. Your choice." Michael headed towards the door, followed by everyone after Chloe decided that she was presentable again.
"Just don't fuck up my car." Michael stated, turning on the engine as they got closer. Jeremy quickly ran over to the passenger seat, it was almost a given that he'd take shotgun. But no one was complaining. Except Jake & Rich.
"C'mon Tall-Ass! At least push up your seat a little! We're crushed back here!!" Rich was basically on Jake's lap at this point. Not that he minded, Jake didn't seem to care either. Their legs had different opinions however.
Jeremy basically liked to lay down while Michael drives, whether it's to catch up on sleep that he's deprived of or to just clear his mind. Either way his seat was totally crushing Jake & Rich's legs, "Fine fine fine... This better?" He moved his seat about two feet, clearing the space immensely.
"Yes sir! Thank ya very much." Rich slid down Jake's legs a bit as he relaxed, pulling out some chips that were stuffed in his backpack.
"Can we go now?! It's hella crowded back here." Jenna complained, trying to not impale Christine's chest with her elbow.
"You guys asked Michael to drive, this is what you get." Jeremy looked at her through the rear-view mirror.
"Honestly, anything's better than Jake's driving." Brooke muttered under her breath.
"Do you wanna fight? I was not tryna get called out like this." Jake placed his hand over his heart as he continued his dramatic monologue, "I thought we were friends Brooke. I cannot believe that you'd betray me in such a way- Holy shit!!!"
His sentence was nearly cut off as Michael slammed the brakes. "What the fuck, Michael?!" Rich held the back of the passenger's seat tightly.
"A damn truck cut me off, nearly hitting me. You're welcome for not getting you hurt." Michael snapped back, continuing the drive, if a bit more cautious.
Jeremy looked at Michael and could tell immediately that he was panicking a bit, "Want someone else to drive on the way home?" Michael stayed silent for a moment, "No. It's fine. Just people being complete dumbasses." Jeremy nodded and scolled through Instagram. He was very aware that Michael can get serious road rage despite being calm almost 24/7.
"It'll be the first entrance to the right after this exit, Michael." He nodded and changed lanes, "Thanks Christine."
"Hey! Lovebirds, might wanna wrap that make-out session up soon. We're pretty much there." Jake called out, and he was right: Chloe & Brooke were practically sucking each other's faces off. "Fuck off, Jake." Chloe eyed him from her periphery vision. "We're having a moment."
"You were at my wedding, Denise." Jake scoffed. He then saw the iconic logo signalling his stomach to growl rather loudly.
"I guess that means that we're here. Let's roll! I can't feel my legs." Jenna practically shoved Rich & Jake out of the car, finally free. "Yes!! Now let me stuff pancakes in my mouth!" She ran off with with everyone to grab a booth and potentially raid the kitchen.
Jeremy was about to join them when he noticed that Michael hadn't even moved from his seat, "Micha? You good, dude?" Michael tensed at the question but slowly nodded, "Y-Yup.. I'm great.." His hands started to shake and his chest was rising faster as the seconds passed, "...N-No.." Tears suddenly flowed down his cheeks, it was as if a dam was just broken down.
Jeremy immediately hugged him, rubbing small circles on his back. He didn't say a word, he learned from personal experience that words of reassurance isn't always the best solution. Sometimes it's just a simple hug and letting the other cry it out, but not alone. Not again.
"I'm.. I'm sorry Jer... I-It's just.. I'm stressed? I-I mean we just.. we just got accepted into f-fucking college!.. We'll.. We'll be moving to a new state, shit to the m-most populated city in fucking America!.. And.. And the d-debt.. I guess it's just... piling up on me.." Michael sniffed as he rubbed his eyes with his hoodie.
Jeremy smiled and only tightened his hug a little. "Dude I get it. I completely understand, I mean it IS fucking stressful but here's the thing: I'll be there with you throughout the entire journey. We made it a two-player game, right? That's gonna continue throughout college and even when we're old geezers with white hair. You have my word." Jeremy ran his fingers through Michael's black locks.
Michael almost started crying again, he was only able to nod, still wanting the hug to last forever, "Yeah, I'll uh.. hold you to it, dude."
"Wanna stuff our faces with syrup-soaked pancakes?" Jeremy asked, pulling away to see his reaction.
Michael smirked, "Always."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everyone had finished their food a long time ago, now they were just exchanging witty banter or suffering from a food coma.
"I am a firm believer that Walt Disney froze his body and that 'Frozen' was created to hide those google results about the body! You cannot tell me otherwise!!" Brooke slammed her fist against the table as she declared her stance on this very important matter.
"I mean it makes sense, the man was a genius! Why wouldn't he want to live forever?"
"Brooke, honey, I think you're alone on this one."
"Michael agrees with me! He believes in more conspiracies than all of us combined!"
Michael chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, "I mean it's not the stupidest theory I've heard but there are so many other theories that are way more convincing!" He was feeling better after his anxiety attack, it took some food with a couple of dumb jokes and Michael was smiling again. He was calm.
Christine was rather quiet at the moment so anyone would've nearly screamed when she slammed her palms onto the table yelling, "GUYS I JUST HAD AN AMAZING IDEA!!"
After everyone recovered from the small heart attack, Chloe was the only one quick enough to have a response, "Here we go.. What are we gonna reenact "Your Fault" again?" She rolled her eyes at the memory.
"Not this time. So, hear me out: Like it or not, we're going to be Stressed-Out College Students™, so we need an outlet of sorts in order to-"
"Chris, get to the point." Jenna cut him off, sipping her coffee.
"Okay, okay! We can create a YouTube channel! Or multiple, it's your choice."
It was silent for a second until Brooke released a muffled snicker, following by everyone laughing at the idea. Except Christine.
"It'll be fun!!" Christine smiled. Wait is she serious?
"Chris, I know you're one of the most outgoing people on this dying planet but come on. What would we even do?" Michael wiped his eyes from laughing so hard.
"Anything we want! It's like a way to...how do I put this..
"Express ourselves?" Michael added some half-assed jazz hands, obviously joking.
"Yes!! Exactly! C'mon, at least give it a shot! We can each have our own channels and then a conjoint channel for all of us! It'll so much fun and can be something interesting for us to do over the summer and in college!!"
Again, her statement was met with silence... until Jeremy sighed and gave Christine a smile, "I...uh... guess it wouldn't hurt? I'm still uh.. hesitant?"
Jeremy's agreement was all that it took for the rest of the group, even Michael, to start muttering their agreement. Jeremy had a point, it wouldn't hurt them to at least try it out, right?
Brooke tapped her chin as her mind tried to think of an idea, "Maybe... Oh! Chlo & I can do makeup tutorials, random vlogs or shopping hauls! And also have our weekly trips to Pinkberry! Whaddya say, Chloe?" Her face practically shined like a star. So of course Chloe couldn't deny her, "That might be fun.. I'm up for it if you are?" Brooke responded with a peck on Chloe's cheek.
"Barf. I'd totally do prank videos or parkour. Something hella cool. Maybe a few of those cliche internet challenges." Rich chuckled, secretly excited about this potential channel. "Bro, if you think I'm deadass not gonna join, my dude you are wrong, heh!!" Jake bro-fisted with Rich, establishing this collaboration.
Christine excitedly clapped her hands, "Yay!! I'm excited!! I mean obviously I'd do theatre reviews, maybe some covers and costume tutorials!! Oh, I can't wait!! What about you Jenna?"
Jenna didn't even need to think about it. It was almost a given, "Probably gossip & fashion review. Maybe the occasional vlog if I travel. Michael? Jer?"
All attention was on the two of them, "Well if my channel is gonna reflect my life, it'll be a mess so uh.. I guess whatever I want? It may um.. depend on my mood that day, who knows?" Jeremy just shrugged but honestly? He wasn't sure what he wanted to do at all.
"If I must create content for the people of the planet, most of it would likely consist of conspiracies.. random thoughts/realizations I have when I'm high and uh.. I dunno gaming?" Michael still wasn't keen on the idea of starting a channel but that didn't mean he wasn't gonna try it, it did sound pretty dope to him.
The group nodded in agreement, that suited them. "And we'd have a channel for all of us? Sweet. Why not make a video now? Like a launch sorta thing?" Jake suggested.
It didn't sound like a bad to them, why the hell not?
"Cool, cool. Let's create our channels first!" Christine pulled out her phone and started the process. Everyone mimicked her actions and soon enough, the SQUIP Squad had started their YouTube career.
"I think it's pretty obvious that we share our names, yeah? I'll start: My channel is 'Babbling Brookie'! Chloe and I's channel is called 'verypinkberry' Brooke was proud of the names, it obvious who created them.
"Mine is simply 'CooCooChloe', fitting isn't it?" Chloe scoffed, she actually really liked it.
"Those are nice and all but the channel to be at is 'NotSoRichieRich' cause I'm a broke bitch! Haha!" Jake rolled his and prepared his announcement as if it would change the world, "Are you ready for this, ladies & gentlemen? My channel is called.... 'JakeyD' it's fucking original and no one can top that." His toothy grin was just a cherry on top.
"Adorable. 'JamPackJenna' because woooo boy is the tea hot right now!" She was in the middle of taking a selfie that would likely be her icon.
"I wanted to do a bit of wordplay as well so I did it! 'Chrisanthemum'! It has a pretty okay ring to it. Jeremy? What about you? Please tell me it's a pun!!"
Jeremy laughed and nodded, "It's 'HeereHere'.." The first one to burst out laughing was of course Michael, that pun went way back to when the two met in preschool. "Oh-Oh my GOD Jer!! You.. You actually..!" It took Michael a few seconds to calm down as he cleared his throat, "It is purely 'Mellon'. I do not take criticism."
And no one criticized because come on, that's one of the best puns for his name.
"Sweet, now shall film this late night announcement at Dennys?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TheSQUIPSquad™ uploaded a new video.
#be more chill#bmc#bmc musical#be more chill musical#be more chill fanfic#bmc fanfic#boyf riends#pinkberry#richjake#jeremy heere#michael mell#christine canigula#SQUIP#rich goranksi#jake dillinger#chloe valentine#brooke lohst#jenna rolan#mr. heere#mr. reyes#youtube au#This Shit Will Linger#tw cursing#college au#post-canon#all characters are 18+#here it is!#it's a bit slow but it's the introduction#please reblog if you enjoy this!#my writing
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Possibility of a turning point
Rating: T
>>>Read on AO3<<<
Back when i started writing this, i never expected coming this far if im being honest. But here we are, 50 chapters in, and i don't see myself stopping anytime soon. It's kinda crazy.
To anyone still interested, thank you, for the kudos and comments, and rest assured that i read them all and they fuel me like nothing else.
Enjoy!
Snip. Snip. Snip.
“Still not regretting your decision?”
Mikasa turned her head left and right, checking the way her new hairstyle sat on her head.
“Nope, looks pretty good.”, she looked up at Eren with a grin, “You can add hairdresser to your resume babe.”
“Eyes front.”, he ordered, “I’m not done yet.”
With a chuckle, she obeyed, and he was left to look over his handiwork with a critical eye. When Mikasa came to him with a request that he cut her hair, because it was getting too long in her opinion, he didn’t know what to say. He liked playing with her hair a lot, braiding, washing, or just petting it, but cutting it was something else. What if he did it wrong? But in the end, her gentle persuasion and the promise of a reward afterwards (eyebrow wiggle from her side) outweighed his worries and now here he was, snipping away at the strands of ebony. Luckily, her request was pretty easy, all she wanted from him was to shorten it, no special hairdressing skills required form his side. And overall, he was handy with delicate work, scalpel required a lot of accuracy to use, just like scissors. Now just about finished, he could say to himself that he did a pretty good job after all. The length she asked for was short, very short, one could say boyish, but it suited her. Then again, he thought everything suited her, because she was just so damn beautiful, so he might not be the best of judges for this particular issue. Putting a last few finishing touches, he stepped back, nodding.
“Want me to change something?”
Leaning forward, she inspected it from all angles, shook her head a bit to see if it won’t go in her eyes, and in the end let out a satisfied sigh.
“It’s actually perfect, just like I wanted it.”, in one swift move she stood up, wrapping her arms around Eren’s neck. “You are such a talent, baby. Now I won’t even have to tie it back when I blow you.”
Stunned, he stared at her. Who was this girl and what did she do to his Mikasa? She went on as if nothing happened however, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The proximity of her body combined with her comment did remind him of something.
“So… What about the reward you promised me? Any hints?”
“Impatient,”, she shook her head, but the smile didn’t leave her face, “You’ll have to wait for it. But I promise that it will be…”, she leaned a bit closer, whispering into his ear, “worth it.”
With that, she let go and walked away, leaving a confused and somehow turned on Eren standing in the middle of the bathroom by himself. Well, if she tells him to wait, he’s going to wait, so far, she never let him down. Humming to himself, he started cleaning up after himself, already looking forward to the mysterious gift.
Annie watched the sun overhead, leaning on the railing. It blinded her, the rays falling directly into her eyes, but she refused to look away, defiantly squinting against the blazing ball of fire. In the end however, her body betrayed her, and her head turned away on its own, protecting her vision. She sighed. Sometimes a strong will is not enough. Her fingers skimmed over the cast on her broken hand, the touch bringing in the memories of the fight. The storm that raged around them was nothing compared to the storm that was Mikasa. Never in her life has Annie fought someone that good, so strong and fast combined with the skills she had, that was terrifying to face. Annie was sure that Mikasa could easily kill her back then, it even seemed like that was what she was going to do, but then she looked at her ring, and stopped, thank god. Survival however meant that now she had to nurse her body back into health, because the beating she received was rather thorough. Broken hand, black eye, numerous bruises and a limp in her walk served as a sort of everyday reminder what kind of beast she did unleash. But the pain of her body was small when compared to the anguish she felt emotionally. The things Mikasa told her back at the gym hurt her more than any of the punches that hit home. Armin tried to kill himself, because of her, because of what she did to him. Head hanging low, she let out a long breath. She’s a terrible person.
The floorboards behind her creaked, and soon another person was standing next to her. Judging from the way the newcomer favored his right leg, avoiding putting weight on the injured left one, it was easy to guess that it was no one else but her father. He didn’t say anything, just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering his silent support. He changed, following the confrontation the two of them had, the defiance of his daughter finally opening his eyes. Things shifted for the better between them, but that didn’t erase the mistakes of the past. Closing her eyes, she leaned on her father’s shoulder.
“I’ve been thinking Annie. “, he said, rubbing her back gently, “We could move, if you want to. Get away from this.”
It was tempting. To start again, with a clean slate, somewhere where no one knew you, no one knew your past. A lot of things flew through Annie’s mind as she considered the offer, weighing the pros and cons. But there was something, like a gravity, a strong magnetic pull in her mind that just didn’t want to let her leave. It whispered that she belonged here, and that not everything is lost yet. In the end, she shook her head.
“No, I don’t want to run.”
“I just…. Feel bad sweetie. I’ve been a terrible father, made your life so much harder….”
“That’s not entirely your fault. I could have stopped you anytime, but I didn’t, I just… I just wanted the guidance you gave me, and I turned a blind eye towards the fact that it was a bad one.”
Her father laughed, his body next to her rumbling with the sound.
“We fucked up a lot of things, didn’t we?”
Even with all the shit they were going through, with everything seemingly falling apart around her, Annie could feel her lips curving upwards into a smile.
“We sure did.”
But maybe, just maybe, they can fix it.
If she was being honest, Hitch didn’t expect so many lines to go through when she gave her patient the assignment. But, as it was usual with repressed feelings, once the dam broke, there was no stopping the flood. They were sitting in her office for a better part of the hour already, but they were far from done.
“Overprotective.”, she read on Eren’s half, raising her eyes towards Armin.
“He’s very careful about everyone, honestly, he hates making people hurt. But those instincts are boosted to thousand percent when it comes to Mikasa.”
“Being careful with the people you love is quite common, wouldn’t you say? What’s the line between being protective and overprotective according to you?”
“I have a perfect event to back up this point.”, Armin sat up a bit straighter as he combed his memory for the exact thing he was looking for, while Hitch waited patiently. It was usually like this. The lines he wrote on paper were accompanied by a story, one that he wanted to get off his chest. Armin had a lot of things pent up inside him, and Hitch was glad that he was finally talking. The incident with Annie, the one that supposedly made him try to take his life was just a tip of the iceberg, a breaking point, but there was a whole lot of ice beneath the water surface.
“Mikasa had an accident, about two years back, something related to training.”, he furrowed his eyebrows, “I can’t recall the specifics, but I do remember that Eren was freaking out about it, even when it was nothing that serious. She even told him that everything is fine, but he just wouldn’t listen. He took her to a hospital, for an x-ray scan, because he wanted to be sure.”, Armin raised a finger, “And here comes my point. He used his influence and the fact that he worked there, and everyone knew him of course, to skip the whole que, getting Mikasa in first while other people, even with more severe injuries, had to wait until she was done. Wouldn’t you say that it is a negative trait, at least partly?”
“I see your point.”, Hitch nodded, tapping the list with her pen, “And I think you are right, it’s a good one. Moving on.”, she redirected her gaze back at the paper, “Mikasa: Indestructible? Sounds like a movie title.”
“This one is pretty self-explanatory. She acts like she’s made of steel sometimes, completely ignoring the fact that her body is still human.”, Armin smirked, “It drives Eren crazy. It’s not really a negative trait or anything, but they did argue about the point a few times already.”
“It makes her partner worried, so it definitely has a place here. Now…”, Hitch looked up, seeing the clock on the wall nearing the end of an hour. She really wanted to go on, the list was giving her tons of resources to work with, but there were other patients on her schedule, and even good things shouldn’t be taken all at once. “Our time this week is almost done, but I feel like we made a lot of good progress, wouldn’t you say?”
Nodding, Arming stood up, stretching. It really did feel good.
“We can continue this next week, just after Halloween.”, Hitch said, watching him put his jacket on. “What about that; do you plan on going somewhere? A party?” It was good to gently nudge your patients to try and get out of their shells. Social occasions were useful if spent in the right company.
“I wasn’t planning to, but then Eren and Sasha planned a party at the bar we are working at. And I can’t really say no to that.”, he left out the fact that he didn’t want to, either. Now, standing here, watching Hitch, he felt an amazing idea slowly appear in his brain. “Maybe you could come with me? Unless you have something planned?”
“I’m not sure that would be proper.”, honestly Hitch didn’t plan on going anywhere, she didn’t like losing control over her actions, meaning she wasn’t much interested in drinking, and that’s what Halloween parties were most about, no?
“Please doc?”, Armin tried again, doing his best puppy eyes, “No one knows about the fact that you are my therapist, apart from Eren and Mikasa. You can come as my friend, not a doctor.” Seeing that she still wasn’t sold, he pulled out his trump card. “Eren usually drinks a lot, and it’s pretty funny to watch you know….”
Well, maybe she didn’t have to get drunk herself, but seeing other’s do it could be educational. And also, she could go to provide her patient with emotional support and stuff. Yep, that was a good reason.
“Well, if you are sure that I won’t get in anyone’s way…”
Armin seemed to be really happy about the fact that she gave in in the end.
“Oh no, not at all, it’s going to be loads of fun, I promise!”
Right.
“So, this is my reward? Eternal waiting?”
Mikasa laughed from the bathroom.
“Patience is a virtue baby.”
With a sigh, he let his head fall back on the sofa, melting into the soft material. Whatever Mikasa had planned, he just hoped that it won’t be too exhausting, because he was beat after his shift at the hospital. That didn’t mean that he didn’t plan on enjoying anything she threw at him fully, of course. Finally, the door opened and let the woman of his heart in, dressed in a bathrobe with a smile on her lips. It was easy to see what took her such a long time, as her features were enhanced by a much more makeup than usual.
“Training for Halloween already?”, he asked with a grin of his own, gesturing towards her face.
Mikasa shook her head.
“When I’ll start training for Halloween, you can be damn sure that you will be my guinea pig, trying stuff on yourself is not as…satisfying.”
Eren had the creeping suspicion that originally, she wanted to end the sentence with funny, but whatever response he had planned got canceled because she picked just that moment to pull on her belt, letting the robe drop on the ground. He sucked in a breath. The black lace of her underwear combined with strappy heels of the same color she picked were the only things covering her body, but from the way she walked it was clear to see that the clothing was only part of the show. She came close, leaning on the sofa next to Eren, who gave her his undivided attention, her smile widening when she thought just how much he was reacting to her.
“I heard that someone requested a private dance, do I have it right?”
It took him a few moments before he realized that she’s expecting an answer and nodded rapidly.
“Okay…”, slowly, she dragged a finger down his face, “You do remember the rules of the club, don’t you?”
“No touching.”, he confirmed, putting his hands on the sofa next to him, palms up.
Satisfied with his obedience, she gracefully slit into his lap, hips touching him in just the right places. Eren had to fight his arms from automatically holding her waist, but he forced them down. A dancer huh? Mikasa’s body was amazingly flexible and lithe, and while she used those skills in the ring most of the time, they could very well be made to work on a more sensual activity. Like lap dancing. It wasn’t the first time they did a stripper roleplay, but it was the first since…. Fuck, what was the girl’s name? Jade? Eren grimaced a bit, the memories of the club were not amongst his most treasured ones. Mikasa must have noticed his change of expression, because she stopped, confused.
“Something wrong?”, she asked, cocking her head to the side.
“No, no, everything is amazing, please continue.”
But as always, she wasn’t buying it.
“Eren…”, she started slowly, her eyes narrowing.
She deserved to know about it, about it all, the whole stupid experiment that Hange put him through. But fuck, with her here on his lap, he seriously hoped that she will wait, at least until the play is done.
“Okay, there is something, but it’s nothing serious. Can we talk after? Please?”
She sighed, shaking her head a bit.
“Only because you are such a good boy.”, she said, tapping his chest with the tip of her finger. “But you are not off the hook, we are going to talk about it, understand?”
He couldn’t nod fast enough. Curiosity satisfied, at least for now, Mikasa started moving again, and Eren’s head fell back with a sigh.
This night is going to be a long one.
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writing wip game
Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you or interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!
The titles weren’t interesting so I vainly just posted some excerpts from a grab bag of more recent stuff. If I did everything it’d honestly probably go on for pages. I have a lot of unfinished stuff (pretty much...exclusively unfinished stuff dfjkdjfkg). Like a decade’s worth.
Tagged by @ackbang. TY TY, MY DUDE. If you see this and you’re a writer, consider yourself tagged. Like for real. Only not tagging because I can’t remember who writes fanfic and who doesn’t.
Looooooong post below.
ling ling the goblin king (ling + lan fan, fma)
"lan fan did it," the prince says, and for a moment she feels a flare of anger and betrayal over his deception. 'it wasn't me, i didn't do this. i didn't kill anyone.' but the prince is bending at the waist, low enough that that his tail of hair brushes the dirt, and she realizes his lie is for her benefit. "thank you, m'lady. i owe you my life."
her mouth feels dry, face hot from exertion and the burning gaze of her older peers. "d-don't do that," she stutters, and she's not sure if she's referring to the lie or the bow.
"you dare give me orders?" but there's no heat in his voice, eyes crinkling with humor as he rises to his full height. she has no idea how he can look so amused with a hole in his shoulder, covered in the blood of a man he just killed. he grins lopsided, teeth crooked and painted red. the sight is altogether ghoulish.
limb choppy choppy (lan fan + greed + ling, fma, part of the revival au)
And Greed is stilling his struggles, catching his wandering hand in his own, running comforting circles with his thumb over Ling's blood-smeared cheek. “Hey, you little pissant, this is nothing, piddly kids table shit. Remember that time that one Central soldier tried to gut us? Right down the middle, like splitting a sausage. Goddamn crimson tide. I thought we'd never get the blood out of that coat. Now that was an injury.”
“T-they took my arm.”
“Yeah, and who needs one of those anyway? Gonna get you all sorted, get you one of those shiny metal ones, like your girl Lan Fan here. Guess the adjustment period takes a bit, a year or three, but bet we could expedite the process with proper motivation. I'm thinking sandwiches.”
He laughs, or something approaching as much, a soggy intake of air. She's struck with an unexpected wave of jealousy, that it's Greed that's offering reassurance and intimate personal jokes. A former homunculus, a former demon, a watery imitation of a man. Creature comforts from the creature. It should be me, she thinks, though she has nothing to offer beyond promises of protection, and even those feel like falsehoods after all that has happened here. Comforting platitudes are beyond her. What could I ever say to make this better?
lets get lit fam (greedling + ed, fma)
wobbly-legged, too uncoordinated to walk. almost stumbles into a line of trash cans at the mouth of the alley, but ed hooks his elbow and steers him away. "what the hell were you thinking? we're supposed to be keeping a low profile."
it's not an accusation he's fully equipped to grapple, not when he's still so bleary from sleep—and some other pleasant, dizzying sensation he thinks might be inebriation. he's never woken up drunk before. he's never been drunk before period. "what'd i do?"
"not you, ling. you would have gone straight for the food menu, not the liquor list. i'm talking to the dipshit you share a mental occupancy with. greed, what the hell?"
"was just a few drinks," ling slurs, but it's not his words, or his voice, and wow he's never been so aware of his own tongue before.
solid citizen (ling + greed, fma)
"geez, kid, you're certainly in a mood." so he was reading his thoughts, just fantastic. he look he gives him is withering, but greed pats his shoulder, almost condescendingly, pitying for sure.
"you're plenty fine, kid. i'll give you the ears, but you're top shelf in the looks department otherwise. if you were ugly, i'd tell you straight up. i don't lie. this here," he points to his own face. "is ugly. nothing like my old human face."
it's a bated response, he knows, and he doesn't really feel like playing, but greed did make a passing effort to make him feel better. "human face?"
he beams, dreamily, which is an impressively soft expression to pull off a mouthful of razors, and ling is suddenly reminded of the mythology of the man fawning over his own reflection. surely greed can't be that vain? "yeah i was a real stunner. fucking gorgeous." or maybe he could, apparently, what did ling know anyway.
wreckage (vincent, re-l, ergo proxy)
When she makes it back to the Rabbit, chest burning and damp with exertion, Vincent has already stripped Pino of her overalls and laid her across the table. Cooling fluids draining, frayed wiring spooling out of her gashed torso, sprawled like a tiny metal Tityos. Her left arm is snapped off and dangling at the elbow, her eyes glassy – glass, literal glass – staring at the ceiling. Broken doll parts. Just another disassembled AutoReiv, but this isn't like that at all, because Pino isn't just another AutoReiv. She's like Iggy--
It's almost too much for Re-l to take. Hand over her mouth, breathing sharp through her fingers in short repetitions. Tries to steel herself, to be calm and assertive, because one of them has to be, and Vincent-- Vincent was awkward and mousy and sensitive, Vincent who spilled his cereal and tripped over his own feet and housed an ancient being of unspeakable power in his lanky boy-frame. But his god-strength was of no use here, drowned under the weak, simpering, overpowering grief for something that was no more human than he was.
do NOT worry about meryl (vash + wolfwood + milly, trigun)
milly caught the hurt. naive, for sure, but shrewd. "oh, we'd never think that of you, mr. vash. it's just our job as representatives of the bernadelli insurance society to mitigate any and all damages from the humanoid typhoon, even the rumored ones."
wolfwood: "bernadelli employing a little insurance of their own, eh?"
milly nods. "if we had to pay out claims on every false report of mr. vash's wrongdoings, we'd go belly up in no time!"
caught up on the word 'wrongdoing', growls, "you make it sound like i'm doing any of this on purpose."
"it's just sensible. your name has a lot of weight, vash."
grumbles: "yeah, i'm aware."
"and that's why meryl was so insistent on following up on this one, even knowing it wasn't really you. so many people drag your name through the mud, and it just doesn't seem fair at all."
his name had long since been dragged, strangled and shot, left to rot under a flock of buzzards circling its carcass in the heat. There was no saving it. still, the intent was kind, if not bewildering. "you...were trying to protect my reputation?"
milly looks at him like he's insane for thinking otherwise. "well, yeah. we've come to think of you as a friend, mr. vash, and that's what friends do.”
baby scrub (locke + rachel, ff6)
offers his hand and a single word: "lock."
her faces scrunches distastefully at his uncouth greeting, but she's not sure what else she was expecting from a dirty street boy. "lock?"
"with an e," he adds, as if that clarifies anything.
"that can't be real. you just made that up."
"all names are made up," huffs locke-with-an-e, looking impatient with her slow uptake on this odd world of his. "and i never said it was real, but it's all you're going to get."
spike bday (spike + dawn, btvs)
“if I show you something, you need to promise not to say anything. not to the watcher, or your sister. not to anyone, right?”
even through her tears, she nods, curious. spike's always good for skirting just outside the limits of good taste.
“I'm serious. spool your intestines out your nose, string 'em up like christmas garland. I mean it.”
“colorful threats of bodily dismemberment, I get it.”
hands her a faded yellow tintype. a young man, twenty-five or thirty maybe, a riot of disheveled curls, glasses, frumpy suit. not an unattractive man, but a timid one, uncertainty written into the slanted bow of his shoulders. he had the weedy air of someone who spent a lot of time duct taped to flag poles, or whatever the victorian equivalent would be. did it count as a twirly if you were dunked into a chamber pot?
a rebellious counterpoint in wrinkled tweed to the hard, starched lines of victorian decorum – interesting, but not very relevant. and a little disappointing, if she was being totally honest. spike's anecdotes usually had more flash and gore. “I don't get it.”
he's exasperated, fingers twitching like he's ready to snatch it away, and he tucks his hands under his arms in an awkward self hug. she takes in the hard set of his jaw and the...flush of his cheeks? god, she didn't even know vampires could blush. it had to take some serious breaking of undead physiology to ping that level of embarrassment, and something beyond that even to flap the unflappable spike. he hisses impatiently. “would you just—look at the face.”
and she does, tilting the little photo to and fro in the dim of the crypt. unassuming man-hermione with hair that cannot be tamed. sharp cheekbones and dark heavy brows under the rims of his glasses and suddenly she sees it—him—the angular planes of his face coming into sharp relief, like a camera finding its focus. “oh. oh my god! this is you. holy crap, spike. you look....”
“normal,” he finishes for her, and something in her stomach swoops and clenches, stones in a pond. “mundane.”
“i was going to say like a megawatt dorklord, but we can use your word instead.” she wipes her nose on the back of her hand. he snorts, amused and embarrassed.
“i was a poet.”
she tried to envision anything beyond smutty limericks carved onto the wall of a bathroom stall.
“were you ever published?”
“i was a shitty poet,” he amends, grimacing.
boston au (spike + dawn, btvs)
bodily kicking a dumpster, sending it careening into the street with a rusty scream of metal. a hydrant follows suit, ripped from the sidewalk. caps off his tantrum with a boot to the side of Angel's GTX, but even the size-10 crater marring the passenger door of the angelmobile did little to ease his frustration.
“better?” dawn asks, when he drops bodily into the driver's seat with an aching sigh, anger dissipating. she looks so tiny and forlorn, knees drawn to her chest, picking at a cigarette burn in the upholstery. two years ago she'd have been a ripe treat, poor little lost lamb. now the idea twists his gut, her sorrow palpable, proprietary, under his skin and in his veins.
“no,” he grunts, staring out impassively at the aftermath of his outburst. water spurting from the sidewalk, skip spilling out into the road. half a dozen cars along the block chirping in a chorus of wailing alarms. and angel in the foyer, something vaguely resembling pity etched across his massive cavebrow. fucking wanker.
...
“we go back to sunnydale then. try again. badger the scoobies until they agree to help. we'll figure this out.”
“i don't want to.” quietly. barely a whisper.
“to figure it out?”
“to go back.”
“dawn...”
“there's nothing there. they're not going to help because i'm nothing. it's an ongoing memorial to my own non-existence. can we not go back? can we just keep driving?”
“where?”
“I don't care. away.”
thinks about leaving sunnydale. thinks about what he's leaving behind. shitty memories, regrets, lost love. he has a small collection of personal effects; records, first edition books, family heirlooms that cannot be replaced, a hundred years of mementos of his whirlwind romance with dru. wonders if he can ring up clem, ask him to send a care package once they get to wherever they're going. looks at dawn in her clearance-rack pajamas, realizes she has lost everything. she has no belongings, no family, no remnants left as evidence she even had a family. nothing but him and her, here, in this moment.
it's just stuff. it's surprisingly easy to let go.
he drives.
taco hell (spike + dawn, btvs, part of the boston / unravel au)
Right where her window was supposed to be, a swirling doorway of light ringed in licking green flame, spilling out into....a fast food restaurant?
"I think it's Taco Bell," Dawn said, pinching a tissue to her--aw hell--bleeding finger. He took inventory of the spell books around her, the scrying bowl, and the ashy pentagram burnt into 70s shag weave of her bedroom carpet. So much for their security deposit.
"You opened a hell dimension to Taco Bell?"
She craned her head to squint at the pimply teenager manning the register, oblivious to his cross-dimension spectators. "I think it's just a regular Taco Bell. I don't see any dragons or shrimp people or anything."
"Not all alternate universes have shrimp people."
"I know that. You know, it actually looks like the one downtown, across from the KFC? On Kellner? Unless the Kellner Street Taco Bell is a Taco Hell. I've been reading up about liminal spaces, where the fabric between realities is weakened. Maybe it's a hot spot, and all the employees are actually like, octopus centaurs. How would we know? Not like I'm going to crawl over the counter to check, you know?"
"Well, now's your chance to ask Squiddly Diddly here what he's got going on downstairs." Slack-jawed employee finally cottoned on to the door to another universe in the restaurant lobby. Dawn awkwardly waves. Poc Ock waves back, bewildered, before the portal collapses in on itself in a burst of white light.
"It stopped bleeding." she holds up her finger.
--
(I don’t think anyone would, but as a precaution: please don’t reblog these to the Herald. They’re sloppy and incomplete and mixed in with a bunch of other fandoms so it’d just be really weird. THANK)
#some of these are ok#most if not all of them will never be finished#i have a ton more?#i just didn't want to go TOO buck wild with it#i already feel like this is way too much lfgklfg#wolves writes
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For the OC ask game: 3, 10, 11, 18, 21, 36, 42 and 45. You can answer about any OC, but you know I love my boy Awan.
This only took me like a week or more. I’m so sorry. I am going to answer this for your boy Awan + Another OC in shorter way, if I have someone that this question applies to vividly.
Under cut cause long af.
Ask me OC asks 1 or 2? (But specify which one, if you do? :D)
3. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?Awan has no complaints, really. His parents were busy and out of house, even village, for most of the time, providing for him and his siblings, but when they were home, they’d always listen to him and find time for him, the best they could. Even if they couldn’t quite believe his incredulous stories of things he has seen or experienced on his small adventures. But no adult really did. His father taught him a lot about fishing, the ocean, general survival and encouraged him to pursue what he wanted, sensibly. Even after Awan left with the lions, he’d return from time to time, always to be greeted warmly and sent off with loving, encouraging worry. His father is long gone now and Awan holds nostalgic warmth for him and his childhood, for the most part.
Leila adored and idolized her parents, really. With all her child’s heart. Losing them really did a number on her, psychologically. Over time, she grew to temporarily resent them, father in particular, and in some ways she still has not made up with him in her mind. She might, she might not. Even if she does, she realizes he was far from flawless and eternally wise (or kind) as she pictured in her early years.
10. Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?Awan used to love to run around part undressed, playing on the ocean shore. Even when he would have to dress more warmly due to weather or little expeditions into the woods or the mountains, he’d love to stay barefoot. That is one thing that hasn’t changed - he really loves walking barefooted in nature, to dig his toes in the sand and feel little waves lap at his feet. But overall, he is definitely more on the ‘let’s bundle up’ type now. Good part because being around the lions is constant drain on his energy and he is more prone to feeling cold.
I8a feels fine either way. She does not feel cold or hot easily, regulating her body temperature and the fabrics of her clothes work similarly as well. She is more about how things look and feel. Patterns, design, fabrics. She could go all out in huge dress or skintight bodysuit with cleavage for days. Or bikini. The concept of more skin/showing off curves = sexy does not register with her, because ‘sexiness’ does not mean anything to her, other than a criteria that humans use. This has sent the wrong signals and gotten the wrong attention and later on, she knows how to ‘control’ her appearance to suit missions, but it’s just a purposely learned behavior.
11. In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?
This is a good question for Awan. I’ve actually not considered this. I feel like his biggest fear moment is yet to come, but in the past? Possibly ending up in a small rockslide when he was 7 or 8 in the mountains. He got really lucky then, getting only broken ankle and whole lot of bruises and scratches, but the fear was great, so was impact of his parents’ worries and he has become a lot more observant/cautious about his surroundings since then. Even known ones, because you never know what small change has transpired to change everything.
For Ryan, I think it was the moment he realized he’s probably going to legit lose his arm and eventually life. He was stuck in apathy and depression loop for a long time, he’s still not out of it (in some ways it has even worsened), but the pain was getting way too much and survival instincts kicked in... Except there wasn’t much of anywhere to turn to help. So he went to some place that turned him into a test bunny in ways that weren’t comforting or fear-soothing in itself. He was rightfully afraid for his life, also at their hands. And in some ways, that fear and hate hasn’t gone away and he’s always internally snarling and baring teeth at them like a dog backed in corner. Looking for a way out that would hopefully also give him a way to tear a chunk out of their shins.
18. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?
Awan would definitely pick wisdom. Ambition without wisdom can be borderline greed - because if you don’t pick what you want wisely, it can be quite dangerous. And so can be the ways you go for it. Ambition is good, but it can’t be the sole thing driving you, it can’t ride on itself alone.
Awkward moment when all characters I’ve spoken more about would more or less agree with this viewpoint. I mean, both Leila and Elinor would strongly be like, sometimes you gotta just drive forward and Elinor might appreciate wisely guided ambition but she is definitely impulsive as heck. So, yes, this was sort of meta question for me, lol.
21. If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?
Awan definitely feels like he has caused it in some way. With great power comes great responsibility and feeling like you could’ve prevented it. You had to foresee. In fact, he may end up feeling guilty for things that weren’t even connected to him at times, especially in the initial period of living with the lions. Time has dulled this, he can outweigh what was in his control, what was his responsibility, and what was not. But the mindset is there.
Elinor is a mix of two. Honestly, deep down she’s definitely ‘I’m guilty for everything’ type, but it’s not in her nature to reveal that to many people, if any at all. Not to the very bitter dredges, anyway. So, she can and will blame other people, often rightfully, call them out on their bullshit and what they did wrong. She can be petty and bitter and downright cruel and then deal with original guilt + guilt that stems from issues she caused with this reaction via drink (tho this is more of her pirate!self method) or putting herself in harm’s way, starting bar fight’s etc. Being generally reckless, bordering physically abusive to her own body.
36. How does your character behave around people they dislike?
Awan... is reserved with his emotions. For the most part. But just as you will know that he is warming up to you, you will probably feel the cold shoulder, the stare that goes deep into you, trying to sort you out, the absence of laughter sparkle or smile. Serious Awan to the max, not inclined to do any favors to you/help you specifically. Not going to get a card reading from him, for sure.
And, well, if Awan doesn’t like you, you will probably have one very grumpy black lion showing his dislike in every way, from petty things like tripping you to downright slowly tearing down you as a person and all that you love. Though, unless you’re truly a villain (and even then), Awan will try to rein that in.
If Elinor doesn’t like you, you’ll know. She’s snarky, argumentative and at times, down right rude to people as is, and if you have earned her dislike from her, she will not be afraid to fight you, physically even. Especially if you’re forced to interact. Otherwise, she might resort to just ignoring you and rebuking you with some snark. Now, there’s the fact that some people that she does treasure get pretty similar treatment, since they do irritate her as well... But they can tell the difference. Or so they say and she just rolls her eyes.
42. Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?
I would say the lions, but it is more a sibling dynamic with Awan, especially with Achan. Meira can be sort of kind but overbearing mother, but she also listens to him deeply, so, again perhaps more of older sister that wants to mother him, but understand he’s an adult with important insight. Other important familial figures also fall into the vein of sibling, instead of parents.
Leila did have someone, but she was abusive and cruel (while having best intentions for Leila) and died at the girl’s hands. It was the natural order of things, though, just the ‘madame’ did not expect the day to come so soon. Leila bears many physical and mental scars that still ache, given by this person. And lives in mild fear that if she was ever in position of being parental figure to anyone, she would hand this side of her experience down more than the fading memory of her biological parent’s love. (Mostly groundless fear, but that is what I know.)
45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?
Awan knows with certainty that you do not cease to exist when your physical body dies, that there is spirit and soul and the concept of heaven and hell the Outside World has is very tilted and not true. He knows some come back and cycle through lives, but also that not all do or wish to. He is at peace with what will happen to him after he dies. He is, however, not at peace with thought of the chaos his death will bring to the world, or idea of leaving something or someone hurt/unaccomplished.
In fact, most characters I’ve spoken of, again, fall in this same vein. No matter if they believe in something after they die or not, they’re okay with the concept of it and their bigger fear is failing to do something in their lives. Such as Elek. I8a knows she will join a higher consciousness, essentially. Ryan doesn’t think there’s anything and that’s essentially sort of relief just as much shitty feeling as this entire existence is. Genie believes death is just transformation, an inevitable part of nature. A change. And so on.
Now, Elinor.... Is an outlier, because she is someone from religious background, but was also forced to act out against the very basis of it, from early childhood and has grown to feel both like sinner and beast that somehow god has permitted to be. This has steeped her in resentment, for god, for herself. Over the years, she’s learned of great many other religions and basically goes like ‘Oh, so there’s all these conflicting concepts? Well then who can fucking knows which one is true and I guess I will find out after. Don’t plan on dying soon anyway.’ But, deep down, a certain unease remains, for sure. She does feel like she will be judged, for who she is and what she has done, just as she is in this life, just tells herself she won’t give a damn, just as she does not now. (She does, though, but shhh.)
#ask games answered#FINALLY#my ocs#awan#leila#ryan#elinor#i8a#ended up favoring some but for others the answers were.... a bit too much alike to Awan's#gffgthjh#overall they're ofc different but#bienchanter#sent on a cloud
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weird week (scroll by; it gets long)
the windows in our condo were being replaced this week (wednesday) so last weekend, we took down all the blinds and curtains and moved things away from the windows. D had to travel for work on monday-wednesday so i was by myself. on tuesday, i put away all the wall hangings and anything left out on the various side tables in the bedroom and whatnot. the bedroom was eerily empty and felt big. it made me sad, but in a way it was also really good. a sign of finality and progress and moving on. it’s a complete coincidence that the timing of the windows and the move are so close, but that’s how the place will look when we leave for Seattle.
wednesday was a bizarre day. i thought i would be able to at least do my morning conference call, but the construction guys arrived at about 7:50 (i figured they wouldn’t be here until 9 and the notice from the building didn’t say about time). so i scrambled to get out of their way, tell my team i had to cut out early (they knew i would be off most of the day already so it was nbd) and then wrangle the cats into the bathroom while 12 construction guys truck in with equipment and drop cloths and stuff. they were all pretty nice guys and said my cats were cute :)
so i get out of their way, out of the condo, etc. i came back at 11:30 to check on the cats and give them a chance to use the litter box, which is in a closet (dumb story about why it’s not with them in the bathroom, not relevant) and i take out my tortie first. she does fine, doesn’t try to run off, though she doesn’t like being held, she deals with it. i take my tabby out next and she FREAKS out. she managed to jump out of my arms and i lunge for her but i crash land onto the stone floor on my knees and land on left arm, smashing my hand against the wall and 2 of my fingernails get bent back (just the tips, not the whole nail). i’m racing around the house in a panic bc ALL THE WINDOWS ARE OUT. we live on the 10th floor and have relatively big windows, plus a full sliding glass balcony door, so i’m convinced that kitty might get out and fall off the building. i can’t find her for a solid 5 minutes. there’s equipment and drop cloths and shit everywhere so it’s really hard to look for her. finally i spot her under our bed and definitely can’t reach her so i’m poking at her with a broom, trying to coax her with treats, etc. i finally get her and put her back in the bathroom and sit there for awhile.
once i’m in there, i can fully realize how much pain i’m in. nothing is broken, but my arm is shaking, my fingers, knees and elbow are absolutely throbbing. doing anything with my arm pretty much hurts, like putting too much weight on it, or pulling open a door, etc.
D comes home in the evening, and he’s absolutely raging about his boss being a dick and makes me listen to a phone call they had that he recorded so i can validate that his boss is wrong and a dick. also the new windows are in, but there’s still work to be done since there are no window ledges or finishing. literally just the windows in place. he’s wandering around the house being critical of everything, like uneven caulking and shit and he wants me to help him to measure things bc he’s sure they put things in crooked. frankly i’m exhausted, in pain, and don’t give a shit about the windows, but i’m trying to help him. he’s putting the measuring tape up to stuff and going back and forth and trying to get my confirmation on the measurements and i’m like they look the same to me (they do, it’s close enough plus or minus like millimeters). he snaps at me about like not really being very helpful and i stop talking and like have tears in my eyes. he keeps going and i don’t say anything and then he’s like “are you okay?” and i’m like NO I’M NOT OKAY I HAD A REALLY STRESSFUL DAY AND NOW YOU’RE SNAPPING AT ME ABOUT THE WINDOWS AND IT’S NOT MY FAULT. so then we have this argument and he’s like “how was i supposed to know you were so stressed out about the cat, you played it off like it was a joke” and i’m like “i was trying not to be overly panicky about it bc it ended up fine and it bothers you when i get excessively panicky, but i legitimately got pretty hurt and i was really scared about the cat” and he’s like “well you could have told me that you were really stressed” and i’m like “....when did i have time to tell you???? you came in ranting about work and had me listen to the call with your boss and i wanted to be supportive to you, and then you immediately told me you had to do a bunch more work and then you went into being mad about the windows!!!!”
we made up and apologized for snapping, but i’m still miffed about it. i feel like he snaps at me really unnecessarily and expects my support but isn’t always there to support me (emotionally). i know a million things are stressing him out and i’m also stressed, but it just feels unequal. i think we’ll both chill out once the move is done but for fuck’s sake, hopefully we make it that far.
all right, so then thursday. i can’t sleep on my left side which is the side i normally sleep on and it hurts to straighten or stretch my arm. knees hurt and are starting to bruise. fingernails starting to bruise. the construction guys come back to finish the windows (also not in the notice that it would take 2 full day, thanks condo building). we wrangle the cats again. i can’t take the day off work again; so i work from the building lobby. the day pretty much goes fine, though i’m in a fair amount of pain. not unbearable, but i legitimately have not been this injured in a long time. we come back in the evening, there’s a winter storm raging, D is still mad about the windows bc they didn’t come out the way he would have liked. and now, bonus time... one is leaking pretty substantially. i don’t blame him for being mad, but i still don’t care very much and i’m not upset. i patiently help him take photos and video though he does snap at me about putting a towel down (i was putting it on the floor; he thought i was going to wipe off the ledge before he took pictures). whatever man.
today i’m working from home again bc weather predicted like 13 inches of snow. fortunately, we have almost nothing. the cats seem to have forgiven me. i’m still pretty sore overall, but i think i’m getting better. i still don’t think anything is severely injured, just banged up. i have almost no work today (thank goodness). i can just chill.
this week was a bit of a mess yet also pretty productive. i’m glad it’s over. one week closer.
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JERMY FARTZ (S2E4) MASTERPOST: NO BREAKING INTO PARTS, WE SCROLL LIKE MEN
I laugh at that name every time, and I’m not even sorry.
So I haven’t touched the 2 latest episodes because I’m lazy, but this was so much fun that I had to devote some time screaming to it! So get ready kids, because there is screaming (and spoilers) below the cut.
Though first: someone who’s never seen Camp Camp tell me what’s going on in this picture:
This episode has my favorite people. As in, Gwen and David. Yeah, there’s gonna be a lot of them in this post, and I’m not even sorry.
But first! Have some squished Nikki:
I love her.
FACE DOWN BOOTY UP
THAT’S THE WAY WE LIKE TO —
. . . Moving on.
Can we take a moment to appreciate Max’s sassy little wrist flip?
Also can someone explain to me how Camp Campbell won anything athletic against the Woodscouts? That seems to defy logic.
There are so many good things going on in this picture, but the most exciting is that GWEN IS SMILING! ACTUALLY SMILING FOR REAL!
Don’t believe me? Look at this saucy little zoom in:
LOOK HOW HAPPY SHE IS! Also, if we can indulge me for a moment (and I’d like to see you stop me): She’s not smiling because of the game. She’s not smiling because the kids are happy.
That smile is 100% aimed at David.
Girl’s in love, is all I’m saying.
Nikki, what the fuck are you doing?
A lot of this is going to literally just be a dumping ground for pictures I think are cute, because I still don’t really understand what a “masterpost” is. So in that vein, Max is cute. Space Kid, in the background: also cute.
Man, they kinda look like they’re reenacting a super low-budget version of West Side Story, huh?
But I feel like it needs more ~camp.~
THERE WE GO! Thanks, David. Always there to sparkle things up when I need you.
One of the reasons I can’t stand Pikeman — besides the, y’know, all of him — is how he makes David sad. Look at David’s sad sad face and tell me you don’t wanna punch this twerp just a little bit.
Then again, he also makes Max make this face, and this is a great face.
Allow me to deposit in front of your eyeballs some Davids:
There we go! Aren’t we all feeling a little bit better now?
I HEARD MY BOYFRIEND COWORKER WAS BEING AN IDIOT AND CAME AS FAST AS I COULD!
Honestly, “Gwen desperately trying to stop David from doing something really stupid” is one of my favorite dynamics. They continue to be everything I need in life. Looking at this picture caused 75 new Forestwater Gwenvid stories to appear in the AO3 feed. (Ha, no. Wouldn’t that be awful?)
She so badly wants to save him (and her, let’s be real) from himself and I love it.
And that’s the moment you realize David is an incurable idiot. (Who totally gambles because Mr. Campbell does it and he wants to be like dad.)
I don’t even have anything to say, I just love this picture to pieces. Every expression is gold.
Here are some cute Davids:
And OH MY GOD LOOK AT MAX’S FACE:
LOOKIT HIM
HE LOOKS LIKE FUCKING GRUMPY CAT I’M WHEEZING
I’m not sure what’s the best thing about this: Gwen’s face, how proud David is, or the fact that literally everyone is just d o n e with his bullshit.
(Just kidding. The answer is always Gwen.)
I have a moral conflict regarding her, because on the one hand I want nothing more than for her to be happy, but on the other . . .
look
how great
her angry faces are.
Also take a moment and appreciate David. I think something valuable gets broken in his brain this episode, because he makes this face for a solid 45% of it.
Though I mean . . . I’m not complaining. It’s a damn cute face, and he looks like a sad kitten.
(Do I relate all things I find adorable to kittens? Mayhap.)
1) Gwen is precious. I feel like this is a given at this point but will continue to point it out because I have a need to.
2) What is up with David’s center of gravity? Am I the only person who wouldn’t be able to balance like that?
Let me show you: an emotional breakdown in 4 pictures:
This is not a well woman, guys. She’s not holding on to her chill even a little bit.
(Also the way David looks down at his chest after she pokes him in it, like he’s saying “me?” I love him so much, guys. He is kitten.)
Davey trying to win the family over with sweet dance moves and a charming smile.
It doesn’t work.
Though Lordy, I literally made a goose-like honk at Gwen’s face.
(It’s at this point, at 11 p.m. on a work night, that I decided not to break this up into separate parts like I did for the first episode. This might be a terrible idea.)
(Editing this at almost 1 a.m. on a work night: It was a terrible idea.)
These 3 pictures are less than 2 seconds apart. I fucking love the animation on this show.
(And hey, it’s my icon! Hi icon!)
Why is beat-up David so attractive? Is it me? Am I just a monster?
Not a single face here isn’t great. These beautiful babes.
So the general plot of this episode (not that you come here for plot synopses. You come here for pictures and lots of screaming) is that everyone at camp has to be nice for 24 hours or they have to surrender their best camper to the Woodscouts.
It . . .
. . . doesn’t come naturally to them.
Wait, no. This is the picture I want described by someone who’s never seen Camp Camp before.
I cropped out what they’re reacting to in this shot.
That’s because I love you.
(Starting to regret this whole “not breaking into parts thing.” Will I be weak enough to cave? Who knows?)
(Editing note: Nope! I wasn’t! Oops!)
Is it me, or is Max more expressive this season? Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention previously, but it seems like his faces are way more entertaining in these most recent episodes.
In an epic battle of who can be the most charming while leaning, Nikki goes for a classic jazz hands approach that’s sure to impress the judges, Neil opts for a safe routine with minimal leaning but excessive raptor arms (points for originality), and Space Kid brings home the gold because he looks like an old-timey farmer holding up invisible suspenders/overalls, and that’s not easy to accomplish while wearing a space suit made out of cardboard and underwear.
Observe: 3 Very Angry Beans. You can tell they’re Very Angry Beans because of their Very Angry Mouths. Approach with caution.
I would die for David. Just wanted to throw that out there.
I wish I didn’t find Max’s suffering so adorable. (Editing note: I also wish I used a thesaurus. Oh well. Hope you like variations on the word “adorable!”)
Then again, I wish I was asleep and also I’d like some carrot cake, so it’s just an evening/early morning of disappointments.
Why golly, is it time for more Gwen faces?! I believe it is!
AWOOOOOOO
WEREWOLVES OF CAMP CAMP
shut up I think I’m funny
David’s making The Face. The Face that makes me think something’s broken inside him, because he makes it throughout this entire scene with very few exceptions.
But again, it’s a great face.
(Also look at Nikki and Gwen sizing each other up. Isn’t it cute?)
I think my favorite thing about this episode is, like in S2 Ep. 3 — which I’ll get to eventually! — we see Gwen genuinely does care. This is more than just a paycheck for her; she wants the kids to be happy and respect each other, she wants them to learn and even have fun (provided that fun isn’t ruining her life). She’s worried about Jermy, and she trusts and respects the campers to understand what she thought they were doing that was uncool and why.
She’s actually good at her job, and at any other camp she might even enjoy it to some extent. She’s just been very beaten down by the Campbell kids to the point of apathy and, ahem, “crippling anxiety and regret.”
Basically Gwen’s what happens when Max succeeds at what he was trying to do to David all season 1.
Pfft. Cute. I love Jermy just for the suffering he inflicts on the mains. (Also he’s surprisingly aware of what a disaster he is, without being depressed about it. I can respect that.)
David’s making that face again.
Why does he keep making that face?
David’s brain might have gone all Blue Screen of Death, but Gwen’s actually sets on fire:
I feel like maybe I should take back what I said about her being good at her job. She’s still not great with kids, okay?
But she cares. That’s the important part.
I don’t know if Petrol will get the credit he deserves for this episode, but he’s just pure comedic gold. Every time he shows up it’s fucking funny.
The Most Important Things in Forestwater’s Life Right Now: A Triptych
David’s face
David’s moonwalking
Gwen’s face
(Also: Petrol. Continuing to make me giggle way too loud and disturb my neighbors.)
If you’ll forgive me a little shipping (and if you’ve scrolled this far, I think it’s pretty clear you’ll forgive basically anything): Look at her soul-crushing despair. That is a face you give someone when you’re close enough to communicate to them without a word.
Okay, I mean what she’s communicating is “kill me,” but I still think it counts. You don’t give that kinda eye contact to a casual acquaintance, is all I’m saying.
I feel like I haven’t properly communicated how much I love every expression this woman makes.
Is that clear yet?
Look how proud David is that his babies are participating!
This is entirely for @hopefullypessimistic84, who could always use a cute Nerris in her life.
MAX
MY BOY
My favorite part about the next few pictures is how you can clearly see every thought in Gwen’s head as she’s thinking it.
“All right, you’ll be fine. Just think positive! Be David!”
“Okay no, don’t be David. Never be David. But remember how much you like not living with your parents! Do it for the rent money!”
“Yeah, look at you, girl. You got this!”
“Please don’t let David or Max fuck this up.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“Oh, CHRIST.”
“Literally no one else is gonna take care of this shit. This is your job. You HAVE to.”
“Still better than living with your parents. Technically.”
Petrol continues to be very very good.
Max pulling out his hair in frustration at having to be nice is a beautiful thing and I want more of it.
He is an angry elf.
NURF! BABY! Why are you sad? You did such a good art! You should be so happy!
Please don’t cry, Nurf. I love you.
This shot is also for HopefullyPessimistic, and I hope she appreciates it because it was really hard to get. Nerris was onscreen for like 2 seconds and the cup was in her face for most of it.
Petrol.
Is.
Hilarious.
He somehow became one of my favorite characters? How the fuck did that happen?
This show is sometimes just so pretty, guys.
Pfft.
Some brief Preston appreciation, because I don’t pay him enough attention. With an appearance by Petrol.
1) David is pure and beautiful.
2) Gwen is fucking done. With everything, but especially David.
3) QM is . . . what’s he doing to his hand? Because it really looks like he’s ripping off his fingernail. That’s . . . I mean, I don’t wanna tell you how to live your life, especially since I’m pretty sure you’re older than most municipalities so clearly you’re doing something right, but I feel like that’s not a great idea, my man.
I didn’t know that Max slowly losing his mind was my aesthetic, but apparently it is because these pictures make me laugh my ass off every time I see them.
Nurf has Sassy Eyebrows.
(Editing note: My thoughts started deteriorating around midnight. You might be able to tell by the quality of my commentary.)
I’m sorry. I know Dolph is a super controversial character and all . . . but goddamn it, he’s cute as fuck. I can’t help but like him.
*Daniel neck crick*
Max is such a force to be reckoned with that a dog pile must be created to contain his rage.
Also I’m not sure where Ered or Harrison’s heads are in that nightmare, but it can’t be comfortable. That’s some serious dedication to the cause, kids. Nikki’s clearly having the time of her life. And Space Kid . . . uh, good effort, I guess?
These are pictures of a fully-grown man mocking a child who has been put under his care. Does that make them any less adorable?
No. Such is David’s terrifying power.
Tremble before his cuteness, bitches.
“I’m an asshole!”
But he’s a daggum lovable asshole, isn’t he?
Max’s relief at finally being able to call David a moron and tell him to suck a dick . . . I don’t wanna say he looks like a happy kitty.
Just know I’m thinking it very very loudly.
What a sweet child.
Final Petrol appreciation: he still has the whistle in his mouth. He is a good and loyal boy.
It’s The Face.
Again.
(Gwen is lovely. As usual.)
Look at this smug motherfucker. He even makes this little “hmm” noise which is so cute, like everything worked out the way he’d planned it. Anyone who says David isn’t a dick isn’t watching the show closely enough. He’s a selfish douchebag a lot of the time and it’s one of the best things about him.
Yes, Gwen. That is the appropriate reaction. (Also she backhanded him. That was no open-palm affair; that’s knuckles in his cheekbone. Gwen’s cold.)
Oh, and sorry about the volume slider. If it wasn’t 12:30 in the morning I’d totally fix that.
David makes a sad little “eunghh” sound when she hits him. It is also too precious for words.
Look at his hair floof! Look how it floofs!
(there is a nervous giggle here. I melted)
I once saw a man so beautiful I started crying?
Something these pictures will never be able to accurately communicate:
1) The way there’s this lovely light 1980s-sitcom Very Special Episode music playing in the background, like David’s going to impart a moral. (Spoiler: he doesn’t)
2) The way Miles’ voice kept cracking like a fa — a bunch of pine birch sticks this whole episode. You might be surprised to find that I think it’s adorable. I’m not sure how you possibly could be surprised by that, but you might be.
“Maybe I AM an asshole.”
“Just . . . sometimes, okay?! Sometimes!”
The best moral and possibly my new favorite line to randomly quote.
LOOK AT THE BLUSHY BOY
LOOK HOW HANDSOME HE IS
HOW PURE
HOW FLUSTERED
WATCH HIM STORM OFF WITH THAT LITTLE ANGRY POUT
HE’S PROBABLY OFF TO ANGRY-CRY AND WRITE IN HIS DIARY
MAYBE CALL HIS MOM AND ASK IF SHE’S DISAPPOINTED IN HIM
HE IS THE SWEETEST
Even if I didn’t love every minute of the episode leading up to this (and I do), these last 5 seconds would absolutely skyrocket it to one of my favorites of the entire show. Just look how fucking cute this is. Look at it!
David is bad at being a person and we love him for it.
And here ends the longest, stupidest thing I’ve ever written. I’m genuinely curious to see if anyone made it all the way through. If you did . . . you deserve a cookie or something. Definitely mention in the tags or send me an ask saying you did, because I wanna know who’s almost as nerdy and lame as I am!
#campcamp#campcamp season 2#gwenvid#cc gwen#cc david#cc nikki#cc neil#cc max#campcamp masterpost#cc jermy#cc woodscouts#cc nurf#cc nerris#cc petrol#cc preston#cc space kid#cc dolph#cc pikeman
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begin disaster ==>
floramodus
fuckfuckjfuck DAVE!!!!!!
clockworkkatana
what
whats up
floramodus
my microscpe exploded i cant see theres glass and blood everywhere i dont wanna die again but i cant SSEE!!!
clockworkkatana
whoa fuck wait what
floramodus
the nuclear reactor battery in my scope combusted and i couldnt contain it all in time and it blew out my retinas and i think shattered my lens i dont know i dont know!!!!!!
clockworkkatana
um fuck
okay
hold still
ill be there in just a second
floramodus
be careful i dontt know how b a d the glass went
clockworkkatana
dont worry ill put on shoes
just
stay still a second okay?
dont move
floramodus
ggot that covered i kinda stopped trying when i got a shard of goddamn GLASS in my hands!!
clockworkkatana
ill take care of that too
just keep breathing for now im on my way
clockworkkatana
"Keep breathing" is advice both to her and yourself, and you try best to follow it as the transportalizer warms up, dumping you unceremonious on the receiver pad a universe away. You swear to fuck, if another friend dies (or even is badly injured) you're going to have to break something. A fundamental force of the universe, maybe. You'res still workshopping.
"Flo?" you say, voice steady as you please, slowly opening the door to her room. You hear the crunch of glass underfoot and know you've found the right place. "It's me. It's Dave. Talk to me, Flo."
floramodus
Even blind and panicking you can't help but hiccup a laugh at his voice. God, your a mess. "I know its you, Dave. It's not-" You spit out another mouthful of blood, voice wavering as you take off your glasses to cover your mangled eyes with your equally bleeding hand.
"It's not like I was expecting anyone else," you finish, twisting your body to face where you heard him enter. As casual as you tried to look you felt like you could scream; Thank fuck the explosion hadnt of hurt your ears, because seeing nothing but red and black reminded you too fondly of your time in the horrorterrors. You fumbled to find the chair with your other hand, gripping the leg when you found it. "I hope you werent working."
clockworkkatana
You wince at the blood - fuck, there sure is a lot of that, huh? - and fail to summon a reassuring smile you know she can't see. "I don't know what your life's like," you counter, taking careful steps towards her, avoiding as much glass as you can manage, "best to make sure you knew it's me and not some rando, yeah?"
She turns to face you and oh good lord you think you've actually had this nightmare once or twice. How about fuck. "Jesus," you murmur under your breath before clearing your throat and raising your voice for her to hear: "Nah, don't worry about it. Not a lot's more pressing than this, don't stress about me." You reach out to place a hand on her shoulder, kneeling down beside her.
floramodus
The contact snaps you farther back into reality, or breaks the overall shock. What ever the case, your still left with the throbbing pain actually hitting you for the first time. Fuck. You spend a minute trying to level your breathing. Maybe think of something witty and cool to respond with. You fail, but you'd doubt he'd give you shit for it.
"I didn't think I was doing anything dangerous," you whimper, taking your hand off your face as you try to push yourself up onto your knees. Your rewarded with surprise! More glass in your knees and the sensation of shards tangled in your tail. Keeping you head low trying to spare him more imagery then he has to see, you find his arm to touch something not laced with goddamn glass. You cant even feel yourself crying but you have an inkling you are. "I was just updating some information and I still managed to fuck up. I dont wanna die again.How else am I gonna fix this?"
clockworkkatana
You are so bad at bedside manner. You take a breath and swallow down the discomfort, though, you have more important things to worry about. "We're gonna figure it out," you say, and you can almost believe yourself, saying it. "Just. Okay. First things first, we're gonna get you out of here and get you cleaned up. Sound good? Leave the worrying about to me, I can handle that."
You're still mumbling what are supposed to be reassurances when you rise slowly to your feet, sliding her arm around your neck. "Just relax and keep to breathing, yeah?" you say, carefully picking her up off the broken glass. "I got you from here." Your apartment hasn't needed to double as field hospital since Briar came back, but you've kept the kits well stocked just in case. "You don't have to fix this," you reassure. "Leave it to me. You're not gonna die again. You didn't fuck this up. S'not your fault. I'll handle this. Just let me do that, alright?"
floramodus
"Don't you ever get tired of being the one to handle everything Dave?" you mumble, hissing through your teeth. Helpful as getting off a floor coated in glass was the urge to crawl right back into a ball was almost too tempting. Instead you grip tighter to him, trying to keep most of the blood off. From the smell alone you doubt its worth the work. Doesn't stop the worry from needling physical responses out of you.
"You spend so much of your time fixing things. Things that werent your fault and shouldnt be." You lean your head against him, ears flicking as you listen to him try- and fail- to appear as composed. "You can handle alot but do you ever ask if you should?" Before you even let that tangent fully settle you bring up your defense, with a breathy laugh. "I know this pickle I've gotten myself into isn't the time to question your motives I much appreciate not being a pin cushion till I expire. Your much warmer than the floor anyway."
clockworkkatana
Don't you? But, then, if you won't, who will? (Or, you suppose, if you don't handle things, what are you supposed to do? Stand by and watch things happen? Never seemed your style.) "It's worth it," you reply, and you suppose it's answer enough.
It's difficult, carrying a goddess in your arms and scrolling through transportalizer coordinates to find the one that leads back home, but somehow you manage, face dour as Flora laughs. "I'd rather bear the brunt of it if it means you lot don't have to. And - don't talk like that. You're not expiring. We don't have expiration dates and you're hardly that far out if we did."
floramodus
You'd roll your eyes if they werent throbbing with the rest of your skull. A classic Dave response, one you expected, but it had to be said. No use to argue with a knight after all. Instead you yawn, it twisting into a sigh. You were tired in many many ways. "I won't argue with the Time player about death dates but you know what I meant! I'm just saying being with you is a much better alternative than was my other options were."
You jump hearing the transportilizer whirring to life, having lost your awareness of your surroundings. It made you shiver, knowing where the thing was in the map in your head but not being able to pinpoint it visually. Especially when the smells switched in an instant, throwing your generally clear sense out the window. You shook your head, trying to stamp down the shaking. "And considering it feels like the horrorterrors are gonna tear me apart again, I don't particularly wanna see my other options if thats alright with you."
clockworkkatana
You guess you smile at that, a lip curling with a huff of breath. "Yeah, I guess you got me there." Artemis and company give a chorus as you step inside, watching as you carrying Flora through the apartment towards Briar's room.
You still think of it as hers, anyway, and you've hardly touched it since she left, but she won't be back today or tomorrow or maybe ever so you guess it's alright to use it for its intended purpose when you rented this place. That is, a place to not bleed all over the floors and ruin your deposit. "Fine by me," you say, depositing her very gently on the bed. Talos appears in the doorframe, and you get him to go grab the medkits while you focus on getting her sorted. "Don't worry, alright? I'm right here and I got you. You're gonna be fine."
floramodus
"I think at this point your saying that more for yourself than me," you chuckle, despite still shivering. Smooth, almost like you weren't having a panic attack so bad your chest felt like it was collasping. Like you couldnt feel your own pulse in between seizing pain. Tucking yourself close once you were set down, you cocked your head trying to pinpoint where you were in Dave's house. You have been here a million times but this place smelled like Briar and stale iron more than the usual scents.
"This is Briar's old place isn't it," you murmur, wiping the collecting blood off your face with the back of your hand, clenched tight enough you felt your nails digging into the cuts on your palms. Normally you wouldn't even breach that subject if you could help it but he could throw you a bone here. He could have taken you to Briar's for all you know. Though you think you couldn't have paid him enough to do so.
clockworkkatana
You scowl and shoot her a scathing glare that she can't see. "I might be," you reply, taking the hint and slowing yourself right the fuck down. "Doesn't mean I don't mean it, though." Talos returns, setting down a heavy bag and rifling through supplies you've had kept safe as a just-in-case ever since you got your own place. Thank your upbringing for that, you guess.
"Oh, uh. Yeah," you falter for a moment before you shake yourself and find the bandages to wipe away the blood. You cough, finding some tweezers to start plucking the shards of glass from her skin. "Her, ah. Old room, from when she crashed with me. Yeah, why?"
floramodus
It takes you a minute to get coherent enough to reply to his discomfort, due to the fact as soon you heard metal you jerked yourself back on the bed. Of course when your arm doesnt want to take your weight you fall onto your side with a hiss. Right, at Dave's. Not a doctor. Doesn't stop your pulse from trying to escape your mortal coil.
"Uh, nothing, I just smelt her is all. I just wanted to know where I was." You hated how pathetic that sounded, how pathetic you were at the moment in general. "I just smelted blood and Briar and I know thats not something I've smelt here before. Ive never gone in here, haven't had to." You didn't have to ask if this is where she had been when she came back. You could smell it. Even coming to the internet after the aftermath you could almost picture the disaster from the mosaic the smells made. It was uncomfortable almost, not organic.
clockworkkatana
Ah. Right. You'd been trying not to think about how the air in here was still a little stashed with the weight of her. "Oh. No, yeah. This is her room. I haven't gone in here much since she moved. Not for like a set reason or anything I just haven't. Really had a reason to I guess." Do you sound as pathetic as you think that sounds? Eesh. Maybe stop thinking about it and focus on the task at hand.
"But no, yeah. We're still at my place." You spare a glance at her eyes when you dab at the blood with another bandage, wince at the red film that sort of leaks from her ducts. "At risk of asking maybe the dumbest question ever, how, uh. How are you feeling? How's the pain? I have stuff for it. Advil, oxycodone, morphine, the works. I'm working on the glass right now but. Talk to me, Flo."
floramodus
"You say risk like theres a chance it wasn't dumb, Dave," you huff in a good natured way, glad for a segaway over you two trying to fumble over a charred bridge still smoldering with embers. You were never good at that. Which is why you guess the bridge of how you ended up like this is still left dry rotted. At least you had enough answers to satisfy your morbid curiousity. "It hurts. bad. I'm cold and i cant stop shivering. I want go to bed. I'm sleepy. It hurts. Did I mention it feels like I shot myself?"
You try sit up but get as far as shoving yourself up an inch before your slip back down. The more tired you got the more sitting still made you nervous. Like every second that crawled past was gonna drag you with it. "Whats the diagnosis doc? Am I gonna have to go to the rainbow bridge to fix this?" you said, yelping at the last few words as he pulled out a sizable chunk. Note to self: bulletproof glass.
clockworkkatana
"Do you want these fucking drugs or not," you fire back, cracking a grin as you reel back from potentially dive-bombing into angsty horseshit again. "But. Yeah. Okay, I can work with that. Just let me get the rest of these shards out-" the words are eclipsed by a particularly tricky sliver that feels bad just to watch abscond from her skin, nevermind how it must feel on the extraction, "-and I'll let you rest. I can give you something for that, too. I'll even let you borrow my good blanket, alright?"
She shifts as you drop another shard into the little bowl you're containing them all in, and you put a hand on her shoulder to ease her back down. "Don't move, alright? You're gonna be just fine. I'm gonna patch you up and you'll be right as rain, no rainbow bridge required."
floramodus
"I've never had pain meds in my life but at this point I'll take anything- it'll keep me from BITING you at least," you growl, the irony of your bared teeth not lost on you even as you fight the urge to snap his hand. "I'm doing my best here ok," you continue, as if your hands werent aching from tension, "But you know damn well I'm not gonna take anything of yours unless were sharing it Dave." Were you afraid of being alone and blind? Maybe. He didn't have to know that. He probably already did. Your friendship was infuriating like that.
You tried to think of a conversation that would fit in between the silence and not sound stupid, but really, what wouldn't? Sure lets talk about the weather while your laying here, blind as a bat, whimpering as you scratch at your own eyes because they felt like goddamn sandpaper. Real casual.
"It's hell actually caring that you exist," you finally say, turning you head to look at him. "Before I made such progress when I didn't care if each time I died it could end up just. Now? its so frustrating that every option is a dead end! Even with all the knowledge and equipment I have I'm failing Bec again and again just like I failed David, Rose, John.........All of you when I couldn't just find a goddamn solution and be able to stop!"
Another piece, another panging spasm. "The saddest thing is theres solutions all around but guess what? I don't want any of you hurt. Not if I tried to play the game again, you using that damned book of yours. Why can't that be solace enough to quit? Why do I still do this? I've probably learnt too much from you." you conclude, turning your head back around with a sigh.
clockworkkatana
“I know, I know,” you begin, though she beats you to the punch and drops you with a couple of bombshells that have you sighing and silent. The morphine is right where you left it from last time, and you rattle the bottle a little in your hand, toying with the cap. “I don’t need morphine.”
The hand on her shoulder cups her face - you don’t know anything about anything but you don’t think scratching at her eyes is going to help things - for a moment before pulling away, and you match her sigh with one of your own. “You aren’t failing anyone,” you say, and you mean it, really you do, but even to you the words sound tired. “The game just fucked you, straight up. You shouldn’t have to torture yourself over reworking and reverse-engineering this fucking. Planet-ending crock of eldritch horror straight from a Sims-addicted serial killer’s fantasy fever dream to try and undo what basically amounts to fate bullshit and destiny /fucks/. That shouldn’t be on you, Flora.”
You pluck what you think is the last shard of glass and drop it unceremoniously into the bowl, waving your hand in the air in a gesture she can’t even see. “Don’t even talk about playing again, dude. I know you’re hurting for answers but for real. Don’t mess with that. I’ll take the stupid book and whatever it did to Briar over you going back in there any day of the week.” At the mention of the tome, you glance over to see it resting on the cleared-out space of Briar’s desk. As though it’d been there all along, beckoning. “What could it do to me, anyway.”
floramodus
You crack a small smile at his colorful tangent, knowing realistically he was right. It wasn't your choice to play. It wasn't your choice to die. And yet, here you were. Fumbling with your hand, you wave it like an unsure dog until you make contact with his arm, gripping it. "It could do a hell of alot to you Dave and you know it. You don't what it does you've said it yourself. Do you think I could live with myself if it did something?"
You let go, moving your blood stuck bangs off your forehead, wincing at the pang of pain that radiates up your forearm. "I survived losing everyone I care for Dave. I thought that was the worst that could happen. I know I'm wrong about that. If something hurt you id easily find something just without thought. You don't know how much you've made this life worth living. It's an option, yeah, but you've got to look at yourself and know that."
You lay your arm back down on your stomach, sucking air in through your teeth. Who knew being covered in glorified papercuts would sting so much? "But don't worry, I won't play the game again. That I can leave in the past and not be discontent."
clockworkkatana
You shrug to that. Hypothetically, from what you know? It could do a great fucking deal of a lot. Briar’d only used it as last resort, and look what she had to show for it. Then again, so had you, and you’d seen no adverse side effects, aside from the one where she moved out. “It wouldn’t kill me,” you reply. “Besides, I’ve used it before. How do you think I brought Briar back?”
You wince in empathy, shaking out the morphine pills and pressing them gently into her hand while Talos exits to grab her a drink. Then you wince again, when her words process. “Come on, Flo,” you begin, a pang of guilt racking you as she carries on. “I care about you too, you know that. And that’s exactly why I’m bringing it up: I want to fix this, and the book is… it’s good at fixing things. You wouldn’t lose me for that - no one would.”
You make a hum of appreciation at the appeasement of that particular nightmare. “We don’t have to do anything right now. We don’t have to make any decisions yet. But we’ll figure something out. Maybe it’s the book, maybe it’s another way. But we’ll find a way to fix this. I promise that.”
floramodus
You let the tension ebb out of your shoulders at his affirmations, but still let a frown creep through. Yeah, he had brought her back, but you knew things like that, never worked the same way twice. However, if he insisted everything would work out, you were inclined to believe him. Many drunken and wounded nights in the past year had proven his words correct; Everything would be ok if you believed him.
"Not like I'm in the right place to be making any important decisions" you joke, giving the pills a tentative sniff. Dave could have given you cyanide for all you care, but the sharp scent of sulfate and stale wrongness still sent a shudder down your spine. Gross. "But your right, nothing we can do tonight anyway. I just-" you pause, trying to prop and pull yourself up so you could take these pills without choking, and manage to pull yourself up just enough to be able to slump your weight on your elbow. You take By then you didn't know how to finish that statement, so you throw the pills in your mouth and chase them down with the water Talos brings a few minutes later into your pondering. What did you wish for? To be able to be better at being the powerful god you wanted to be? Or that he would have been David, giving you someone that actually cared enough to try? "I just care too much, but thats always been my problem hasn't it?"
#action#plot#clockworkkatana#blood /#eye horror /#gore /#injury /#suicide mention /#death mention /#drugs /#literally ask to tag theres so much#but heres what shes been up too#long /#really goddamn long /
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Title: The First Ultrasound
@magikat409 requested: Been having a stressful week, and could use some Patrick fluff to ease my pain :D Patrick and his wife go in for an ultrasound to see their child for the first time, only to find out a special surprise is in store for them? Like twins or triplets? It's your call! TYVM hun <3
Character(s): Patrick Sullivan and Reader
Summary: You and Patrick find out some surprising news at your first ultrasound.
Word Count: 1,881
Author’s Note: This one is for @magikat409! I hope you have a much better week and I sure hope this was okay! Also, everyone go follow her! She’s written a few stories and believe me, you will not be disappointed! They’re all so good! Plus, I had to watch a certain scene from The Accidental Husband and ended up watching the entire movie, lol. JDM is just so charming. Anyway, I love this idea and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy! :-)
(GIF Source: @heartfulloffandoms)
Patrick had gone to work that morning and wouldn’t get home until the next day, but after finding out that you were pregnant, he did his best to make sure he would come home unscathed.
It startled you that you were having excessive morning sickness and you were only ten weeks into your pregnancy. You had done a bit of research into women who dealt with morning sickness, but you just figured that every woman was different.
Still, though, you hated having to go to the bathroom constantly every day. Aside from the painful morning sickness, you noticed that you had gained weight quicker than most women. You always watched what you were eating and you hadn’t had any odd cravings, but again, everyone was different.
Being only two months into your pregnancy, Patrick had noticed your baby bump earlier than usual. Though, you didn’t mind that you were showing. Patrick loved to show you off anyway. He would rest his hands on your baby bump every night while he slept, even let his hand rest against you when you two were watching television or eating.
It made you excited for the newest addition to the family.
You and Patrick had been trying for a baby since you both got married two years ago. It was tough at first because of the amount of stress he carried while he was working. Marrying a firefighter was stressful because every shift was never a guarantee.
Though, when you did find out you were pregnant, there were tears in his eyes when he received the good news. After two years of constantly trying, you and Patrick were going to finally have a baby.
After making your lunch, you sit down in the living room and take a bite of your sandwich. You reach for your phone and dial Patrick’s number, hoping that he wasn’t busy on call.
When he picks up, you smile instantly.
“Hey, you,” he says.
“Hi. How’s work?”
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. You feeling okay?”
“Well, I’m currently eating a sandwich. Had a tough time this morning, but I’m fine now,” you reply.
“I wish I was home taking care of you, you know.”
“I know, Patrick. At least tomorrow, you’re off from work and we attend our first ultrasound.”
Patrick grins, “I can’t wait. You still want to make a bet on gender, baby?”
“I say boy.”
He chuckles, “Well, that leaves me with a girl, don’t it?”
You laugh quietly, running your hand over your growing bump. “I can see you with either, though. A little mini-firefighter, just like you.”
Patrick smiles to himself, “Or a cute little girl.”
“Exactly.” Over the phone, you hear the alarm from the firehouse go off. With a quiet sigh, you say, “Be careful, Patrick.”
“I will, baby. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you.”
Patrick does a simple kissing sound over the phone and replies, “I love you too.”
The next morning, you wake up with Patrick’s arm wrapped around you. You instantly smile and snuggle closer to him before you feel the sickness hit you like a freight train. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and quickly walk to the bathroom to empty out the contents from last night’s dinner.
Patrick awakes quietly, running a hand through his tousled hair. He is clad in boxers and his usual FDNY t-shirt, walking in the direction of the bathroom.
“Morning sickness again?”
You nod, flushing the toilet and wiping your lips with the back of your arm before walking to the sink to brush your teeth. “I cannot wait until that is over.”
Patrick smiles, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He places soft kisses along your shoulder, gently rubbing your baby bump soothingly.
“Come on, kiddo… Give your mother a break,” he says.
You smile, rinsing your mother once you have brushed your teeth. You turn around to face Patrick, cupping his cheek lightly and running your thumb over his stubble.
“I love you,” you whisper.
Patrick smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “I love you too and I’m ready to go to our first ultrasound.”
“We get to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time,” you comment.
“Are you going to cry? You’re going to cry, aren’t you?”
You narrow your eyes playfully, “Maybe…”
“That’s okay. I may cry too,” he chuckles, pecking your lips and leading you back to the bed. “Can we get a few more hours of shuteye before our appointment?”
“Yes, please.”
You lie down next to Patrick, resting a hand on his chest as his hand rests on your bump. You snuggle closer to him, his free arm wrapped around your shoulders as you settle your head against the crook of his neck.
After a few minutes, you fall asleep to the sounds of Patrick’s soft snoring.
Patrick leads you inside of the building, holding the door open for you like a gentleman. “Do you have to sign in?”
You nod, kissing his cheek. “I’ll sign us in. You go and take a seat.”
Patrick nods, walking to the many vacant seats before he sits down. You sign in for your appointment, smiling politely once the nurse hands you a clipboard and a few pieces of paper for you to fill out.
Sitting next to Patrick, you lean against him when you feel his arm wrap around the back of your chair. He watches as you fill out the forms, occasionally kissing your shoulder.
Once you finish filling out the forms, Patrick offers to bring it back to the front desk so you could remain seated. He sets the clipboard onto the counter before walking back to you. He sits down and pulls you into his arms, kissing the crown of your head.
“You’re beautiful. I don’t think I said that this morning,” he whispers.
You smile, turning your head to look at him. “You can sense that I’m nervous, don’t you?”
“Maybe just a bit. Though, you have nothing to be nervous about, baby.”
“I know… It’s just how I naturally am.”
Patrick nods, “Well, think about it… You’re a beautiful pregnant woman who is glowing… Plus, you’ve got a firefighter as a husband. Doesn’t get any better than that, right?”
You laugh quietly, pecking his lips. “You’re right. It doesn’t get any better than this. Thank you.”
Suddenly, you two are broken out of your conversation when you see the doctor open the door. She calls your last name and you both stand up, walking to where she was standing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, how are you today?”
You smile, following her down the hallway to an empty room. “We’re doing fine. A bit nervous, but overall excited.”
Patrick nods, “My girl’s got the nervous jitters.”
The doctor smiles in understanding. “Well, how about we take a look at this growing baby. You’re already showing. How far along are you again?”
“Ten weeks.”
“Interesting. Any other unusual symptoms?” she asks.
You nod, “Excessive morning sickness and I’ve gained a lot more weight. I’ve read a few articles on that, but every woman is different, right?”
The doctor nods, “That’s right. There’s no explanation for morning sickness, but the weight gain… There are some foods that can trigger you to gain more weight than usual. Though, to me, it seems like it’s healthy weight.”
Patrick smiles. “That’s what I told her. She doesn’t listen.”
You playfully smack his arm before the doctor chuckles, lifting your shirt all the way to reveal your baby bump. You look up at Patrick to see him grinning down at your abdomen, leaning down to kiss your forehead.
“Okay, this might be a bit cold,” the doctor warns. She begins to apply the ultrasound gel onto your abdomen.
You wince slightly at the unusual feeling before relaxing on the examination table. The doctor grabs the ultrasound transducer and begins to place it on your abdomen, searching for a good image for you and Patrick to see on the screen.
Patrick looks at the doctor for a moment, arching a brow when he notices her expression change. She looks confused.
“What is it, doc?”
You furrow your brow, looking at the screen before turning your attention to the doctor. She continues to move the transducer along your abdomen before turning on the sound to reveal the heartbeat.
Once it echoes throughout the room, you furrow a brow at the abnormal sound.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan…”
“Why does it sound like that? Is our baby fine? Is everything okay?”
The doctor nods, a smile lining her lips. “Listen closely…”
You shut your eyes, tears leaking at the corner of your eyes when you focus on the abnormal heartbeat.
“You’re having twins…”
You open your eyes quickly, looking at the image that was being shown on the monitor. You smile, reaching for Patrick’s hand and grasping it tightly.
“Two… We’re having two babies,” you whisper.
Patrick smiles, wiping his eyes as he leans down to kiss your cheek. “I’d say these two were waiting for us, honey…”
“All right. Let me take a few pictures for you to take of your two munchkins. Afterwards, I would like to see you in the next month for your next appointment. Keep taking the prenatal vitamins. Since you are having twins, the weight gain will increase and your body may begin to feel the stress of the weight, especially on your feet,” the doctor says.
Patrick nods. “I’ll be sure to give her foot rubs every night, doc.”
You smile, looking up at your husband. “Oh, now that it’s out in the open, I expect a foot rub tonight.”
“Anything for you, baby.”
After the appointment, Patrick brings you to the mall to look and shop for some baby clothes. Once you step inside, you grin to yourself at the tiny clothing, shoes and accessories.
Patrick wraps his arms around you from behind, looking around the store in fascination.
“So, maybe we’ll have a girl and a boy,” he says.
You smile, picking up a two-pack onesie where it says, ‘Daddy’s Little Hero’ with a firefighter’s helmet while the other has a simple firetruck on it. When Patrick notices what you were holding, he grins immediately.
“Okay, we are definitely buying this.” Patrick says, looking around and picking up a few onesies that catches his attention.
“You know, it���s too early to buy clothes… It was our first appointment.”
“Don’t ruin the fun,” he teases. “Come on, baby.”
You smile, “You know what, you’re right. Let’s ransack this entire place.”
“Exactly. Now, you’re talking,” Patrick chuckles.
You walk around the store with Patrick, watching as his fingertips graze the fabric of a few onesies. He constantly stops for a second to look down at the firefighter-themed onesie, grinning broadly to himself.
You walk up to him, resting a hand on his lower back as you lean up to kiss him.
“We’re having twins… Two…” he says.
“I’d say you’ve got good aim,” you tease.
“Apparently, I do. The past two years was worth the wait for this good news,” he smiles.
“I’m excited.”
“Our little family is growing,” Patrick whispers, pecking your lips lightly.
“The Sullivans…”
“The Sullivans,” he repeats with a grin.
#jeffrey dean morgan#jdm fanfiction#patrick#patrick sullivan#patrick x reader#the accidental husband#oneshot#one shot#requests#story: the first ultrasound#magikat409
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